Let The Spectacle Begin

As suggested earlier, my first significant endeavor in my new studio space is not--I repeat NOT--Cheerleader With Banana.

It is, instead, this bad boy here:



Which would, of course, be a badly cropped shot of the first day of The Annotated Murdoch. Looks a little like one of that fake Tudor houses. But it is, of course, a painting.

You can see several things:

First, the shit-eating look Murdoch has in the photo I selected of makes me laugh. I can't wait to see how the people outside the Wall Street Journal choose to "annotate" this one.

I mean, look at it:



I want to slap the fucking guy and he hasn't done a thing to me. Were there a thought balloon it would read something like this:

"You guys can bitch and moan all you want, but the family that owns the Journal is gonna bite on my bid because nobody else is gonna come close. And sure, I'll patch together some ridiculous editorial advisory board to make sure that the editorial coverage is not unduly affected by my business dealings. But when the uproar dies down, you can rest assured I'm gonna pull the teeth out of that damned board and have my way with that paper like she was a prison bitch ... or the Times of London. You do the math."

Something like that. Should be a great painting.

Additionally, the record should show that I buy the Post every day and enjoy it a great deal. Mostly on the subway.

Quick note on the Constitition of the United States of America. My First Amendment rights, as they relate to artistic free speech, allow me to just cop this image straight from Getty Images and use it as the basis for The Annotated Murdoch. I can assure you I paid nothing for it, although I do send them my very best. Likewise, since I don't sell advertising on The Year of Magical Painting, I can post it above without fear of retribution.

Maybe it's the Second Amendment. I know it's not the one that goes "Thou shalt not covet thy Neighbor's Wife."

Anyway, back to the painting, you can see that I've gone to great lengths to make sure that the top of the painting is continuously indicated (see the big blue arrow?) and that the correct squares, and only the correct squares, are accessible to my dripping. This, of course, is an attempt to pre-empt the unfortunate incident with my portrait of Robert E. Lee, in which I confused the location of a key square to everyone's--but mostly my--chagrin.

This, on a related note, is a Duke cheerleader.



I mean, honestly. Who wouldn't want to paint this person?



Ditto. Although the Duke thing is troubling.

Don't these people know that the education they are receiving was built on a sub-spec foundation? That is to say, rather than digging trenches, pouring the appropriate amount of cement, and then building carefully up to ground level with cinder blocks (we're talking metaphorically here, so try to keep up), don't they realize that their house is built on the dead bodies of nicotine addicts, unfortunate souls lassoed by the Marlboro Man, condemned to wheeze and snort their last hour on the stage before dying an agonizing death?

Fuck Duke.

What's the name of that book? Here it is: To Hate Like This Is To Be Happy Forever. I just googled it. Written by Will Blythe (odd name, that), it's a pretty engaging account of a die-hard UNC boy's hatred for all things Duke.

Good for him. I hope it sold well. I bought one.