I'm a corn-fed girl, and by corn-fed I mean drag queen fed. Around age eight I was introduced to the world of John Waters; I must have been about 6 when my mom showed me Rocky Horror Picture Show and told me that all men wore high heels in the 70's-- it was just the thing. My mom would talk about 'typical girls' in a disparaging tone, if others girl did it, it was fucking lame. So, in some ways, I access my own feminine side through female performers...I guess all gender norms are mitigated through the white patriarch, so fucking whatever anyhow.
Recently, I decided I was gonna take this shit on the road, start performing out as Orris Butter and it'd be awesome. I made this video in January, I'm gonna post it here.
The plan is to perform live, I'm also working on a photo project with Lotta Studio that explores the gender juncture, but that has less to do with the video below. So, give it a watch: Is it that bad? Is it uneventful? Is it so good it's rendering people speechless? If you've got criticism or pointers, please let me know. If they're really scathing, please private message them, because my mother reads this and I'd hate for her opinions to be validated.
More details on Orris Butter soon, btw.
Also, I dedicate this song to a special someone.
I'm very behind. These days the bulk of my energy goes toward warding off the antagonism of meanie 10 year olds. Here are a couple GIFs I made back in November that are now lenticular prints.
Just saw the new documentary about Divine: life changing. Not only was she talented and audacious, but she had a good heart. Truly humbling, god bless her. Check it out here: http://www.divinemovie.com/
Also, I had my first solo art show recently. It's up until December 4th at Lipgloss Crisis, 756 Chapel Street New Haven, CT. More about that another time. Made some very cool new prints for the show, will post photos and videos and have them in the shop soon.
Editioned lenticular prints by me make great holiday gifts, plus you're supporting an artist so it's like that catalogue Heifer where you buy people the gift of an animal that's in turn given to someone in need, but in this case, while you still get to end (my) hunger, you actually get to keep the animal. By animal, I mean my art. If you were planning on buying something from Heifer though, I don't want to dissuade you. It's a good deal. I'll survive; I have an extra kidney.
For Glenn the Divine:
I grew up in Hollywood, couple blocks north of the pink sidewalks with star shaped placards for mostly a bunch of people no one remembers. Yet still, it drew tourists, crackheads, homeless teenagers and prostitutes of ambiguous gender orientation from all corners of the globe. Walking to the bus stop, I had to navigate throngs of people delighted to see Jimi Hendrix, Fred Estaire or Red Skelton's name in bronze, embedded in a pink sidewalk.
People would get really excited, as if they were seeing 'whomever' themselves. They'd take photos, make crayon rubbings, call home, leave flowers. It was like a pink and gold cemetery, lined with 24 hour tattoo, wizardofoz/elvis/marylinmonroe, exotic dancewear concession stands. The good old days, that was back in my day 10 years ago. It doesn't look like that anymore, thank you Disney for your thorough gentrification efforts.
Back then I hid my backpack under my jacket and appropriated a limp so that I'd be noticed as a potentially violent hunchback and people would drop their crayon rubbings and clear a path. This also helped assert my position as even more frightening than the people with large bits of pointy pottery implanted in their skin. You know you're tough when Constructs of Ritual Evolution looking people clear a path for you.
My upbringing might also explain some unusual college behavior: high on...'life' (I'm a grade school teacher now, you see), I'd paint on a mustache and wave my fists at a panel in the sky of dead great minds: Nietzsche, Van Gogh, DaVinci, Foucault, Warhol, Gandhi, Jesus, Duchamp, Sly Stone (even though he's still kinda around). 'Let me into your goddamn club,' I'd say. This was no doubt some obsession with fame carried on from the land of my childhood, maybe a touch of narcissism and gender confusion as well.
Speaking of gender confusion, very briefly, I dropped the ball on exploring ideas about gender a couple posts back with the drawings of supermodels and drag queens. About half a year ago I decided I wanted to try being a girl. So, I bought pink nail polish, took ballet lessons and decorated my wall with pictures of pink fluffy poodles. I was not being ironic, this was quite in earnest. Only looking back does it feel strange. I'm still kind into it. Any similar experiences? More recently I've started looking at the female identity as it relates to the symbol Yin: cold, calm dark, wet, mysterious. Can talk about that another time.
Anyhow, yeah so I decided to get back to my roots and pay homage to some famous people. It seems to be the thing to do now and forever. Maybe because it associates their Brand with my Brand, or because it'll make them more likely to visit me in a dream. Or because it's what people are most likely to buy...people love portraits of famous people (these are all for sale!).
I wish I had more to say about the cult of celebrity, but currently I'm pretty preoccupied with the people I actually know. Luckily there are many books by distinguished academics and Lady Gaga albums about the cult of celebrity so you don't have to take my word for it anyhow.
ALSO, I now have a shop. Please check it out and consider buying a piece, there are only a couple of each left. And if you want any of these, message my with a price offer and we'll go from there.