The Tears of Things

I Changed My Mind

by Catherine King

I changed my mind about a writing project that had been on my backburner for a long time. I was going to write about how I abhor the art of Jon Haddock and how it exemplifies the worst qualities of today’s American male.

A few nights ago, Jerome and I went to see and hear him deliver a short slide presentation on his work. This writing was going to be a distinctly unpleasant task, but somebody had to say something about this loser’s artistic practice. I was really only beginning my research. I knew he was doing "black and white 1930’s style cartoon violence" these days (wow!), but I hadn’t yet gone to his website.

For some reason, I thought he had finished putting his slimy hands all over the World Trade Center. I thought the playdoh falling figures he put together a couple of years ago would have been enough. I didn’t understand about snuff freaks, that they get pleasure in going over and over and over the torture.

But sitting there in the lecture hall at the Scottsdale Center for the Arts, Haddock sprang it on us all over again. When he clicked the projector to the fifth or sixth slide, I saw those plumes rendered like gray taffy squeezing out sticky trails twenty feet long . . . I didn’t see the people at first, or the little unfeeling animal figures. I saw the shape of those plumes (which Haddock rendered so clumsily) and felt, “He’s taken our horrible, powerful plumes of pain and he’s pissing and shitting on us again!”

But I guess that was okay with Susan Krane, John Spiak and all those matronly patronly people there. Jerome and I got up and left at that moment. Everyone else in the audience sat there and took it. I can only conclude that they must like to get pissed and shit on.

I was numb after that for about an hour. But I was still going to write the goddamn essay. Yesterday I finally looked at Haddock’s site, and there was the WTC piece -- I should have known. I also saw that he’s taking his show to other esteemed institutions, and they, just like SMoCA, are explicitly aware of this 9/11 snuff and are actually almost promoting it. Not only does Jon Haddock have no bottom, SMoCA and plenty of other institutions don’t either.

But I was still going to force myself to write the goddamn essay. Because it’s important to say, “Hey, that’s f*cked up!” when something really is. So then my research took me to Jon Haddock’s pathetic "blog" -- it really doesn't deserve the label -- and finally, that did it. I thought "Why even bother wasting my time? Jon Haddock and the people and institutions who support him and just love his work are so lame, I don’t know why I bother."

And so I changed my mind.

Posted by Jerome at January 17, 2004 06:39 AM | TrackBack