Monday, February 15, 2010

Shotgun Art

At my uncle's ranch a couple weeks ago, I had the opportunity to shoot a shotgun for the first time.  Clay pigeons were all we shot at. And being the Berkeley native that I am, I saved the shotgun shells and made an art piece with them.  It's in the western gun & flower aesthetic and is titled "Shotgun Wedding Cake."

An Open Letter to Pat Robertson In Response to His Recent Comments About Haiti

Draft 1
Go Fuck Yourself, you insensitive, cold-hearted, son of a bitch.
Excuse me.

Draft 2
Dear Sir,
Please go shoot yourself in the face and roll around on the ground in the middle of a salt factory.
Damn, I’ll try again.

Draft 3
Dear Mr. Robertson,
Before opening your mouth and making a ridiculous inhumane claim that the earthquake in Haiti was their punishment for making a deal with the devil, please first admonish yourself for the ridiculous claim that you are a decent, caring man of faith.
And Fuck You.

Draft 4
If you insist on ranting like a deranged lunatic then, please at least have the decency to do it on a street corner.

Draft 5
One year before the earthquake.
At 10 pm in a rental car outside of the hotel in Palo Alto we sat.
Me, my older co-worker, and a student just months younger than me, just months returned from a trip to Haiti.

He had been working with Partners in Health, documenting people’s health conditions. A well meaning, well mannered, well groomed guy who watched malnutrition reshape infant bodies and then returned to his old life, but nothing seemed the same.
He sat in the back seat seeking counsel from my co-worker who had dedicated his life to his community,

I looked back at him and his strained expression, his mind buckling, bending, and twisting back over itself, trying to make sense of a world with good people that would let
American wealth and Haitian poverty coexist.
One year before the earthquake.