he wrote poems to people on the bus and managed to make those suck, too

"...we danced with the tin in some exhibition rooms and were strangely unimpeded by every security guard in the place. Except when liz touched some hollow truck, I think it was james angus's hollow truck. I don't like his work all that much."

*** EDIT: it wasn't James Angus's truck, it was Geoffrey Farmer's. I saw more of his annoying art at the Musee d'art Contemporain today, and it was bloody interestingly boringly annoying, which is just the reaction I'm sure he'd be pleased to know got elicited. Why does he refuse to say anything but still use everything to say it? Why do I hate his work so much when he's basically succeeding at the lame-ass intention I had for my art when I was a pink-cheeked yea-babe of the studio? A reasonably aware person says "duh. that's how it works, hating things much like yourself and yet more annoying than yourself." Maybe I just suck at liking stupid art. Gah.

I was pleasantly enchanted by Yannick Pouliot's furniture, however, and I stared at Riopelle's the Landing for as long as a pretense of sanity would allow. That painting is a speechless expanse of awesome and I lurrrrrbe it like kitties (gimme any Riopelle, yes!).