Bring the Noise
March 1, 2020
I once grew orchids in my head, full service claustrophobic terror syndrome points and white ball shots, for pleasure and excitement. Considered as artifacts in a glass cabinet, row upon row of nails narrowly peeling an unstable line, it struck me that the wall and its shadow are but the projection of what we have seen. The undeniable fact of the matter is that without gaming in Las Vegas, there would be no “Vegas.” Gaming, and gambling, are the economic engine of prosperity. It is equally obvious that gaming is just part of the story. People keep coming. And coming back. Vegas provides the play; people bring the fun. If the artist makes the audience see the world differently, it is because he is intemperate, with the terrible feeling that he cannot say what’s on his mind. “They are very interesting,” you say. “Visually or conceptually, there is a feeling that what you do resembles playing an instrument which is out of tune.” Like a German artist, imprisoned for many years behind the white wall of a gallery, it raises the earlier question of the check, a faith which wants to be taken seriously. And yet we laugh when, perhaps, it is we who are not making sense. The potential change in the original purpose of the doctrine and requirement that we consider this world, which is neither fair nor equal, is something like a choice without making a decision. A special amnesty for artists seems to be emerging.