Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Some Guy Sitting There in the Dark Watching Porn on His Computer


Some guy sitting there in the dark watching porn on his computer because he
got excited by the image of a tennis player that he came across online by
accident when he was looking for websites about camera accessories to
help with his generation-Y son's E-business who quit
high school
when he was a sophomore and got rich selling digital
equipment accessories at home online but had to
leave early today to go give his girlfriend
a house that he got her for
her B-day on his way to
meet his friends
to go get
wasted

Monday, September 19, 2011

Witless Grace

Some woman with a blank look that doesn’t seem to register anything at all, no external input and no generative power from within, and who is very often mistakenly attributed with the property of grace, roughly in the sense of the word as it is so commonly misused today, for the wrong people, solely because her profound witlessness, of which the blank look is just an external manifestation, actually masks one of its own effects, namely lack of individuality, because the witlessness is so extensive that even rudimentary elements necessary for developing analogy and recognition skills can’t begin to develop, which by nature precludes a susceptibility to peer pressure, so that, unlike the rest of us non-individuals in this generation who, even against our egotistical insistence on seeing our lifestyles as, if not models, then affirmations of an exemplary world, would have to admit in honesty that we constantly annoy each other with our inbred recycling of the same lifestyle, tastes, acts, pastimes, beliefs, etc, all nothing more than perceptions that help us think we’re not under peer pressure to do “what is simply done”, but perceptions whose foundations cement so fast in people’s nearly defunct reasoning senses that they believe they will somehow be inferior or behind if they relax or let go, she, on the other hand, though still equally lacking in individuality, unintentionally mimics “what is simply done” in a serene cloud of primal instincts, without a hint of purpose or attitude, and appears as unaffected and socially non-self-incriminating as people when they reflexively begin to scratch indiscriminately once someone has mentioned that the mosquitoes are biting

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Woman Looking in Mirror in Hotel

Some woman looking in mirror in hotel room just before she starts to get dressed up to go give a speech to shareholders to try to get them to support some proposed tax cuts, and while unrelated lines of changing thoughts are simultaneously moving at different levels of consciousness in her head in the late-morning disorder that usually precedes a serious event set at an odd hour in the day, where focus & organization still haven’t adjusted to the unfamiliar schedule, one of her most conscious thought-lines is stuck in a loop reviewing some anticipated logistics concerning the lecture, space, & audience, based on her imagination of what it will look and feel like, since she hasn’t seen the room yet, while about 3 consciousness-levels down, a thought-line without a theme has been running through successive subjects without transitions, kind of quickly, one of whose 1st components concerns a difficult decision she and her husband just started discussing a few days ago about whether they should remodel their kitchen whose original basic design and details they said couldn’t have been more perfect except they really want a sink and counter in the middle that you can walk around on all 4 sides, and another concerns conflicting reports she’s heard during the past year or so about the health benefits/detriments of very frequent ramming, for both sexes, followed by about a half dozen other topics, before she ends up at a recurring notion that she kind of knows these tax cuts won’t hardly effect any of the shareholders except a few really rich ones who are paying her salary and won’t even be at the lecture today, and with a strong enough awareness that she could probably state it directly to herself, at least in her mind, if the lecture logistics-line weren’t running on so much power now, something like a belief is emerging from this notion and suggesting that if the world were fairer then there’s no way she’d want to do this kind of work, but as it is, someone else would do it if she didn’t, and anyway she’s fairly socially responsible in other respects and nothing would change if she acted otherwise, except that she wouldn’t make as much money, but at exactly the same time, on a much weaker consciousness line, with too faint a perception to be called ‘self confessing’, there’s a thought forming, branching down from the end of the pervious line, whose content contains a mixed and vague set of propositions that, if it could continue its structural development and ignore the noise from competing thoughts at other levels, might start to suggest that, based on her particular abilities, she’s actually pursuing the most direct path possible to a position & lifestyle with sufficient authority, critical-analysis activities, and dynamic public-interaction opportunities for drowning out a permenant and exaggerated self-consciousness she has about some of her own physical features, namely that her eyes are set too high, and a little too close together relative to the overall shape of her face

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Drawing of Artist Engulfed in a Mesh of Half-Heartedly Expressive Doodle-Work while Reading a Map

