~bedpan3

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If you follow the link, you'll see some guy's blog on Stuckism in which he basically lumps the entirety of the group together as a bunch of amateurish hacks, then proceeds to rub some salt in by saying that Stuckists as a whole are misogynistic. Lets break it down by saying that this Rupert Mallin fellow thinks of the Stuckists as the scribbles of jizz-spewing cock done in magic marker in the bathroom stall at the Tate Modern.

At first, I was sort've like, "Well, I guess he doesn't like Stuckists!" and was just about to google it all away, when I glanced at the comment by Charles Thompson (founder of Stuckism), who then placed blame on me and several (mostly female) artists within the movement by saying we were the "biggest culprits" of being "sexist and misogynistic".

You know, it makes me laugh right out loud that because I paint naked women I am accused of hating my own sex. Anyone who has eyes can see most of my "pin up" paintings have subjects that are less than overtly sexually attractive. Most of them were painted when I lived in Reno, Nevada as a response to the disgusting way women were pimped out in the center of an extremely male-dominated and right wing cowboy culture. The only legal brothels in the country exist in Nevada, the most famous of which, "The Bunny Ranch" is about 20 minutes from there. People tell me that my pin ups are actually hard to look at, and some people have told me that they've become physically uncomfortable looking at them. That was the whole idea.

Anyway, I'm done explaining my inspirations now. And I will continue to paint exploited women, exploited men, chicken ladies, and cocks spewing jizz on bathroom stalls in magic marker just like I did before.

Apr 18 2008 11:06 AM
Electronic correspondence from Gary Farrelly, Irish expat living currently in Paris, France:

WHITETRASH AND DEFASTENIST TRANSATLANTIC ALLIANCE + KUNSTBOURSE

Defastenist artist Gary Farrelly and white-trash artist Peggy Clydesdale have commenced their trans-Atlantic obsessive art discourse via the postal system. Farrelly and Clydesdale (who is in the process of obtaining citizenship of the Kunstrepublikobsessive) commenced their aesthetic dialog several weeks ago using a network of high-powered computer servers known as the 'internet'. The 'online' conversation that ensued culminated in a rhetorical letter brimming with propaganda, bureaucracy, rhetoric and homoerotic imagery being sent to Clydesdale's headquarters in Reno. This was the first tangible manifestation of their mutual obsessive interest (MOI). Today the atelier of Gary Farrelly/ The embassy of Der Kunstrepublikobsessive in Paris are delighted to confirm that a reply has been received. An official statement from the Kunstbureau at 44 Rue Lepic said these historic words

"Today I received a phallic plastic tube containing several postcards, a handwritten message, an example of a white trash artwork and a piece of erotic jewellery. This is significant in that it commences a process towards the transatlantic triumph of Defastenism and obsessive art. I shall be replying emphatically to the phallic tube in due course and will be presenting the object to my Defastenist comrades in Dublin this coming May. I truly believe that this will be the start of a wonderful collaboration with lasting cultural consequences."

KUNSTBOURSE

PRODUCTION 1300 +120
OBSESSION 615 +15
FINANCES 510 +10
WELL-BEING 800 +46

-3225-

UNDISCLOSED VENTURES 1030 +100
ASSOCIATED VENTURES 300 +47
SPECULATED VENTURES 1115 +100

-2445-

I took my dog out the other day at 2 am and it had snowed all night. Soggy billows of white batting lay in all directions, untouched. I slid through it, hopped through it, walked through it - with each step an enjoyable interlude of pressure and temperature underfoot. The air in this place, this nowhere place, is cleaner than usual in he winter when the ground is frozen and must stop it's cycles of decay and growth. Each breath in means five lungs full of supercharged premium O2, as if someone was filming a commercial for spearmint gum or York peppermint patties and I was the star. The sky above was a crispy navy, like the pissed off end of mood ring; gleaming shards of distant starligt pierced my cones and rods like 24 gauge needles. The oaks and maples held onto armfuls of the sky's bounty like greedy children.

It's odd how when you are at your loneliest, you can only then see the minuscule things that compose simple beauty and happiness. If I believed in a god, if only I had that gorgeous illusion - now would be the time I would think He was trying to comfort me in some way.

check these guys out. i like how they roll

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He is a magnificent hulking mass of man; the pride of the chromosome y. When he holds me, he nearly knocks the wind out because he dosn't realize his strength. In another time and place he would've been able to plow a field without the aid of a beast, or rip an opponent's head off with the business end of a mace.

I want to climb him like an oak tree.