Tagged: artist

Hand-Drawn and Pale-Colored

  • by jendrawn and pale
  • clay alien bust
  • that’s gotta come first
  • made my teeth sweat
  • leg had healed so well

Hand-drawn and pale-colored stars decorate the clay alien bust that is the centerpiece of the exhibit. Hieronymus Warhol describes the sculpting process like this: “Inspiration — that’s gotta come first, before the clay is ever touched. I had this idea and it was so good it made my teeth sweat, or maybe it was the pain medicine that made ’em sweat. My wife Fiona told me I should stop taking the medicine once my leg had healed so well, but I didn’t listen to her. And it’s a good thing I didn’t.”

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The Aesthetic Accomplished by the Artist

  • by jeninsecure escapist
  • certain foundation of misery
  • witches who steal penises
  • aesthetic

“The aesthetic accomplished by the artist is a certain foundation of misery seen through the eyes of an insecure escapist,” Desmond wrote, “but why this piece is called ‘Witches Who Steal Penises‘ is beyond me.”

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Hieronymus Warhol Wandered the Arid Australian Outback

  • by jenonly this wasn’t a dolphin or a lion
  • a certain rock
  • It’s the fever
  • the sparkling synapses
  • tiny bubbles from his angelic lips

Hieronymus Warhol wandered the arid Australian outback in search of his spirit guide for three days before discovering a certain rock that spoke to him. By that time Hieronymus was naked, hungry, sunburnt, and severely dehydrated. The sparkling synapses in his overtaxed mind misfired repeatedly as the rock, the beautiful gray rock, told him where to find his spirit guide.

Hieronymus had been expecting a grand and noble creature to guide him on his quest, only this wasn’t a dolphin or a lion. It was Donald Trump.

It’s the fever, Hieronymus thought as he gazed upon Donald Trump spewing tiny bubbles from his angelic lips.

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Have You Ever Heard of Hieronymus Warhol?

  • by jensluggish and contented
  • didn’t have bathtubs
  • He died in 1970
  • tooth and toenail
  • I’m vain and I’m lazy
  • put him at a cobbler’s bench

Have you ever heard of Hieronymus Warhol? He died in 1970, sluggish and contented, in a poverty-stricken neighborhood in Rio de Janeiro where the inhabitants were so poor they didn’t have bathtubs. Or so rumor has it.

What really happened in Rio was that Warhol ran afoul of a politician by making unwanted advances at the man’s wife. Warhol was famous for saying, “I’m vain and I’m lazy,” so the politico had him kidnapped and put him at a cobbler’s bench where he was forced to make the lady in question a pair of stiletto heels using only tooth and toenail for tools.

In later years Warhol called it one of the most grueling and sexually satisfying ordeals of his life.

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All the Artists

by jenThis week’s stichomancy prompts were pulled from the menu of a local watering hole. Our critique group used the bar as an emergency backup meeting location once when our regular haunt was unexpectedly closed. Lucky for us, the menu was full of interesting phrases, ripe for the picking.

  • artists, intellectuals, and merchants
  • cabana boy
  • Magic Hat #9
  • key lime pie never had it so good
  • the only truly authentic brand of Worcestershire

All the artists, intellectuals, and merchants in attendance could agree on only one thing: the hostess was serving the only truly authentic brand of Worcestershire sauce available on the island. The soiree quickly devolved into their petty arguments about every other subject, including which cabana boy was the most effeminate, and whether the Great Rudolfo, the island’s only truly authentic magician, was wearing Magic Hat #9 or #13, both of which were made of purple velvet.

In the midst of the cacophonous conversations, Reggie approached the buffet table and asked the docile manservant what the enchanting green dessert was. When he told her, she exclaimed, “Key lime pie? Never had it!”

“So good you’ll weep,” the manservant assured her.

Reggie took a slice for herself, and one for her studly lover Lazarus.

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During the Later Stages of the Elbows Installation

  • by jenat the bottom of the sea
  • Every skin-diver and shrimp fisherman
  • no sound disturbed his semiconsciousness
  • later stages of the Elbows installation
  • the speed of a middle-aged jogger
  • you won’t be sorry

During the later stages of the Elbows installation, Hieronymus Warhol’s drug addictions overtook him with the speed of a middle-aged jogger training for her first marathon in poorly fitted shoes, and he would often slip into a trance-like state while on the job-site.

Every skin-diver and shrimp fisherman from the nearby wharf was called upon to shout salty profanities, and fling rocks and shells found at the bottom of the sea in an attempt to rouse the great artist and compel him to complete his pipe-cleaner masterpiece, but no sound disturbed his semiconsciousness.

