Which this is the other half of my more "commercial" design play, which again means I'm striving to be Marilyn Monroe, at least I have observed that is the need...and yet, I just like creating, innovating, and the like. For a while, socially speaking, it was okay...and then somewhere along the lines...doing the same thing, and yet, we went from keep it up, this is interesting...to...um...tune into the nightly news...let folks caught up and they don't even get how it all went down, even as they are responsible for what went down explain...
So yeah, unlike the other projects that want to engage conscious spaces, this will be more about subconscious spaces...the folk art stuff. I want it too, to work from a foundational embrace of Kara Walker...and it's not attempting to slide onto coattails or anything like that. She plays with the silhouette and highlights that polar play, of even how the happiest place on earth would even come about...for those still not getting it...there's a trail of blood all cleaned up...And the strife is presented as a clean cut dichotomy with nothing in-between, but that isn't how the poor dears, aka calico cat of love are gunned down. Rather, they are sandwiched between the clean cut dichotomy, taht will even play it up victim in relation to the poor dear, to act like they are offended that you know, a mind doesn't subscribe to an indoctrinating struggle that is merely the KKK veil hustling the bleeding hearts blood all caught up as both sides spin the intelligence and gun with the controversy, massaging the way toward violence, and dolling up for the cameo in the mirror with a candlelight vigil. The voices experiencing this...most tucked away. Their stores, never so clean cut, never without being caught up in-between. And like many of the artists I like that are on that institutional plan, don't go for the clean and safe. Tap into subjects that are...difficult, even if it isn't such a literal form...
So the founder of Piggly Wiggly, in summation, interested me...because it isn't an easy story. His father fought for the confederates...he was "southern," like it or not. After the war, according to the wiki, P.G. was still a kid, 11 years old I think, and he worked on one of the plantations as a laborer. Something like that. He didn't have a formal education, and there is a claim he became a book worm of sorts, my condolences. He wasn't from a great story, the background had him ass up, so yeah, okay me, from what life experiences already have shown...what that means for a certain crew you know, looking to give folks their opportunity, mirror mirror...killing at the disco play...So he's on that opportunity plan. Emerald City Lights fucks him up, but of course, it was completely a mishappening. No families could possibly have the measures to move the market, and yet, they can. Shhh. It's not in the news kids so forget about it. Then, he dies of heart failure.
The innovation part, seemed like it was going to be the most important part, where P.G. setup a new relationship between American Citizens and consumption, of establishing the self-service model of grocery shopping. The innovation though, when I think about the layering of a life lived, for a momentary lapse at least, falls to the wayside. I look at that pink marble mansion, and I just don't find it to be all that great...meaning when the cards are scattered all over the table and you can follow the game at play...and the reaper over the table btw...so it's more of the same. Wrong side of the tracks, on that escalator of success as a lively looking corpse...making a deal to the top...that's stealing something, but you can't quite put your finger on it...and when the supply store is self-service?
It's the majority of people...At least among the homeless or the grid makers who aren't at all concerned about access...there's hope. Most in-between...I'd rather not say. But yeah, okay P.G. It's cute like Mickey...but holds closer association to being dead in a barrel. Maybe like dead flesh, but more like a bullet, like lightning bolts in a Pegasus bag. It's like the more studious version of a magic kingdom. Still on the bowie dance magic dance routine...but among the politically correct form of klan play...think IT's reflections in a balloon, go pop with all that blood...P.G. at least offers a glimpse, including the backstory...I think of this as a figurine...I can make out a bloody leg shown under a figure caught up, seems to be a soaked red dress...maybe bugs bunny bloodied up in a red dress...not so sure...it's hard to see as the figurine resides within one of IT's balloons. The gloss of the mirror...it does something...the psychology at play when the signage is so pristine.
When I was a kid we shopped there frequently. The pig was always cute and uplifting, even if it was on leather face's mask, soon to come for a bleeding heart like me. I mean when you are a sweat heart...you are indeed, a sweat heart.