Drawing of a self-declared but not in fact asexual-minded artist engulfed in a mesh of half-heartedly expressive doodle-work while reading a map while he’s on a vacation alone because he needed to shake up his perspective on his existence as a creative person, because he turned 40 just after the turn of the millennium when the now mainstream notion that making art about yourself being in public with your art has in turn been stated in mainstream criticism, which signifies that this notion is already decades old and thus the artists that break this trend will be the best off, but since such predictable changes never come into full swing before the problems that they’re addressing become obsolete, he is stuck in between trying to further develop, on the one hand, in order to stay in the race, his cerebral, timely, and generationally-specific self- and cultural-referential ideas that often unfold into states which resembles projects, usually mediocre ones, that he can’t quite afford to refine well, yet still get the points across, and whose creation involves something that functions much like an ongoing job or career, in which case he risks squandering his ability to make what he is well aware of as being the “right choice,” a choice that will cause him to perhaps be smiled upon respectably in the end ; or, on the other hand, doing what he believes will be the right choice in the long run, which is to ride out the remainder of the “spectacle,” while trying to navigate the constant balance between internal primal urges, whim, talent, and a few other elements that make art something more than a career on the one hand, or an urge of instincts on the other, thereby risking sinking into oblivion while other artists crank out expensive projects, usually, but not always, based on buzz-concepts and timely issues that suck up the majority of the art-system’s attention, and even though artists are supposed to believe this attention is merely a side-benefit which, although full of earthly pleasures mostly in the categories of selfishness & vanity, can in any case be omitted from an art life if necessary, one could no more say “no” to this attention when offered than turn down a large inheritance from a widely disrespectable relative that would forever involve a rehearsed defensive tone on your part around those who know both you & the relative, yet would pay for an art studio, college tuition for your child, or the ability to view the income & insurance from your ft job as extremely valuable but not absolutely indispensable


Friday, September 16, 2011

Litho Print in Leafy Frame of a Fucker Sitting at a Family Reunion

Lithograph print in leafy frame of a fucker sitting at a family reunion where you can tell he’s less successful that most of the people there and listening to a relative through marriage telling things he learned from a book he just read about the U.S.’s early failures in the spying competition with the Soviets

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Memories

A fucker with dull senses and usually totally incapable of categorical or analogous thinking but who’s now going through an unprecedented moment where his instinctual and mental faculties all of a sudden recognized an abstract reality of a co-worker, from the combination of an expression and a momentary angle of the face, as a purely biological creature, made of nerves, teeth, a balance of body systems, reflexes, and survival instincts, and via a quick series of probably 5 or more free mental associations, succeeding too fast for a human to recognize and therefore too fast for me telling this story to name, so that transition to the following is unclear, he ends up at a revelation arrived at in steps which would normally be far above his reasoning ability, that -- memories necessarily presupposing experience -- unlike memories whose experiences are driven primarily by things or acts or facts external to him, to which he has access and over which he has some control, like, for example, when, due to the egotistical nature of the way people project into the unknown from only what they know, he imagines that a place he lived at, like a college town, or someone he knew 20 years ago, hasn’t changed and the same people still live there, or only he and not the person has changed, and, if they should meet again, he would need to fill that person in on what’s happened in the world during the last 20 years, then a visit to that place or meeting with that person is enough to dispel the delusion & the self-centered magic is gone immediately; and also unlike memories of an internal-experience nature, for example that of an emotion distilled from the mass of feelings that make up his being and its history, or the memory of his will power having withstood something difficult, to which, like the external-experience memories, he also has access, in this case because it has always been the same emotions, will power, etc, that have been at work in him, regardless of the different external factors presented to them at different times, there is, conversely, another type of memory, for which the interaction between external and internal modes of experience is the crucial property, where they mesh together inside the individual and dissolve there together with him to where they’re irretrievable, suggesting that these and maybe all memories are fully unreal and, -- this thought sequence suddenly reminding him of a mild night in bed in the summer on a farm during childhood where the breeze blew the curtains way in and he could hear locusts and crickets and the buzz from an electrical box hooked up on the pole of a yard light close outside the window screen and, beyond its short range of bluish white flood in the dead night hour, the red blinking lights from giant radio towers near the distant city creating imaginations of the future that combined in a tempting and comfortable way with the humid contentment which he felt enclosing him, -- he then realized, after a few seconds of trying, counter to the lucid level of reasoning he had just accomplished, to mentally reenact this memory again in order to regain or control it, that this experience as a whole can’t still be real because it contains a past reference to the future, always logically or naturally false, and that consequently the experience can never be accessed again, causing a pressure to swell up in his chest along with something like a shaft of wind being sucked through his throat and windpipe in both directions at the same time, somewhat resembling one of the effects of loss, and as he watches his co-worker leave the break room with his small container of quinoa he had just grabbed from the fridge, it's finally become perfectly clear to him that, even if he could go back to the same place in the same season, and if in theory the exact scene could be recreated down to the last detail, this experience, though he clearly understands it in all its features, and its memory’s sweetness is still biting him, is itself no longer real, and he can never share it or explain it, and never gain access to it again, not ever

