This is actually a sketch of Iris in her blue/purple striped bobble-hat from Germany - longer than she is - and her red coat, wearing white tights and black shoes ... when you're scribbling, the famous "dichotomy" between representation and abstraction becomes a semi-permeable membrane only obsessed on by artistic virgins who never pick up a crayon and other bachelor retards and bigots. By the way, the second image in this series is a portrait of my right foot in its sandal. Did you notice? Does this revelation diminish your eyeful of scribbled energy? "Thou shalt not represent"? Such rules - like all rules - are for people without the courage and maturity to accept social responsibility for their specific and unrepeatable actions. I think I began to see past the stuck-stucco of the bourgeois pseudo-avant front when a German punter at the Knitting Factory in 1991 complained to me that Billy Bang had stopped being "avantgarde" and was "only" playing the blues. Open your ears, miserable victim of high-culture consumerism: when Billy Bang or Freddie Hubbard or David Murray play R&B, they are freeer than Stockhausen, Boulez and Nono wrapped together in a navy-blue stocking. Likewise, if recognisable forms arise at the scribble fest, they must be entertained in full cartoonish splendour - with tottering, Baxandall-sized piles of bangers'n'mash. To expel them from the feast would bring in the grey non-smell of censorship and repression.
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