all must not be art. some art we must disintegrate.
positive (anarchy must exist.)

if something, anything (food, writing, emotional events…) is edible, it means that can be tasted without being harmful and can de successfully digested. i like to think of edible art as smaller, autonomous pieces that are picked up at random. if i’m walking through the country, i might see some berries that look tasty but are they edible? and, of course, i will not uproot the entire tree, dragging it painfully back home, but instead, i tear off edible handfuls of berries. yum.

of course, art and food follow many similar processes. the idea, the execution of the idea, the delicious (or disastrous) outcome, the enjoyment, the sharing. but, what happens during the digestive process?

let’s digest some art together!

while, at first, this sounds like a blasphemous and nasty task, i would like to think of it in different terms. let’s gather little handfuls of art, look at them lovingly, turn them around, examine their skin, their weight, then let’s eat them, lovingly, enjoying (or at least noticing) the flavor, commenting on it, making deep mmmmmmm noises from between busy teeth, let’s watch the art unfold into a natural state of chaos, let’s imagine that it passes through our system, escapes in a new form, reenters the earth, and is reborn as something new and different. or perhaps as the same species all over again.

it’s a potluck. bring it on. let’s eat.