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.