Monday 2 February 2009


here's yr artist statement right heeyah...

Wallace B. Wallace III
it is my goal as an atlanta artist to not only be the most hip in tone and talent, but to also be the most erudite socialite respectable cat of them all. i fully embrace the fact that atlanta has a big something. this something is various sects of artists, either using ...what? their clothes or their skin to march around town as if a cameras on them? nobody is watching, folks. in fact, look. look at old bennet street.remember bennet street? with its demon lurking in the far back called what.... PC??know wonder their spin off is a bunch of circus clowns. soulless technic grinders.fucking barf. look in even feelin a little betrayed by my beloved solomon projects. i have done a double head shake and looked again.they still got a sorta IT, yes yes. eggtooth waves his hand and looks away. you can stay....i GUESS.
look at decatur.HOW CUTESIE. HOw dead.ITS A SMILE AND A HANDFUL OF FECES SMEARED IN MY FACE.a big yellow daisy on a piece of wood.and i eat it.daily. why? cuz i aint got shite either. but im bettin some young cocky smart little bastard out there us.where are you? bet it'll have something to do with technology when it happens.but anyways....
look in any magazine with reviews of our art...fucking golden piss.but hey, life gives you make lemonade. hey chris w....hows it goin? evr gonna get any more artists to show?look at ..well... anywhere? fuckers. its ourselves we gotta embrace. god damn it. whose the king cat we all respect, is there anyone from atlanta That we can ALL unanimously say has done IT? is it kojo griffin? naaah. is it some artist from the west end hard core mf'er you. is it some buckhead cockhole covering photos of tigers in tar? how bout some acrylic portraits of famous people and some empasto flowers. jesus somebody save me!..or some big glossy photographs, hey atlanta ..lets celebrate photography? WHAT? WHO? scramble for yr big opportunity photographers..ooh boy! whose watchin?hey angela! hey sara! wow! can i be you! where ya gonna be a year from now? FAMOUS?naaah. opening a fastfood franchise with yr boyfriend?is it some yo boy photoshop wanna be graffiti street cred
cracker asshole poppin off from "da hood" im dirty, yo look at me. whatever. yr dead. yr stillborn. yr a salesMAN. you are THE MAN.battle with monsters. nope.THANKS TRY AGAIN. how bout east side? i dont see shit. am i just ignorant? somebody PLEASE call me out. fucking cowards. fuck all of you. please. tell me. whose the man? whose doing it? jerry...shit, man. change yr name to cullumberg,as in clement, leo, all them ya know....MAYBE THAT WILL HELP maybe you can help us create our myth, poor galleries, its not yr faults. POOR POOR GALLERIES.oooh i know it was the plane crash in orly, thats the problem.... i pity yr position.poor galleries. with yr plastered on expressions. hold it tight. oh i know, yr happy yr doing it for the LOVE right? and yr fucking shelves of knick knacks next to something you STILL wanna call ART? do us a favor . yr NOT A GALLERY. yr a STORE. so close yr doors, you perpetuate the problem. OKAY??? but sorry.EXCUSE ME. its
still these fucking shitty artists.churning out dead uninspired shite.just wanting to sell, got it backwards. too scared too actually stop and painfully saturate(THATS ME.but im stuck, im a liar.. a phony with a keyboard),
you technic creeps, just rather watch what comes out their blessed little fingertips and say,my oh my look at me! LOOK AT MY HONED SKILL! turn yr soul back on if you ever had one.THINK. oh but no...Lets us make some slides, send these to be framed, mitch!, these will somebody. fuck it. look theres my name in PRINT. im an artist. look at my review in the ajc. oooh aaah. YR NOTHING NUH THING. NUHTHING NUHTHING..

SIGH. i could say its just the end, its the times. THE WORLD IS FUCKED. right? or im just not deep or smart or knowledgable enough to see IT happening..but i cry bullshit. bullshit bullshit bullshit. its the artists.oh look im concerned about current issue!, natural disasters, the media, the president..NOOOO. YOU JUST DONT HAVE AN ORIGINAL THOUGHT IN ONE SCATCH OF YR BEING.what exactly is "an original thought" anyways? SHOW ME. please.
we're oh bliv eee us. to us. to ourselves. IF its all a fucking hyPe machine, fuck it, lets create the myth then.lets build a functioning hype machine for ATL. JEEEZUZ. THIS MEANS IT HAS TO BE BUILT RIGHT THE FUCK ON TOP OF ALL THE OTHER DEAD SHITE.lets live a lie..fuck it. its better than this transparent lie of a lie.cant even fake it, can we? that's sad. we're like the watered down version muzak copy of a hit song that no one will even acknowledge is happening, cuz its embarrassing and RUDE, good god, dont be RUDE!
lets pick an artist. how bout a ,oh ..i know..a POET. YEAH. lets use a poet. ATLANTA'S PREMIER ARTIST IS A POET, says the big booming voice. christ. SAVE US ALL.
look here's the deal, kids. i liked a recently read quote. you dont go to a restaurant to order a meal cuz you wanna have a shit. okay. i admit, thats sorta me.but its not. god damn it. this is just an internet list serve im typing clickity click, right? show us the money, right?shut up already. well, yr reading it. shut me down. tell me im wrong. PLEASE. well its a judgment call im making., YOU can tell ME when someone is doing it. fuck. situation is hopeleslly fucked. cant ask yr kitty kat painters and yr quasi impressionist red smear trees in a beige sunset to stop showing in atl, now can i? something always means soomething to somebody! aint dat sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet! WHO AM I TO JUDGE WHETHER SOMEONE IS HONEST? like, oliver stone honest...ya know.
muchless.... can i waltz over to the non-profiteers and start saying whats what...good god, ive no clue. my hats off to you. i admit, id have no clue how to do what you do.
look at me dig a hole. pardon me. im clueless. nevermind. as you were,people.
see you at yr next opening!
with a little honesty and moment of clarity, forever more and repititiously you will here the cries"BULLSHIT!" at openings...why? who am i to judge? how can i explain it? with what words do i defend this positioN?. the same ones you do. you have no reason, no foundation..not truly. seriously....who does?you presume when you walk out the door with yr dead baby, SOOOO...SO DO I.
where does it come from? lets have a little solidarity. aint that the irony of this spit i spit from a fucking keyboard. who am i to judge? here it echo across our pretty little city horizon line. pretty trees. pretty south. pretty ignored.

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