A PERFECT (FOUR) DAYS

Thank you everyone, for such a lovely long weekend of birthdays. Two brilliant brunches, the best party of all time, great music, a wonderful studio/rooftop space, and three sneaky girls who bought me dinner and drinks last night. Thanks to you all, and my family who never forgets me despite the distance.  And with me on the celebration of this double-deuce birthday is the song my high school music teacher would sing, which went something like this:

Happy birthday (whooooooooo)

Happy Birthday (whooooooooo)

Pain and misery and despair,

People dying everywhere,

Happy birthday (whooooooooo)

ONE YEAR CLOSER TO DEATH....

I still find this macabre chant to be thrilling. I found this little story on my all-time favourite art blog, Who Killed Bambi? and thought it is too pure to not be shared:

The Twin Fawns, by Peregrine Honig, have a sweet story:

“I came upon twin fawns in the display case of a mom and pop toy and science store in Kansas City, Missouri. It took me two years to win the trust of the shop owner and save the money to buy them. A taxidermist spotted a dead deer by the side of the road. He stopped to properly dispose of the body and realized she was pregnant. He opened her and found near full-term twin fawns, he removed and preserved them.  Deer rarely have twins and the taxidermist retained the uterine gesture of their bodies. I built them a vitrine with a light blue base. Their prematurity exaggerates the delicacy of an incredibly sweet thing. The points of their hooves, the length of their lashes, the spots of their hides, nose to small in an ur-cartoonish realism … Viewers’ eyes trick them into believing the fawns are breathing. The tragedy of beauty is its transience.  The twins live forever in their own demise... They have been muses since I first saw them. We dress death in lilies and bronze the names of our dead sons on walls. We erect altars of toys and hold candlelight vigils to express hope. My twin fawns sleep endlessly on their baby blue block in my studio. The twins never opened their eyes yet their wondrous fatality evokes an acceptable alternative to death.”