does this house make my brain look small?

What would induce sentient adults to stick their heads through the dirt floor of a toxic-smelling glass house, and do it in public, in full view of camera-toting strangers? A little sign at a museum that tells them to do so. I suspect that this installation at MassMoCA is less about art than it is grist for some psych experiment involving volunteers behind the scenes keeping track of people who oblige absent artist's request, people who don't.

and, greetings from nuclear winter

Until now, the strangest thing I've seen in a snowglobe was a producer who spent 3 days in an inflatable one last December as a PR stunt for his agency, McKinney in Durham, NC. (Must have been some Christmas bonus they promised.) But though large as life, that sight was benign compared to these haunting miniatures, part of Walter Martin and Paloma Muñoz's eerie Traveler series, available in limited edition snowglobes and C prints.




via Boing Boing

shirt sale at sotheby's--$6 million a swatch

Casual office dress too casual for your taste? Sotheby's offers a 7 ½ foot square (get it) painting of what looks like a close-up of a Brooks Brothers shirt to display in your workplace and subliminally remind slackers of what constitutes proper workplace attire. Auction in London, July 1. On view in NYC, May 10-14. Estimated sale price: $4-6 million.

via DKR via today's New York Sun

art & commerce

Much has been written about Manhattan's ephemeral nature: a dry cleaner you haven't had time to retrieve clothes from closes shop, the nail place you go to is now a Chipotle, the tallest buildings in town disintegrate without notice. But even after 28 years in the city, I wasn't prepared for the sight of what looked like a giant rhinoceros horn obstructing my regular running route. (Ok, not regular.) Up close, I discovered it was the work of an artist who'd added a practical DR component. But how did he decide to place where he did? Or are his shiny interruptives cropping up all over town?

why people hate us

At a party recently, I met a woman who introduced herself as a Collections Manager for an art gallery. What does a Collections Manager do? I asked. She got a faraway look and began to elucidate: she puts her considerable art education to use by explaining the gallery's works to a collector, elaborating on a painting's influences, its origins, on what makes it remarkable, so that often the collector wants to take it home for himself. Like, buy it? I asked. Turns out she works on commission, and it took supreme self control for me not to remark on the similarity of our occupations. I knew that to do so would be an insult to her.

But why? Why is advertising one of the world's most reviled professions, one that in surveys, rates below even car dealers? We provide entertainment--often more entertainment than the content into which our stuff is embedded. We can't lie anymore, thanks to a labyrinth of consumer-protecting rules to which copy must comply. (Now, deceptive ads result in expensive lawsuits by entire cities.) And, in best case scenarios, what we do actually constitutes public education. (See Dove.)

But then, I'm knocked off my high horse by something like this. The Wall Street Journal discloses that Wacoal is introducing a girdle for men. The man-girdle is being advertised first in Japan (as if salarymen aren't already under enough pressure) not as a vanity product, but health-promoting. A statement from a doctor claims the underwear helps reduce body fat. It comes (of course) with a promotional DVD jam-packed with product benefits like how the girdle makes you take longer strides, helping you expend calories.

Between this and a scoop from Tangerine Toad alerting me to a SkyMall magazine ad hawking Gravity Defyer Shoes, I see there's still plenty to begrudge about advertising. No wonder I am reticent to disclose my profession in public, as when traveling abroad I sometimes lie about my country of origin (um, I'm from Canada) so as not to elicit in strangers feelings of undue contempt.