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Some Guy Sitting There Listening to a Lecture

Some guy sitting there listening to a lecture about cultures that always had less consciousness about differences in the sexes, and something out the window’s making him think about one day a long time ago when he was walking in a warm windless rain to deliver some paperwork that was mostly just a formality related to a short comfortable transition time he was about to start where he had plenty of time to imagine how his future might turn out, and now he’s thinking that his role in social groups is pretty disappointing compared to how he imagined it would’ve turned out back then

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Some guy that usually dresses tacky

Some guy that usually dresses tacky who was born recently enough in history that he doesn't have reckless disregard for everything that happens outside of his immediate community, but long ago enough that he doesn't expect instant gratification for everything without earning it through a little bit of stress & sacrifice

Friday, September 9, 2011

Picture of Guy on Manhattan Rooftop

Picture from old book of guy not from the US sitting by plant on Manhattan rooftop that people see years later and think it looks romantic & distinctive, so much that they will even move to NY and get a place where they can sit on a roof with plants and smoke cigarettes & drink booze even if they have to give up their whole career or everything they own, because they aren’t wise enough to realize that those people in the books are special not cause they’re on a roof, but because they were famous writers or artists or politicians who were already recognized for what the did before they got their pictures taken on the roof, and also, even though you could read the books that these pictures are in and maybe figure it out, people still don’t wonder what the circumstances were that made the famous people move to NY, and the photos aren’t able to show whether those people were being bothered by bad memories, guilt, or even physical pain while they were sitting there

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Small Bouncy Athletic Girl

Small bouncy athletic girl with a T-shirt that doesn’t go all the way down to her waist where she & her boy friend came to a senior home to take his grandparents out for a ride, and she’s moving around all excited & directing everyone else with so much energy that her arms are hanging way apart from her sides the whole time while she’s telling the guys to sit in back & the grandmother to ride up front with her cause it’s something that young couples think is fun to do with older people, and after the others are in the car and she’s closed the doors for them she turns around & notices some people on a bench have been watching them, and it makes her stop moving while she’s looking at them and puff out a hard breath for a second before she turns to go around the car and get in on the driver’s side

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Leaving Home Tomorrow

Stained-glass portrait of some fucker who, by chance, after the scattering of his group due to impromptu and erratic drunken changes to their already aimless plans, is sitting together in a car at night drinking the last 6 beers with another fucker from the same group who, due to a typical pattern in interpersonal associations which often occurs between two people within larger groups, without resembling anything of his polar-opposite, nonetheless shares a lack of mutual social access with him so that they could normally never have a disagreement nor be outwardly friendly to each other, such that when they are forced into social interaction by chance it creates an irregular experience, usually memorable in itself in revealing a new and rare example to add to the commonly known ones of gaps between the perception and reality of human behavior, and in this case oddly embellished by the fact that this is the first-mentioned fucker’s last night before he leaves his town for good for the first time, an occasion that most people probably expect he will always closely associate with this concurrent social-combination anomaly, but, since memory doesn’t function according to the physical properties of time, external to the one doing the remembering, and is instead driven by, among other things, thematic concepts that are internal to the rememberer, frozen and vaguely-framed images or at the most extremely short clips containing logically inaccurate movement, his co-association of these 2 events, chronologically near in real time and similarly possessing a highly anomalous nature, but extremely unrelated in thematic terms, won’t occur until 25 years later when, incidentally, and causally unrelated but not completely irrelevant to the belated co-association, he will no longer possess his current world-experience level or his current emotional and physical state, according to which he is now buffered deep within the monotonous society of a powerful empire-like country and thus has never recognized much need for social self-criticism, so that anything different from his own experience has always reached him in filtered form, indirectly, without the full influence of the source, and whose ideas he has always viewed only relative to what he knows, which, unknown to him, is highly inaccurate based on overarching reality, so that he believes he is physically stronger and also visually sturdier than he really is, and also that his face is rugged-cut, and that what he knows and has experienced has some sort of centrality to the world or to reality, or is of a seminal nature, though, as is easily recognizable by the irregular shapes and folds when he wears a long-sleeved button-shirt with collar, he’s actually a skinny twerp, and, as he himself so often notices by looking in a mirror yet continues to forget each time within a few minutes, any ruggedness in expression is feigned and no one including himself could mistake in his features the predominance of a soft and hesitant nature, and, what he really doesn’t know now but will have figured out 25 years later by the time he recalls the temporal connection between the anomalous drinking-partner event and his last night in his hometown, which will surface due to wandering mind associations which will include a recollection that a few normally unmemorable, yet, relative to his underformed conceptions of the person, unpredictable, oddly-worded, and thus enduring phrases spoken that night by his incompatible drinking partner in the car were incidentally similar to something his sister said the next morning as he was saying goodbye and leaving the driveway, wandering mind associations caused by a laziness which he will employ to help him pass time on this 25-year-later day before a deadline so that, pass, fail, or accept mediocrity, the pressure and discomfort of having to think to identify and solve problems will be over with one way or another, a laziness that never fails him in this task because it has grown enormously in 25 years due to the continued lack of need for self-criticism mentioned above, which reminds me to return to the question of what he doesn’t know but will have figured out on the same day 25 years later as he re-connects these 2 anomalous memories, which is namely that he will then have needed, were it possible, to go back and re-do the next 10 years following tonight under a less presumptive and more urgent mindset if he will have wanted to lower his cluelessness to a level which would have at least allowed him, in a conduct that could have co-existed with his physical being and innate belief system, to recognize and distinguish irregular openings amid all-pervading habit, which seem strange but useless to a half-ass but, when combined with a decade or more of directed, self-critical, and rational intelligence and practice, can make the difference between dying an extraordinary or a peacefully anonymous yet personalized death, either one according to individual tendency or choice, or on the other hand, as will be the case with him in another 35 years from the point where he will realize too late that his cluelessness level ran too high for too long, or in other words, 25+35=60 years from now, a regretfully habitual and mundane passing from existence