Folk art! It doesn't really need to go anywhere, even in terms of ebb and flow. I paint in a lot of different styles, but this...and likely a return to watercolor, only among a loose play that doesn't involve pretty little thing aesthetics...will be that gravitational pull, of how this all finishes up. Again, did it with music and academics, from working structural conventions, to then pushing boundaries and pushing those structures in a manner that intends on building up while falling apart. The folk style, gets into a play of elegant decay, that works in relation to the brick-by-brick presentations of commerical stuff, so it's that structural play. The watercolor, of a loose style, not to be pretty but in the moment, too I get more into, as it's a lot like experimental music projects...subconsious flow...messing around in a way that disrupts the silo-head-institutional play.
I just don't think P.G. followed what was at play and what he did, in relation to transforming American life. When the consumption consumes...so many ways to experience...a way of preoccupying if you will...a happening...an understanding...when there is a needed play of psychology...among a layered past....and lady liberty is the new kid on the block...chop, chop....the convenience of take out...Happy Birthday Mr. President...Emerald City Lights gets it...but sadly the blood trail will not. It's dead flesh in a barrel, of which the barrel takes a variety of forms, even if lively. Pop, pop...pow, pow... What else would need to be said of that? The fingers have it, like a widow maker out of a lunch bag....food for thought?...like espresso macchiato.
Tick Tock, Tick Tock, Tick Tock....throttle up...bottle up...serving it up yourself...fast car plan...pick a lane...any lane...this light is for you...the array of colors...So many options to relate to...we are building a brands and we are reworking the way in which we relate...the finger has it...it's right there. E.T. Entertainment Tonight phone home...
mmm....bagged up...smells so good...smells like baby back ribs...Is that what's on the menu?
So it's that hand off to a newer site...Folk Art...I'm not sure if I'd write on that one...it's likely just, presentation, coupled with maybe memories, or if there isn't a memory, maybe a quick background...not really sure...I could run interplay like this...but it's the psychology at play...then it's back to emphasizing that power play among cconscious spaces...it misses the relation with what I do with art...so... Piggly Wiggly for now...Barreling...of course, when it's this kind of interplay...out of the bag...
When the informatic layer pulls everything together as everything falls apart...it's a consistent behavior...no surprises for those who hold the proper rigor in relation to me, which means, we were running through similar halls of learning...or in the dive bars or hip hop nights/whatever the hell those nights were...running experimental flows like Captain Beefheart on that off the UFO prototype plan...Meaning injecting something with creativity and interplay...holding foundation like an orbital being, rather than a headstone tipped over...Kind of like cow tipping...only headstones...somebody gets it...like pigs out of a 9mm barrel...flying pigs happen all the time...you didn't know? It's electric Iggy Wiggy Wiggy Wiggy Wiggy...Oh, that lightning. Come and ride it today...It's not a lightning purse, it's a satchel...book worms penetrate potato heads...pulled out of the dirt, dolled up...fats, salts, seasonings, cooled to temp, spread out, sandwiched...all is well that ends well...
It does end, among that...flowing...there's that swirling type of flow...and then that flow that's like Alka-Seltzer without the fizz....plop plop...smooth like a belly buster...coke without the bubbles...syrupy sweet nothing infecting everything...maybe it will come once you die...when it's all still looking alive...wait for it...universal by the hour play...she's still on that death fold plan...
Any which way baby...H.E.L.P. Beatles rolling up like Beetle Juice...Beetle Truce...Beetle Spruce....all over that red rose...ringing around...pockets full...posie plans....black gold...Texas T...Ya'll come back now you hear...or is it, you here...The Beverly Hill-Grillies...she's been skewered...A-men...kill it like Rin Tin Tin...It will end...screenplay on any given day...it will end...
The End...will send...only to begin again...my friend...opening doors...like hellraiser on Broadway...SCATS...solve and resolve...clean the stage...rinse and reheat...WEST-TURNS galore...FRONT-TIERS...PECK...INGERS...Ordering...Pointing the way...like scarecrow giving directions...in the end...like a kitty woo woo sah flow on a ho...like a virgin airliner chilling on the killing moon....the ongoing end will end....
To The End!
Next up...new site for art..subconscious spaces...different from power packing in consciousville...
