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you make pigment from boiled-down rotten vegetable juice, mix it with soap flakes, cornstarch, and molasses, and paint it on a canvas. the cows create the gesture.


the row of bales causes a disruption in the grazing pattern that makes the drawing evident for years.



it's a white pedestal in the middle of nowhere. you put trash on it and see how it may work as art.


it's a shadow play done with a projection of a silhouette and a live actor. the gun adds drama, doesn't every narrative use them? no one gets hurt because only one person is real.


they're pretty sure that this fox really knew god. it's getting encased in cement to preserve its basic form.


somebody sends these heat-seeking radio-controlled gyro-copter cameras to watch the blotchy blobbers. they come out of nowhere and immediately start streaming their clothing-optional performance lifestyle to youtube. sometimes enough is enough and you need to take these things out with a handgun.


they're fiberglassing over a 1949 nash to make a pigmobile. it will be steered via snoutcam.


this person is doing a super-bad copy of a bill viola piece. of course it has the potential to outdo the original, if only because no bad fashion decisions were made.


this is artist is absolutely sincere. this art is about experience, not form. the painting will create a nostalgia for this moment, a small slice of time and space where true beauty could exist. but ultimately, such sentimentality will do itself in.


this is the start of a movement that will encourage people to share. everything. always. altruistic anarchy.


the blotchy blobbers are having their weekly clothing-optional karaoke drag show. they can really make a belt or a balloon work. they're reconstructing gender, love, sex, reproduction. they know that they will have the least environmental impact if they refrain from reproducing. if everybody could, our planet could be given back and the wild creatures could undo the human era.


these folks have broken away from the compound to escape the oppression of capital. property taxes and personal identities have made them feel like manipulated pawns of the system. now they just drive their vintage bus with the potted tree to some remote public land they can squat on.


amongst the poplars, they created a personal portal for s. to pass in and out of our universe.


the person making the video knows, that in time, this moment will seem extraordinary. in the present, it's about impending bodily needs and getting the camera to work.


this person is doing a survey of nature as it is identified by signage. they know very well, however, that the only way we really experience nature is when we masticate and digest it.


this is a painting with a black tar ground, a silver tar sky and a gradation in the center of cadmiun orange and quinacridone red oil paint.


this person knows that the greatest artwork there will ever be is a baby-doll on a hay fork, but that does nothing but create questions. do you keep making them until you make the perfect one, or is it the multiples that are effective? do you move on to barbie work? do you make only one and play chess? do you try to forget about it and get a job at the mall?


the beauty of the prairie burn pricked. the painting would be a real simulacrumby. but art can imitate life.


they're re-doing their H from the frame up. they want to reclaim the antique tractor hobby from old guys who wear too many clothes.