When eventually he came back to consensus reality of his own volition, he looked at the curator with bleary eyes and croaked, “You won’t be sorry.”

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Banquets at San Simeon

  1. k-avatarCharacter – tour guide at San Simeon
  2. Setting – backseat
  3. Object – wind sock
  4. Situation – lost love

Banquets at San Simeon aren’t generally part of the tour, but inevitably two or three groups come through the hall while it’s being set up. The visitors gawk at the linen-draped tables and mounds of meat, fruit, and pastries.

Today there’s an ice sculpture, which in and of itself isn’t terribly notable. However the sight of it stops Muriel so abruptly that three gawking tourists bump into her. The sculpture freezes Muriel as it melts, dripping on a pyramid of oranges.

It’s her own nude form, reclining on a bench. She knows it’s her the same way she knows the bench is not a settee but the backseat of a ’74 Impala. The artist’s style is unmistakable.

Ernst has been here. Might be here still. Muriel abandons her group, not caring if they become lost and must remain at San Simeon forever. She dashes to the veranda overlooking the helipad. The wind sock morosely turns, north, to northeast, and back, as if wordlessly saying, “too late.”

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Cerise Surveyed the Interior of the Zeppelin Gondola

  1. by jenCharacter – ghost of a bartender
  2. Setting – zeppelin
  3. Object – used condom
  4. Situation – performance art

Cerise surveyed the interior of the zeppelin gondola with some amusement. This was going to be her best installation yet.

Of course, the zeppelin itself symbolized the hopes and wishes of an earlier, less ironically self-aware society. Once its interior was wallpapered with used condoms collected through a year’s worth of dumpster-diving and hard, artistic sex, it would sing. Cerise couldn’t wait to get started.

She hauled the crate of prophylactics up the stairs and set it heavily on the bar. She hoped she had enough staples in the staple gun.

“Remember not to puncture any of the reservoir tips,” she said to herself.

Her words echoed slightly before settling to the floor, and were replaced by a soft scuffing from behind the bar.

Mice would add a certain je ne sais quoi to the statement she was trying to express, so Cerise wasn’t too worried.

“What’ll it be, lady?” came a raspy whisper.

Cerise startled and then saw a vaporous human form behind the bar. He was dressed in a vest and bow-tie, with his shirtsleeves pushed up to his elbows. He shimmered and wavered as he went through the motions of polishing a glass.

“Damn!” said Cerise. “This completely overshadows the complex interplay of hope, death, globalism, and ecology I was going for!”

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Enchanted Mariner Ducks

During October we will be sharing passages that we’ve written independently from the same prompt.

  • enchanted mariner ducks
  • striped scarlet luminescent work-coats
  • low relief with pubic hair
  • the feathery roots of his water hyacinths
  • “Stop quoting Lewis Carroll at me!”
  • tear a larynx

Kent’s Take

I sat in Doctor Entenman’s waiting room, hoping the décor wasn’t indicative of his qualifications as an otolaryngologist. All the others in town were closed for the holiday. The artworks showed truly horrific taste, made more sickening by the realization that the good doctor was himself the artist. A garish neon abstract took up most of the wall facing me, and was accompanied by a plaque bearing its title: “In which the enchanted mariner ducks out of the saloon to escape constables attired in striped scarlet luminescent work-coats.” Above my head was a matted atrocity, a low relief with pubic hair, evidently meant to signify the feathery roots of his water hyacinths. I heard raised voices, first a woman shrieking something about being behind schedule, and then a man bellowing “Stop quoting Lewis Carroll at me!” I supposed I’d chosen a bad week to tear a larynx.

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Jen’s Take

by jenThe great artist and his assistant stood by in their striped scarlet luminescent work-coats while the phalanx of critics examined his latest creation.

“You say it’s called ‘enchanted mariner ducks,’ and yet I detect nothing of the waterfowl in its design,” said the most unctuous of the bunch, a man known to be overly fond of the feathery roots of his water hyacinths, if you know what I mean.

“Curious, isn’t it,” said Hieronymus Warhol.

“This is clearly a bas-relief, and yet under ‘medium’ you have declared that it is ‘low relief with pubic hair.’ Not only is that not a real medium, it’s also disgusting!”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” replied Warhol.

“Stop quoting Lewis Carroll at me!” cried the critic.

“As soon as you tear a larynx,” drawled the artist. “Preferably your own.”

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What do you think? Who handled this prompt better?