It is what it is.
Click to enlarge.
I grabbed these off of Tastefully Offensive Tumblr to share with you. Enjoy.
Proper goat anatomy. Flippy wiggler, cutie tocks, ticky-outy, tiny blinkers, smoocher.
You must got to see TYWKIWDBI (World War II propaganda in Persia to explain — what I consider — to be really cool art.
”Don’t think about making art. Just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it’s good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they’re deciding, make even more art.” – Andy Warhol
Since I started trying to make art, images and motion pictures with friends, this quote — whether I was cognizant of it or not — has been floating around my mind.
Too often when collaborating, the “art” is stymied before it begins. Too much thought goes into too much of the process.
I’m not saying do things mindlessly.
But there’s a quality lots of people have to get stuck in particular details. Either it stops them from starting or it stops them from finding a way to share it.
Consider Vivian Maier (1926-2009), the newly discovered Chicago street photographer whose body of work is so massive and impressive, she has documentaries and tons of publicity out about her now.
She froze when dealing with people and her art, so all of her photography was “lost” until recently found.
Could she have been wildly successful if she published her work while she lived? Or would she have had the body of work?
I don’t know. But something kept her from expressing her art while she lived. And I don’t think it’s a rare trait. I think she’s an extreme case of creating work, but the idiosyncrasy is not new.
Facebook is a blessing and a curse for visual art.
We recently talked to some other professionals who gave us props for sharing stuff on Facebook without the salesy, buy our shit, please-oh-please verbiage attached to each posting.
Even on this blog, I’ve put out some rancid ideas, some deliberately controversial or ideologically unsound. When you read literature, not everything sits well. We often gravitate toward the ideas that stir repressed memories or secret longings.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
Quote seen on Facebook. Thanks, Mark.