From Mitch Hedberg:
See more quotes as high art here
Legendary funny man Jonathan Winters passed away on Thursday night. The man was absolutely brilliant: hysterical and crazy and just amazingly original. He was a serious artist, and a very serious thinker who suffered from depression. He even used this in his comedy. He was much loved, and he will be greatly missed.
when you first see her you think she’s bruised. battered and abused.
but it’s makeup. as you look closer she’s flowered and rouged and artistically designed.
it’s beautiful. and grotesque.
and you don’t know how to feel
can her bruises be sexy?
the thought is disgusting,
but still you
wonder (ponder) over
of your twisted vision
it’s disturbing. and unsettling
do we love the image because
she is so bruised?
or do we like it
because: this was done to her
we used her for our canvas
and for one moment she’s
stuck in time as
the object of our aggression/love?
(Source: doloresdepalabra on tumblr)
Marina Abramovic and Ulay started an intense love story in the 70s, performing art out of the van they lived in. When they felt the relationship had run its course …
For the rest of this wonderful story, click here
I don’t know why it’s going so fast, and I have no idea how to slow it down
In 1995 artist Brian Lewis Sanders started on a project to create a self-portrait every day. One part of this life-long series was created when he decided to dose himself with a different drug each day and see what the results were.
Part of me is going: “wow, what amazing display of discipline: to set out to do this every single day, then to actually do it.” I find the results interesting, really creative, incredibly fascinating, captivating, and kind of creepy, with many shades of disturbing thrown in.
Then another part of me, the part that has never even been remotely interested at all in the idea of doing drugs of any sort (which is 100% of me) yet fell in love with someone “under the influence”, with “a sickness”, the part that was happy when he went to rehab, but confused when he said “oh that was only for the crack. the pills are my medicine and my doctor says it’s okay; the part that was, inexplicably, willing to live with a certain bit of illegality in my life to be with this man, the parts of me that are incredulous and ashamed of what I allowed in my life because of – love (when I never even thought I was capable of being in love, or being loved); the part that wonders if any word he ever spoke to me was true …
looks at the slideshow of his art and the notations of the drugs he was on (ranging from marijuana to crystal meth and huffing) when the various pieces were created, imagined, experienced or vomited out of his hallucinations and paranoia and self-loathing and insight and perception just says:
“You are such a fucking idiot”
And I think I’m speaking to myself at the same time.