The Tears of Things

Artlink Has RABYZ!

[RABYZ: Raging Adult Baby Zombies]

by Jerome du Bois

For a few days after I posted my angry note about our encounter with Ernest McIntyre, our sitemeter went steadily up, and I couldn't figure out why. It was a local story, but a necessary corrective in the only venue available to me right now, a modest, if acidulous, call for civilized behavior. (And Google is powerful, as Ernest has found out.) There aren't any other worthwhile local blogs which overlap with what we do. (Artists' websites don't count.) None of the usual people who pick up my stuff referred to the story on their blog. (Though Val Prieto checked into the comments, fists ready. My man.) And I couldn't imagine Ernest McIntyre telling all his friends to be sure to read about me calling him a toad and other terrible things, but maybe he did: he's a man without boundaries. So, where . . . ?

But now I think I've found the source of that temporary surge, in what I had discarded as a moribund forum thread at our enemies Artlink, called "A Threat From The Tears of Things." (Look it up yourselves.)

In September I wrote that we would be out in the downtown galleries in October, and that we were prepared to defend ourselves. I also said that Artlink as presently constituted must be reformed, and that we were going to burn their kites. Later, I wrote why we had changed our minds. By this time, the thread was going over on Artlink. I found out about it, posted a little note about them being behind the times, and left -- but why should I expect them to really read our blog anyway? (We thought the locals just dropped in to see their names in "print.") And when we changed our minds back and decided to return to criticizing the downtown scene and its people, why would we bother to alert them? Always keep 'em guessing; never let them see you coming.

In a year and a half, with comments open, we never got a single constructive conversation going with anyone. We are polemical, sure, but reasonable, and no one stood up to refute a single charge, or pick a specific relevant question to answer -- one of our questions. Nope. It was always a bunch of whining about how we didn't give them a chance, didn't understand them, were not supposed to say negative things, and/or that the "art community" needed all the support it could get. Their pathetic need for acceptance was palpable. And, they nagged us, why were we so angry, anyway? so bitter?

So we said get lost and closed most comments and went on to post a bunch of other things, and I didn't think about that thread for two months . . . until recently.

Yesterday I went back and opened that little envelope and, whaddaya know, they've trashed us several times since mid-October -- and, sure enough, several nasty comments followed my post about our recent disagreeable encounter. The commenters are pretty much pissants (with one exception: Jason Nye, who should have his own blog), and I'll be fisking them below, but here I would like to give the reason I would bother.

As with the recent post on Isaac Fortoul, examining what these people say -- and, more importantly, what they leave out -- provides a crude but useful MRI brainscan of a mindset programmed for pettiness, of willful blind spots, and of the intellectual vacuity at Artlink (not to mention the vicious vengefulness of specific persons), and among some of the local artists.

I opened every one of those damned little envelopes, not just the thread about us, but the entries about us glowed green with envy and jealousy -- at our style, at my wife's confidence and beauty, at our humor, and our very life force, or vis viva. And, as I said, what they leave out speaks volumes about their interests and priorities.

Come take a look.

On October 20, someone named "kira," who copped a Cirque de Soleil puppetmaster motif for their avatar, wrote this on the Tears Artlink thread [sic throughout]:

Wow, Jerome and Catherine must be very, very cool! You should see the list of some of the books in their 'personal' library! They even know about sage and stuff. they are so cool, that I wonder why they even bother with the very imperfect, mortals that populate the downtown art scene. I would certainly think that people who wear such dandy designer clothing and own such an extensive collection of cool books would surely be traveling in crowds less plebian and threadbare as the folks in downtown Phoenix. Surely, Jerome and Catherine can find a clique worthy of their many accomplishments and worldly sophistication. Others, who have nothing to do but nurture their sensuality and cast barbed remarks at those less fortunate.

Too bad they are not charming; that may have redeemed them from merely being a petty couple with a large vocabulary.

She was responding to our spoof "The Inglis Proclamation," wherein we attempt to cure the possession of the downtown Phoenix art scene by Satan. Personally, I thought the car-roof-mounted sage censer was patentable, but Catherine talked me out of it.

Seriously, though, readers should easily detect the whining insecurity in kira's message. (We're supposed to charm the petty princess, y'see -- and talk plain. Don't intimidate her walnut brain.) She thinks having a personal library is so unusual she puts scare quotes around it. "Imperfect mortals . . . plebian and threadbare . . . those less fortunate."

kira, why betray so much? Our very presence is a rebuke to you and yours. And I doubt this is the first of our posts you have read. Yet what you choose to write about -- well, that's a tell.

