From the Head of a Russian Woman

 

E.D. 2012, A Woman and a Bull, acrylic on Russian babushka, 30x30"

 

I am the Bull born from the head of Russian woman. She is spun of chromosomes of primitive slavery. Barrenness is in her blood; bleakness is in her cortex. Her thoughts are the unclean boggy soil, inseminated by weird folklore. They leak through the scull staining archaic head-cover. Grandmother wore it on her head, as did her grandmother’s grandmother, each generation passing the old custom to their daughters, each daughter striving to shake it off. Grandmother folds babushka neatly and hangs it on the back of the chair next to her bed to stare at the recurrence of pattern. Floral clusters oozes into her corpus callosum, and then discards into her granddaughter’s thoughts where shit is born.

Overproduction

 E.D. 2011, Butterfly Portraits 7, acrylic on canvas, 46x56"

Like anything else in the world the visual art shit is overproduced. There is no more sense in producing new visual art shit than in any other shit production. The only sense to produce more visual art shit is that the visual art is the only shit production that consciously attempts to overcome sense.