Tuesday: I Get NOTHING Done

It's been one of those days.

I still haven't begun writing the Great American Novel, although (based on my blogging) I'm much more likely to write the Great American Vaguely Amusing Paragraph anyway. I didn't win a marathon and earn millions in endorsements. I forgot to kickstart my mayoral campaign. I neglected to purchase a monkey wearing a cute little fez. Angelina Jolie refuses to return my phone calls, the sassy little minx, and my agent is on hiatus until further notice.

It has been most trying.

In lieu of a real post, I'm just mucking around, eating cheese and things-- so here's another Odd Art post, for lack of anything better.

Truly a great example of pure, natural sculpture, Tim Hawkinson's Egg takes contemporary art in a whole new direction. Beautifully composed of the artist's own fingernails and hair, this incredibly realistic symbol of breakfast and rebirth just oozes with the postmodern sensibility of the Self.

The Self, obviously, has been transformed into something completely unrecognizable, something roundish that may have also once been tasty. In this, the individual's identity can only point, half-heartedly, to a narcissistic Nature. This Self, which is represented by hair, and also fingernail clippings, is completely inescapable and unknown. In fact, no one can know it, for our own experience and perceptions cannot deconstruct its inner meaning, its functional Truthiness, and its conceptualist paradigm. Only a semioticist absurdity and subsequent dialectic of yolk narrative can recognize the semanticism embodied in this piece.

In fact, the interpolation of creation (and also destruction) are ruthless in the Self's quest for breakfast. The Self is very hungry right now. It needs more cheese.