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Detail on a 15 Year Old Photo of an Opening Reception for a Grad Student’s Sculpture Show

Close-up-level zoom-in detail on a 15 year old photo of an opening reception for a grad student’s sculpture show that picks up a guy in the background that always talks a long time about eastern philosophy when he drinks and he’s been talking with some other fucker now for a half hour even though the other fucker’s not interested, because, even though other fucker has complete immunity to the harmful relationship between perceptions of himself by others and widely recognized aspects of etiquette regarding alcohol, like time of day, type of event, or amount consumed, so immune that he can drink heavily when no one else is boozing at breakfast on a visit to his relatives if he feels like it or at an afternoon circus performance if the opportunity arises without any more of an apologetic or uncomfortable expression than that of a woman showing the majority of her jugs anywhere to anyone of any age under the condition that they are being revealed by the cut of a shirt or dress which is recognizable as being in fashion, for all of this immunity he is all the more sensitive and vulnerable to a superficially similar but fundamentally unrelated situation, namely that caused by the perception of himself by others as one who desecrates an event or insults someone by appearing to be present or interacting only for the purpose of getting alcohol, free or otherwise, so sensitive and vulnerable that it takes on a mild paranoia, something like that caused by some intoxicants, and that even at a grad student art opening, where transparent desire for alcohol and disregard for the event which offers it is more accurately called expected than commonplace, he still doesn’t have the nerve to drink anything without inventing pretexts for staying there by staking out potential conversations with others and, once begun, camping there until ended by someone other than himself, or until he no longer feels like drinking, the craving for which is stronger than his aversion to being a suspected freeloader for booze, and is causing him in the case of this photo-detail here to continue a conversation with philosophy guy which by now has drifted far from philosophy, mainly because of other fucker’s inability to maintain relevant replies or answers once an exchange moves from a greeting or info session to a conversation, and they’ve come to the topic of other fucker’s inhibitions about trying both to explain and avoid discussions of “what he does and doesn’t do as an artist” to relatives or opinionated non-artists, for which philosophy guy, though he needed to repeat the line 3 times with increasingly hypnotic penetrating gazes by interrupting other fucker’s “yeah, but…” -- “ok, if...” -- and “you’re right, maybe I’ll tell them…” is offering salve in the form of a magic 4-word sentence that is at once an encouragement, a disclaimer, a relief, and best of all for drinking other fucker, who is creative within guidelines and with prompting yet often uninventive with the total picture, a road to pure freedom: “JUST… SAY… I … CAN’T.”

