Thursday, March 17, 2011


So many beautiful things. So many beautiful women. So much delicate, sweet, magical beauty everywhere. It's impossible not to be impressed by it all. It's impossible not to enjoy it in some ways. It's also impossible to tolerate it. All this refinement is in the service of some sick view of humanity that we all recognize whether we want to or not. Everybody can see that it leads to huge inequalities that can only create misery and bitterness. Sure, I know that miserable people can sometimes find misery in everything. I know that there's no system of justice and no possibility of some kind of perfect fairness that would make everything all right for everybody. Still, I can't help feeling a little sick when I watch all the time and effort and care that goes into creating some perfect runway experience compared to how much time goes into just trying to treat each other a little better. I don't pretend to understand what would be right and I don't have any answers, but sometimes, the questions make me a little sick. That's why I create so much "angry art" that tries to be some kind of "punch in the face." I don't have any illusions about it but I have to say what I think.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011


I know that my mother cares about me. I also know that she just doesn’t understand. She thinks I should come home and stay with her and my sister and work there. She can’t see what I’m trying to do. She can’t see that I need to be away from the things that made life so impossible for so many years. I keep offering for her and Katya to come and stay with me but she won’t listen. No matter what I do, it isn’t enough for her.


 A shrieking pig is put on a block for slaughter. The pig is held down by 2 men and a little girl. The pig struggles valiantly and squeals horribly but the knife eventually finds its throat and the blood gushes into a bucket set on the side of the block. The pig continues to squeal as it bleeds out. The girl is terrified but she obeys orders to move the bucket more directly under the pig's spurting blood. As she watches the pig twitch and finally become still, she looks at the blood on her hands and her clothes.

Ivana is being dragged to an autopsy table. Attendants and doctors tear off her gown and push her naked onto the table. She screams and struggles but she is surrounded by doctors holding her down. One of them takes a scalpel and cuts her throat to silence her. Her eyes register terror until suddenly, they go blank. Her blood pours downs the drainage troughs on the side of the table. Suddenly, photographers enter and begin to take pictures. Flashes are going off in every direction.