Farmgirl_dk’s photo essays are truly seminal works. They meld the grounded sensibility of early American agricultural pragmatism with a fluxus-like self-referential juxtaposition of the every day object as paradigm violating attack on our preconceived notions of art.
The “eggs” are small. The “eggs” are large. Which is it? Who are we to believe? Are we the egg? Is the artist representing her own reproductive power bursting forth from the “chicken” of her new found identity? Are they modes of creativity– some have “no shell” and are “laid right in the poop”. Is that how she sees her audience’s reception of her work? Are we, then, the “poop”? If so, I accept my fecal role willingly and welcome her thematic attempts at producing “a regular size egg with a normal shell on it” knowing her “eggs” will never be “normal”. God willing.
In homage to her (or is it ‘his’ or ‘their’ for what do we really know about this evasive artist or collective?) work, I submit this, my own pained scream in the night– some “vegetables” that I “picked” and “ate for dinner”. I leave it to the reader to tease out the complete meaning– but beware presumption.
ouch.
So yellow! So straight and long! So funny, or perhaps it’s just general insanity. You crack me up. You and Danni both crack me up. Very entertaining read.
Sorry, gotta lay off the post-workout acid.
Hmmm so if you believe that farmgirl may not be who she says she is then that would mean you may be calling some 52 year old man “Princess”
Clearly that photo is a postmodern cry for help. Should I call someone?
Pesto tip: dry off the wet washed basil in the salad spinner, or is that too obvious to be mentioned. I had a brief era of chopping and freezing pesto during the high season when it was cheap and plentiful at the Bay Area’s farmer’s markets. See you tomorrow. Love, Mom