(The answer is: vagina.)
Let’s take a second to concentrate on what’s really important. Veronica Mars! How many things can go wrong in Neptune? I mean, just when you relax from the school mascot being returned (spoiler), someone totally has to die! It’s not fair, and it’s going to give Veronica premature wrinkles. Also, Beaver’s stepmom is maybe two years older than Logan in real life. Okay, I only just started the second season. Don’t ruin anything for me.
Tonight’s episode of Work of Art was a study in patience, skill, and affability. It was also about the budding relationship between BillBobBrianStevePowers and Ryan McGinness (or as Jerry Saltz calls him, Ryan McGinley. Plato=Socrates)
I’m not the only one that noticed, right? The glimmer in BillBobBrianStevePowers’ eyes? The trembling smiles? The quiet whisper in Ryan’s ear, “My white banana hammock from Filene’s will glow like an angel’s platinum tendrils in your blacklight heaven.” The subtle references to getting order for the chaos in his pants, the not-so-subtle picking off a crumb from the corner of Ryan’s mouth. BillBobBrianStevePowers has his own views of heaven and hell, and tonight they were all on display. (Oh, hello, Cynthia Rowley! You came to the opening! Thanks for bringing along Terrence Koh’s sunglasses! They looked great.)
The artists were tasked with creating a piece based on a vague, gigantic idea. No big deal! Just do something about, um, order. You have six hours. Have fun with it! You can buy two tubes of acrylic paint and an old Bazooka Joe comic.
Obviously the big deal was working in teams. Is there any possible way in reality tv hell Mark and Peregrine would NOT have chosen the same paint tube? It was bound to happen. Who killed Colonel Mustard in the slide room with the child-size sweater and 1940s style aviator sunglasses?
Miles is paired up with Jaclyn, and they receive the dubious honor of working with the “male/female” dichotomy. The TeeVee shows Miles whispering all the dirty, naughty things into Jackie’s ready-and-willing ear. Miles is the handsomest version of that Old Testament serpent, isn’t he? Abdi, you know what I’m talking about- the shitty snake that told Eve to chomp on the forbidden fruit from the tree located directly in the middle of her own house. The snake’s all, “What’s up, Eve. That fruit you were explicitly told NOT to eat? Bollocks. (The snake’s British). Go ahead, eat it. Come on. It’s free here. It costs like three quid for 100g at Tesco. Don’t be silly. You’ll be saving a fortune.” Anyway, Miles is a super adorable version of this snake, outfitted with puffy lips, puffy eyebags and future lady hips. It’s not just the pants. He’s going to have the loveliest lady-like hips and ass in the future. Such a midwestern babe, that Miles. Venus de Miles-o. I love him so much.
Nicole was paired with Abdi, which caused her to break out in hives (no, just kidding, it was the makeup and the constant need to make serious, smart work. You’re already French, Nicole. You’re French, tall, thin, with puffy lips and great taste in sweaters. You win the Bravo TV game of LIFE. Se calmer, mademoiselle.) She made some kinetic sculpture, which was probably totally awesome, but the producers hate her, so we barely ever saw her at all, except in beige Lanvin shadows in the corners of the screen. Poor Abdi, squeezed into the prison of the word “chaos,” unable to make sense of it all, forces himself to do a painting which would be praised at every major grad school in the country, and might even get a spot of honor at Daniel Reich. Oh, please, like you haven’t seen one of these at every MFA show in every city ever everywhere?
The lazy drama of the night landed in Mark’s spacious lap. As usual, heaven for Mark means a tight buttocks of a lovely lady (Mark love ladies. Ladies smell good. Ladies pretty). Peregrine quickly takes her Nanny McPhee clogs and stomps all over Mark’s ideas. Too bad Jackie was busy presenting herself as an anonymous self-pleasuring object to notice the real act of a female taking control on the show. Nice job, Peregrine! Not only did you completely take over the situation, but you forced Mark to see what it’s like to be photographed topless, breasts breezing in the wind. I don’t mean to make this seem like a small task. It was simply Mark’s time to get off the neverending rollercoaster of excitement. Goodbye, Mark. I wish you the best. (By wish you the best I mean I wish you would stop writing the same tweets every week. We get it, Jackie gets naked, Miles is overplayed, and you have a book for sale. I like you, I just need some variety in my sad little life).
Genuinely the most touching moment of the night was China Chow getting teary. I have two explanations for the moisture suddenly and surprisingly springing from her tear ducts. 1. She fell duct-tape-bound head over six-inch lucite heels in love with Mark during the course of the few weeks the show was taping, and, more likely, 2. Those goddamn triangle earrings, weighing a ton, were digging deep into her sensitive little earlobes.
Best of Lissa and Brian’s tweets:
☛Thank you for painting your hand on your cooter. – Ryan McGinness.
☛Take control of my hoo-ha…and stuff…it’s feminist. -Jaclyn
☛Coated tar pieces?? Never seen that before. YAWN! Tarrible.
☛Heaven is bound, hot, naked ladies in my studio. – Mark
☛10 bucks says when Simone de Pury shits, it smells like fresh baked, buttery croissants.
☛Dear, Abdi. Socrates may have been Plato’s sugar daddy, but he did not write The Republic. Love, Philosophy
☛New poll: what’s more interesting– #workofart or this cheesy chicken pot pie I’m about to devour???