Lee and I (the old formula over again) ventured once more to the abattoir amidst the skinned cows’ heads and cheerful slaughter men, because Lee’s latest piece (to be titled “Adam and Eve” and to be unveiled at a second year's exhibition) demands a cow’s cunt and bull’s equivalent which he will sew onto pillows:
“Could I have a cow’s genitals, please?”
“Only bulls have genitals, you prick. Is it the tits you want?”
I loitered in the fresh air waiting for Lee and at length he emerged with a Londis bag full of still steaming fat and bloody flesh, uterus n’ all. Such tasks are becoming routine. He wants to create shock and confusion by being brutal and inconsistent, and a recent tutorial of his began the trend, although by all accounts his shifting position and constant U-turns came across less as brutal inconsistency and more as simple defeatism.
His next scheme is to create a disgusting room, à la Texas Chainsaw Massacre, complete with bloodied walls and, instead of a door, a curtain of human teeth.
We at Westdorgan Road view the goings-on at the Art College with cynicism, and I think it does Lee good to be with us, otherwise he’s in danger of getting sucked in by the incessant pseudery, posing and bullshit that seems to be part and parcel of that College, and thereby losing all perspective. The trash which passes as ‘art’ in that place is incredible, and there doesn’t seem to be any critical faculty operating in either tutors or students. Any old rubbish is OK so long as it’s accompanied by an appropriate piece of self-justifying bullshit. No one is willing to be thorough or self-critical.
At least I just joined the record library, which is something I suppose. I took out Stravinky's The Soldier’s Tale and Charles Ives' Pictures of New England and Symphony No. 2.
The vocabulary is lacking.
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