Friday, June 29, 2012

It's Called Art.

From the New Yorker magazine, a concise explanation of why I have no interest in modern art:

In 2004, an installation by the Japanese
artist Noritoshi Hirakawa consisted of a
pretty and prim young woman sitting in
a chair, reading a Philip Pullman novel,
and next to her, on the floor, a little heap
of her excrement, which she renewed each

page 34, May 7, 2012.

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