Monday, September 5, 2011

Some Woman With Raised Up Eyelids & Wide Eyes


Some woman with raised up eyelids & wide eyes without meaning to and a tight thin mouth that make her look more intense than she really is & sometimes kind of stupid – and these features together w/ her skill at things that are undervalued socially, like driving well & doing the big kinds of tax forms yourself, at the expense of grooming her social & intellectual image, cause her to get caught in the middle by the 2 common arrogant & defensive types & despised by both of them: the conservative herd w/ the slight scowl & the side-to-side head-toggle w/ a touch of threat that assumes a claim to known tradition and hoards knowledge as something to be earned but not shared, and an intolerance to anyone that doesn’t love them ; and, the wannabe liberals with half-sedated eyes & an up-and-down argumentative affirmative head-toggle, and a slight smirk on one side of an arrogantly lax mouth that claims exclusive rights to useless marks of originality and says that I’ll never change my mind no matter what

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DESENHOS A-Z

Exhibited by Jeff Gabel in "Desenhos A-Z" at the Museu de Cidade

Saturday, September 3, 2011

TV Shopping

Guy not that young standing in part of electronics store where they have TVs all around a partially enclosed room and, having reached the part of the shopping process where the criteria coincide and mesh into an inseparable blob of decision-matter where they lose their distinctive qualities and can even become contradictory relative to each other when one tries to rank them according to relevance, in any case well beyond the point where he’s lost hope that it will be a one-dimensional “learn what exists, choose, buy” experience, his stress is swirling up, pulling along with it some grudges which are multiplying it, caused by those of his siblings and in-laws who had been the most vocal about the idea that his mother, having by chance a special milestone year, needs a special gift and it would be nice if they all got her a TV with some recent features like highest possible def., widest flattest screen, etc, even though he thinks she won’t even know the difference and all she wants to do is watch a relatively clear screen without a complicated menu, and the stress is on the verge of finding its outlet, which in this case would’ve amounted to him calling them a bunch of dickweed fuckers halfway out loud if a sharp quick shock hadn’t just punched through him in the form of a specific memory, or better a now unambiguous comprehension, socially incriminating to his confidence and self-respect, that the lies he has told about very personal experience or lack of experience, not by any means recent though far past his juvenile stage, are still real and not part of another earlier version of himself, were more frequent than he would normally attribute to a personality like his own, and used on people who should’ve expected him to be trusting or intimately forthcoming, a comprehension brought about through a very loose association with a TV ad that just now came on about a medicine that makes you have periods less often and shows fresh looking hot young women continually striding past the screen, replicated all around him because the TVs, except for a few that are showing a non-local Chiefs/Chargers game and one with a music-video show running a Wilson-Philips video at the moment, are all on the same channel, though the shock, barely having begun, has just now become much less densely concentrated because, quickly enough to be considered almost concurrent with the onset of the shock, a social-survival defense-instinct in him which works to preserve confidence and a belief in self-value has been released in the form of a meditation on a treatise which, though having first had to endure a process of being, if not really created, at least embellished, then reviewed, confirmed, and accepted by him, appears almost instantaneously and as if ready-made, a robust and solid treatise on the nature of and on comparisons of different types of liars about experience, in particular regarding his own type in favor of people that lie about owning things or having successfully handled certain types of systems, machines, or tasks, like up-to-date software, unconventional motor vehicles, or jobs involving the orchestration of multiple simultaneous functions and actions, experiences with almost no influence on his own dignity or vanity and which are commonly attributed to commanding natures, who, in a strange way, though this is not now being addressed by his innate defense-mechanism treatise, also tend to be the people who lie for the purpose of appearing more lucky than they really are, but far more importantly, unlike the personal-affairs liar and his type of lies, who, though often pathetic because of a an inherent juvenile weakness or intimidation or lack of self-confidence, can also be thought reasonable or practical, often having the effect of softening or altogether avoiding a conversation that it’s better not to have had, protecting a reputation from pointless though not necessarily undamaging criticism, and in any case usually harming, if anyone, only himself, the owning- and work-experience liar on the other hand represents insecurities of a more primal and grave nature, resulting from a fear that is a deep and intrinsic cowardice rather than a superficial timid reluctance, intimidated by popular competition in all its forms, from fashion to current-awareness to possession, breeding a laziness of wisdom which, when hidden, as is often the case with this character type, by an outward physical vitality, is one of the foundations of erratic judgment of personal satisfaction, leaving inner peace to the mercy of society and sometimes pure chance, and a twistedly simplified moral scheme, the final result of all of which is often a disastrous pattern of two-way mistrustful personal relationships and, not all that infrequently, a life of crime

