Gah. What is this artist SAYING? I just don’t GET it.

Yeah, I go to museums sometimes. What if I do.

*Note* – the following pictures are NOT from the Guggenheim. Next time at the Guggenheim just happens to be a group of words that are pretty grand to say. They are from MOMA, which is an equally cool response to the question ‘What did you do this weekend?’ (But: *subnote* – say the word ‘MOMA’ flippantly, as if you went to the laundromat, as to not draw TOO much attention to how stinking cultured you are – or how much you are trying to be.)

*NoteNote* – I did not go to MOMA this weekend. I cannot tell a lie. (It was a few weekends ago.)

*NoteNoteNote* – Bekah DOES not perceive herself to be a connasieur of art. She cannot even spell connasieur. She remains a douchebag person who says things like Hey, isn’t that a Pollock? and not much else. Though she would love to be the kind of person who can wander into a museum and say hey, omg, it’s a ‘obscurefrenchminimalistfromNaziRomania,’ and be totally right, she is Not this person. But, nonetheless, she enjoys museums, though she cannot seem to retain any factual information about movements, artists, etc. Instead, she enjoys the wandering, the quiet perusing; the sticking of one’s face dangerously close to the thing to see how it looks. Up close. She enjoys the painful details.

A person who considers Himself to be a work of Art, boots and All,  considers the Work of Art.

And finally, some corn next to a violin.

Because life is meaningless, or something.