Last night’s episode was a kind of release. Maybe I felt inspired by the challenge (my life is about making fun of childhood traumas- sometimes my own, mostly others’), or maybe I’ve grown to enjoy the silly little fights the workofarters throw around the set.
“Douchebag” is so quaint when ex-Jehovah’s Witness Ryan says it.
I knew several kids in high school who were JehWits. (They didn’t call themselves JehWits, I just made it up. They didn’t call themselves anything except “sad, bitter people who wish their parents didn’t push them into this crazy religion that doesn’t celebrate birthdays, excommunicates friends and family for breaking stupid rules, and forces everyone to wear suits on Saturday mornings and knock on strangers’ doors”.) They’ll be fine. Ryan will be fine, too. Eventually… after he drinks away all his feelings of abandonment and loneliness.
Anyway, let’s talk about Will Cotton. I’m a fan of Will Cotton’s sexier works (the paintings of just the sweets). I was simultaneously intrigued and repelled by Will Cotton, who looked like he was one of those serial killers who is extra kinky with his victims. However I felt about Will, his comments were clear and concise, and I really appreciated having him on the panel. In fact, the panel felt pretty good last night- even BillBobBrianStevePowers was charming (that’s how he got his seed inside Cynthia Rowley).
You know what else could have helped the panel? Less China Chow (all that MSG is pretty bad for you).
Last night’s assignment was to create a piece of work communicating the time they decided they were going to be an artist. Erik watched the challenge at home, quietly sobbing into a purple Ugly Doll his girlfriend gave him after his third head injury. The artists took the challenge in stride, and mostly did nothing to actually address it. Miles did a space invaders-like grid as a protest to the stupidity of challenges, rules, and authority in general. Then he called his father, the CEO of a mid-sized company, to ask for money for July’s rent and cell phone overuse fees.
Mark did a mystery book which no one was allowed to see because it featured lots of willing, headless feminists in bikinis, with their heads chopped off. Let’s focus on Mark for two seconds here. Mark- he’s pudgy! he works at a burger joint! he loves women very much and would never want to hurt them! because they’re beautiful! also, because they look really, really fucking good in tiny bathing suits, or naked, sprawled out on a bed, or in a pool, or tied up in a field, or in bondage wear on the couch, or giving beejays under a desk because their father was never around and their mom’s boyfriends touched them when they were twelve and threatened to kill their mom if they said anything. Ugh. Suicide Girls is so 2004.
Abdi made a grid of drawings he would have made as a young adult- superhero stuff and sports logos. I’ve seen all three Mighty Ducks movies. Instead of the logo, I think Abdi should have used all those technical drawing skills he’s accumulated through years of exhaustive, enlightening classes with Julie Saecker Schneider to represent Wolf “The Dentist” Stansson’s head on a stick. Nicole made a lineup of styrofoam trays filled with things she tried to homicidally stick into her twin’s ear when she was a kid. Jackie was born a smaller eyeshadowed version of exactly the way she looks today, so she asked Seeeeemoahn for ideas. He grew up climbing trees and knitting, so she made a sculpture of his childhood. It didn’t fly with the judges, who are used to seeing her expose herself to subvert the male gaze (just like I eat brownies to subvert my hips). I don’t understand why they weren’t into it. It had a giant yonic hole in the middle (and lots of little holes made from orange pipe cleaners). I’d be damned if that wasn’t a giant vagina in the middle of the gallery (this week’s art pussy).
Peregrine won the fight with her brightly colored kid versions of adult things, like cigarettes, sexxxy unicorns, quaaludes, and AIDS. BillBobBrianStevePowers was scared of this piece, but he should be more scared that I almost bought a horrific bedazzled polyester top by Cynthia Rowley that I found at TJ Maxx.
The true winner, of course, was Will Cotton. He’s got the perfect mix of young gay republican and quiet laboratory tech, tightly wound PhD candidate studying Italian turn-of-the-century doorknobs and S&M dungeon owning cheesecake pose painter. I hope I meet him someday… and that he doesn’t read blogs.