by Jerome du Bois
We're stopping the Downtown Arts series for three reasons: physical personal safety, public indifference, and worthless potential benefactors.
We have been assaulted physically and verbally by volunteers and board members of Artlink. You won't get any names from us. Sort it out yourselves, assholes. Don't like it? Here's my middle finger. Want to talk libel? Here's my other middle finger.
When we recovered from the physical assault, we decided that Phoenix was on its own; we shut down two of our blogs and concentrated on Tears, ignoring the local scene. But then, months later, we drove down Roosevelt -- a mere curious detour on a library trip -- just a couple of days after I read about Evans-Churchill in the paper. We couldn't believe what we saw, so we got sucked back into caring. "The Burgeoning" was born. Well, fuck that. It's over now. We'll leave it up on the sidebar, though.
My wife suffers from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, which has many triggers. The so-called artists in this stinking town, with every filthy, chicken-pecking, nose-picking adolescent sneering snickering word sent by email or comments -- you shitbirds! -- would lacerate her. No matter how I often I pointed out how thoroughly stupid these comments were, she would brood and brood and feel worse and worse. You think I'm going to put her in harm's way again? Forget about it, coprophiliacs. You won't see us down there, ever again.
In the meantime, what kinds of emails and comments of support could we look to for some strength from the outside? NONE. In over a year. Two or three women our age may be on our side, but not one younger artist practicing in this town has stepped forward to defend quality over politics in this town's art scene. NOT ONE. In over a year. I think they're gone. I think the smart ones saw the idiots on the wall -- Beatrice Moore, (& her kept man Tony Zahn), Kimber Lanning, Ted Decker, Wayne Rainey, Kathleen Thomas, Greg Esser, Greg Sale, Ffej Klaf, Annie Lopez, the Sanders' -- they saw the bozos had the scene sewn up -- and took off rather than get sucked into the mire of mediocrity down there. Now Phoenix gets to eat what's left with a dirty spoon. That's right, take a big bite.
My third point, then: why should we go to bat for the interests of the general public, or the good of art -- remember, we have nothing to gain from shining a light on the boondoggle of Evans-Churchill (and the Phx Offfice of Arts & Culture -- somebody ought to -- oh, never mind) -- why should we care when nobody else does, but, more importantly, for who? These fucking bozo operators disguised as artists? The ones that come after them? Piss on 'em. Let them play the public for fools, pocket the money, and buy a round for everyone at the Bikini Lounge. And they don't even have to wipe their asses. And Phil Jones, who we were going to meet with this Friday -- include us out, Phil -- will hand out $5000 checks with a smile.
We were fools to think these bozos had brains, or hearts, but now we see they are all appetite, infantile, entitled sociopaths with invisible blood trails. We were blind, but now we see.
And I don't care anymore. I've got a beautiful, vital wife to love, honor, cherish, and enjoy life with forever; I've got a delicious novel to finish; and other important issues to follow.
So, bozos -- Go fuck yourselves -- with your pants on.
Posted by Jerome at September 13, 2004 07:02 AM | TrackBack