Friday, September 2, 2011

Official Artist's Live Depiction of Scene from Damnation Process


Official artist’s live depiction of scene from damnation process of some fucking self-declared very serious Christian woman of the particularly American suburb or less likely the semi-rural type, despite facial traits suggesting a cultural or national origin which seems to me, along with an unskilled yet somewhat unconsciously individual quality in her dressing habits, to be highly contradictory to her social profile, though the former anomaly can very easily be attributed to the deceptive difficulty in defining social stereotypes based solely on physical features, especially facial ones, and the latter might be attributed to an erratic transitional style in the more well-off suburbs caused by their tendency to categorically distinguish their fashion-sense from that of lower-class burbs and rural areas, without the upper-burbs realizing that not only are they merely copying more progressive styles, they’re also doing it wrong because, as far as hierarchical, contextual, or decompositional reasoning, they’re inhumanly clueless and would’ve been better off staying behind the fashion-front like the less-affected lower-standing groups, combined with my own general and severe inability to intuitively discern elements or overall effects of fashion, especially regarding clothing, so that tendencies in dress habits might have shifted during the past 5 to 15 years across socio-cultural boundaries to the extent that I would need to spend another decade of childhood continually immersed in popular media before I could rely on any multi-aspect social stereotype models of my own again, and she’s getting damned because, being the kind of very serious Christian whose religion is actually a hatred of anything that is intentionally different from her own habits rather than a real religion, and whose inability to critically but also objectively assess anything whatsoever, including the reason one might continue a religious habit, or the consistency of such a habit relative to the original or even evolved affirmations of that religion, is hopelessly inseparable from instinct, too far from consciousness to be vulnerable to reason, she was instantaneously enlisted and never once flinched even for a second in believing that she was following faith by letting an unconvincingly self-declared Christian-serving, but really almost fully secular political party, along with a coalition of Christians defined by priorities both so narrow and so inconsistent relative to the Bible and to their own affirmations, yet at the same time so uniform relative to the enormous religious variation, unacknowledged in political contexts, across the coalition, that their rehearsed and disingenuous qualities are transparent to anyone who’s not an idiot, and also shameful enough to employ the secular party to help them attain their goals, talk her into harassing and trying to remove her church’s unnervingly conservative (to someone not like her), yet honest, a little more than halfway generous, and wholly unaffected pastor for trying to get rid of the giant-ass American flag from above the pulpit out of concern that his congregation, half of whom decided to hang the flag there, would be inadvertently and, for some, purposefully worshipping, counter to scripture and, in a sort of ironic twist, counter to conservative intolerance itself, a secular national flag alongside or instead of worshipping God the Father, the Holy Ghost, the Lord our Savior Jesus Christ, and the Holy Mother of human-fuckin-kind

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Small Slidable Plastic Tiles

Small slidable plastic tiles with pictures of more or less unhappy actual people who work in moderate- or lower-levels of the art-business industry printed on them and fitted into a square device as a grid with one tile-space left free so they can be moved around one at a time like those puzzles where you have to arrange the tiles into a sequence, except that here there is no discernible potential sequence, although you could create or imagine one, for example, assuming that you can tolerate the high subjectivity and the problems it causes when ranking things in numbers greater than 4 or 5, the tiles could be ordered according to degree of unhappiness, but that’s not the point, because it’s an artwork made by a self-declared yet in reality not at all asexually minded artist who, fully aware that this work here is a gimmick that consists of commonly-known and negative references to the art system mixed with concepts like “nostalgic toy/game” and “easily graspable mechanical apparatus and aesthetic scheme”, spends a large part of his time imagining how the essence of his main art, almost completely unrelated to the tile-puzzle, will and should someday be judged as the perfect combination of reference to particular modes possible in art (like writing, creation of form, humor, mental conception, personal use of media, juxtaposition)with the actual application of these modes, a combination magnified by his ability to maintain it across such a vast range of modes that someday a full article about him in Artforum or a write-up for his retrospective, which would include work from undergard school all the way up to an ongoing, at the present time yet unknown work, should close with the line: “From the sublime to the tactile to the conceptual to the real to the intuitive, he works purposefully yet instinctively up to the points where these and all other artistic properties reach a natural or historical equilibrium point, and stops there without temptation to cross that point, beyond which they would become aesthetic commodities and self-responsive building-blocks to an artwork rather than elements of art, and the result for the viewer is an introduction to new dimensions and the realignment of the fronts of beauty and expression.”