Here’s another one I found in my recently excavated journals. There was no date on it but I estimate it to be around 1991.
The New York Lottery was $33 million dollars.
The night shift word processors all chipped in
we hate our lives.
I volunteered to call for the winning numbers
to confirm for all
what we already knew in our hearts:
The continuation of our sorrow.
Prior to dialing
I clandestinely copied the numbers
off of Nancy’s ticket.
After hanging up, I misrepresented to all
the numbers I copied down
as the winning numbers.
Nancy’s face was crimson with joy.
It looked as though she might hemorrhage
so I stopped the masquerade
Everyone was quite cross with me.
But later that night
Nancy came up and thanked me.
As she explained:
“Now I know how it feels to win millions of dollars.”
Here’s the current installation in the atrium of the Museum of Modern Art.
Some artists work in oils. Some in clay. Some prefer gouache. There’s a multitude of mediums to choose from. Can you guess what Wolfgang Laib uses?
This is Pollen from Hazelnut, a site-specific work that’s constructed from pollen Laib collected near his home in Germany. It’s sifted onto a slab into a fuzzy cube. Mrs. Wife asked how anyone with severe allergies can step into the building without being overwhelmed and I didn’t have an answer for her. All I can say is that pollen does not permeate the air.
I love this big, open space. There aren’t many like it in Manhattan. I always look forward to seeing what an artist will do when handed the keys to the car, but I was underwhelmed by this. If meh wasn’t such a tired, worn out cliché I’d use that, but since I’m above clichés, I won’t. It’s best to view this from up on high. I had to tamp down an urge to walk through it and leave footprints. Kick up a big yellow cloud. Turn it into a participatory installation.