On November 9, after our "Toad" posting, someone anonymous Artlinker (it's epidemic over there) posted this:

These idiots are at it again. In their newest essay, Mr.D, who's only purpose in life is to market his wife and her penchant for trendy clothing, pretends he does not recognize someone he knew way back when BUT expects this same person to recognize the fact that he has a new wife who is different from his last one. Mr. D seems angry that his acquaintance from back in the day was not impressed with Ms. Senior Rodeo Drive. Mr. D appears to be a bitter middle aged man who has not succeeded in his aspirations and so, in his mid life, tries to hearten himself with sparkly bolero jackets and vitiolic attacks. How sad.

I'll be showing you sad, zombie -- I'll show your true black rebarb soul -- soon as I get your dingleberry buddy "anonymous" in on the conversation. Posted three hours later by, presumably, some other zombie:

Yeah, I thught that was wierd. he is really *interested* in how his wife looks and what she's wearing. That, and right-wing politics. I enjoy checking their site every week or so like a kind of online reality show. I like how he attacked this poor guy from his past just for trying to talk to him.

maybe we have an update on the forum every so often with an entry for the "Jerome Chronicles" with a synopsis on who Jerome's mad at and why, and his latest description of his wife's clothing?

[Before going on, a side note: the above missive ended with one of those annoying happyface emoticon mutations, which festoon the entire discussion forum like so many baby candies scattered underfoot in a nursery. You can pick from a cute little line in the comment section. Really, how does one have a serious discussion with this infantile detritus littering the hypertext? They sabotage any seriousness at the outset.]

These last two entries seemed to have spurred our recent sitemeter spike. Just a couple of telling quotes:

pretends he does not recognize someone he knew way back when

and

I like how he attacked this poor guy from his past just for trying to talk to him.

I didn't pretend, as I made clear. I knew this guy from his present public status, not from any way our paths may have crossed in the past. I made that clear to him, and he made it clear he wasn't going to stop it. But I did not attack him there and then. I kept my counsel, my cool, and my civilized manners.

Now, you two zombies, listen up: I will not have my wife disrespected. I see you, I see into you, because we've gotten this message from you Artlink sons and daughters of bitches before: She has to take what you dish out. Follow the scenario these two shitbirds want: this snuffling Erniegrub gets to come up on us and dig into my past, possibly embarrassing both my wife and myself, but we have to take it. This stranger's need trumps my wife's dignity. You see the black souls of these people? You think we haven't seen into your decadent and resurgent misogyny? Even the women down there have embraced the moniker "girl" as an honorific instead of the humiliating badge it is. They and their men have done a devastating dumbing-down job on themselves. And we've called the alarm on that one, before, too.

Readers, consider the foci of the attention of these Artlink people, some of whose IP addresses we have recorded. If you go down the list of postings between the middle of October and the tenth of November (some of which link to earlier pieces), these artists, college graduates, vital young people, waves of the future, have nothing to say about what we say -- and show -- about:

ghosts
Islam
misogyny
beautiful flower arrangements
stunning photographs
Theo van Gogh's murder
political cowardice in political art
Jeff Falk's terrible StopNLook
Leanos & Esser controversy (though someone copped a block of my stuff for another thread)
Ryan McNamara's whining
our accusations of drug abuse downtown

but most of all, nobody cares, comments, or even questions that certain Artlink members have physically attacked us, and threatened us verbally with mutilation and death.

That ain't gonna happen. They have their priorities, we have ours. Staying alive and well is number one. I don't even shake hands anymore.

For those who think we're paranoid: It didn't happen to you, did it? The general public seems to underestimate the instability of the loony left, which spawned so many of this downtown art crowd. Locally, the Hamberger School ground them out by the dozens. Their brains have had the logical connections cooked out by deconstruction and the existential resentment of their teachers; all that's left is appetite, a sense of entitlement, and a zombie's emotional emptiness. When any or all of these are thwarted, their rage kicks in.

Back to the list. None of these issues matter to these losers, nothing breaks through their self-involvement, until we, especially Catherine, step out onto the stage, so to speak -- something we rarely do. (Wearing our hearts on our sleeves is another matter.)

And I realized that it's her bearing that grates at them -- her calm, confident, even triumphant manner -- her bounteous cloud of hair -- her obvious slimness -- her mastery of fashion -- her charm and intelligence -- her abundant talent at anything she puts her hand to -- from traditional material work, to digital net art, to installation art, to making haute couture, to digital photography, to flower arranging, to upcoming works that will blow everyone away -- it's her life force, her vis viva, and maybe even our obvious love for one another, that they hate so much.

They want her down. Black hearts, it will never happen.

So hate all you want. We know you. And we've got a hell of lot more than sage to burn.

Posted by Jerome at November 14, 2004 02:30 PM | TrackBack