Did you ever wonder how we developed our standards for what makes a work of art "fine"? Generally the "fine artwork" will contain one of the following:
- oil paint
- tightly stretched canvas
- a sealant
- a frame
- proper lighting
- marble
- bronze
- nipples
- ten semi-circular feet of ten giggling ten year olds
laxatives...BECAUSE IT'S SHIT! BOOO YAAHH! Wait...that doesn't really make sense because a laxative is a pill or a spoonful of liquid...um let's try that again...BECAUSE IT MAKES YOU SHIT!...uh...yeah that's just kinda gross and still doesn't really work. Um...yeah I'll think of number 10 later...
Who decided that "oil paint" was going to be the medium all paintings would be judged by? Who stated that if you sculpt in wood you are a hobbyist, a whittler, when if you sculpt in marble you are a ARTIST with a capital TIS and people should marvel at your marvelly marbled marble? (10 dollars to anyone who can say that 248 times fast while juggling fish bowls filled with bouncy balls and peanutbutter...no takers...$10.25?)
These mediums only became the standards because some pretentious jerk declared them to be the greatest of all the methods of creating art work, and now on this Thursday the 27th of January 2005 I plan to breed a new generation of pretentious jerks taking the art world by storm, stomping out unoriginality and in turn becoming unoriginal because everyone is now doing the same thing.
What is the future of artist mediums you might ask? Well I have two words for you:
SWEATY BALONEY!
How to make a baloney pony:
Start with a piece of baloney, the sweater and cheaper the better...
Remove one single slice of baloney from the packaging. The classiest baloney comes with a handi "purse-string" for easy transportability.
Now begin to carefully bite your baloney in the shape of a horse...
We're getting there...
Just a few more bites...
...
a little nibble here...
....
just
one
more...
THERE! A Baloney Pony.
The sweat on the baloney pony represents pain and frustration. The fact it is made of three different kinds of meat serves as a metaphor for...um...yeah I guess pain and frustration again. It's faceless expression, teeth gouged exterior, the fact it doesn't like to go to parties, still has nightmares about spelling bees, wonders if it's tush may be just a little more booty shakin' than even the booty lovin' types might want all represents pain and...you know the other thing too...
I even thought of a slogan- Baloney: The Perfect Medium for the Starving Artist
Before you all throw pun-induced pieces of pressed meats at me...I want to warn you. Eating the amount of cheap baloney I ate last night turns you into some sort of zombie. Now I'm not sure if I'm the type of zombie that eats people's brains or just does really bad kareokee renditions of "Hit Me With Your Best Shot," but do you really want to risk one or the other? Here's proof (okay so it's a pretty happy looking zombie, but you can't tell me those circles are possible on a LIVING person!):
