I know, i know. Some of you may have been wondering what i would do with my seven year old, twenty-five, nine foot vaginas that suspend like carcasses in a meat locker after I harvested them from the rafters of BOX 13 ArtSpace.
Well for now, i am stacking them beside the house until September exhibition. So expect to see them again properly installed.
They may take a bit of mending, but hey, sewing vaginas just has to be labeled women’s work, and someone has got to do it, so that will be me between stitching large delicate balls and learning text mining methods and software.
These fascinate me not for being big baa-honking va-jjs, well i do enjoy writing crap like this, but instead what really peaks my curiosity is in regards to how artists’ work manifests various aspects of their lives whether they intend it or not. I thought my va-jjs were some kind of cultural commentary when i was stitching them up. I had recently read the conspiracy of art by baudrillard and one of the first lines was about a “culture of ambient pornography.” i thought i was stitching this notion in a meat locker fashion plus a reference to culture that worships at the thrown of youthful fertility.
Alas the initial stitching in fact marks the beginning of the end of my biological femininity, the beginning of perimenapause (tmi for sure) and the beginning of the end of a twenty three year marriage. I am absolutely sure freud and even jung would have a hey day with the implications of the work. Sigh. I prefer to only mildly over analyze it.
i am thinking i should continue toting them around till the arrival of the full on pause which still evades me. Sigh. Double sigh.