In a way, we’ve been here before.
But is context really everything?
Does intent mean nothing to meaning?
Is shit a statement? No matter how you look at it?
Well. I suspect so.
I noticed, the German’s have strange toilets. There’s a dish that the shit falls into, rather than heading straight for the water. It lays on this display level, upon it’s little flattering pedestal, waiting to be perused and admired.
The flush, when it comes, scoops it up and it slides down into the infinite depths of plumbing.
But until then, you’ve got quite the art gallery going on.
This was the same country that I ended up spending twenty minutes in the tankstelle toilet enjoying the ambient electro house and the ehtnically diverse welcoming announcements. There’s a specific pleasure in taking time to do business whilst being reassured by a German woman speaking English with an oddly Japanese accent.
That sounded more like a fetish than I’d hoped.
So do we flush away treasured possessions daily?
Am I just talking a load of shit here?
Alas, I suspect I can’t reach the serendipitous open mindedness of a well motivated bowel movement. Everything I type is ruined by thoughts and analysis before it even reaches my fingertips.
Maybe my shit is pure. Unadulterated. An actual expression of something real – even if it is just what I’ve eaten over the last few days, mixed with the bacterial make up of my digestive tract.
At least it’s an approximate measure of my current level of health.
Is writer’s block roughly the same thing as constipation? And isn’t diarrhoea actually the more threatening problem, creatively speaking?
One is more of an inward pain, a constant steady suffering, eased by high fibre. The other puts trousers and the world around at constant risk.
Neither is pleasant.
And one apparently puts you off target.
art from pissing or crapping, reality transformed into art or art into reality, idea, theory, practice, it’s all the same.
And he’s got a point, even if he was the kind of person who gets reviews like: ‘people like you used to be burned in public’.
If Otto Muehle can make art out of deviance, then so can we all. And perhaps we don’t even need the audience.
Admire what you produce, take time to think what you may be saying. Your shit may not be eloquent, but there’s a good chance it knows something you don’t.
An ignored perspective.
And if you’re really lucky, maybe you’ll see Jesus’ face in it.
Shit comes out, shit goes away.
Shit stinks. Archetypal foulness. As soon as anything smells bad, we’re reminded of shit.
A universal symbol of something.
I don’t know. But I suspect shit’s worth a further look.
Have a good day’s sculpting.
Put your heart in it.
Illustration by Lucy.