The title of a piece I just made in my book: displaced and replaced clear
packing tape (now yellowed and loose) had once wrapped a Pete Volkous “turd”
(how symbolic is that, some forty years after grad school) when I had
mononucleosis and wasn’t able to produce the typical huge and heavy Sculptures
expected by my peers; so I painted Papier-mâché turds for Pete’s applause and
my final grade in the class. These sculptures overlaid one another creating an
oversize tic-tac-toe figure, laid out on the floor.
Absent this text the piece represents the ‘pure abstraction’ of my
aesthetic rebirth-roots in NYC, schlepping across the United States of America
to Texas, and then moving to the jumping off place in JingleTown California, where
we’ve recently been informed that the building is in escrow.
What’s the point of living without dreaming?
TW aka bUtom
Tom White
Professor Emeritus
California College of the Arts CCA
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