Morbidity arranged, affixed, boxed

Yesterdays blip triggered a response of the 'how could you' sort. The exact wording, if I remember correctly, was 'OH, my f****ng gawd! That's disgusting! Why would you do that.' (Taking the photo, that is.)

'And why would you even ask me such a question,' I thought. For a brief moment I contemplated telling him that afterwards I had asked myself that same question, because it had been so hard to kill that pigeon; that I had to repeatedly hit it with a stone and that the experience had been unsettling. That from now on I'd only take pictures of things that are already dead.
I think he might have bought it.


The question came from a person I've known for a few years. He's never asked about my work. He knows I'm an artist, but I don't think that the fact actually registers in his brain; to him it's just a one word title. Cashier, janitor, lawyer, nurse. Artist.
Art has never been a topic of conversation between us. He just doesn't care about it, one way or another. He's been to my studio once, towed along by friends of mine. I remember him sitting straight down on the couch and drinking wine while his buddies were exploring the playground, filing through the paintings that were leaned against the wall.

There are plenty of people like him, of course. The only piece of rectangular imagery that interests them is the one streaming from a tv set. The notion of going to a museum or an exhibit is something akin to torture to some.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not expecting everyone to nurse an interest in arts & culture. To each their own. But if you're being judgmental about me, at least try to assess your own position before passing a verdict. Before you ask me why I take pictures of dead things you might want to ask yourself why that surprises you.

A curious inquiry will get an honest answer out of me. But please don't lead with 'Ewww!"
If you build a tower of self righteousness, know if it stands on firm or feeble ground before you look down on me. Don't pass judgment about my motives for taking a picture when every other picture you take shows a someone throwing one hand up in the air while clutching a beer in the other.


This, in brief, is what went through my head, when he slapped me with that accusatory question. It was a brief instance, and indifference quickly prevailed, drowning that spark of annoyance that I felt.
I told him 'I don't know,' and shrugged my shoulders. Then, with a surprisingly straight face, I added 'My therapist thinks I have some unresolved issues.'


The whole episode leaves me with a question I'm asking myself. Why do I expose myself to such company? Is it really that important to me to keep up the facade of being a 'normal' person? Do I need to to believe that at the core I'm a social animal after all?

My best friend tells me it's good exercise. 'That's what makes you able to smile at annoying people at an art show,' he says. 'That's how you manage to be whatever it is other people want to see. Let them.'

He's right, of course. People see what they want to see, and they don't take kindly to their perceptions being corrected. I play along because ultimately, I don't care. I can smile into my glass and be agreeable in a conversation.
But I reserve the right to alienate with what I do.


Before I forget, in the picture: assemblage boxes, spread out on the floor. Have been meaning to drive some nails into the walls and hang them up at home. They rarely go on public display and my hallway looks naked. Will blip result of home makeover when done.