Poopart

Several times, students have asked me how can one recognize “art”. I would tell them that art moves you from inside.

It is this something that pierces into you through your senses, imbues you up completely, twists and twirls your insides you until you are seized with convulsions and then… zaz! Art.

For example, every time I walk into a bookstore (or library) I need only to march up to the literature stand, read the titles and immediately I will be saturated with uncontrollable urges to take a shit. My dear friend MG experiences the same when she goes into a museum, she strolls into a room, sees a sculpture and instantly she feels a spasmodic sensation that is followed by farts and excretions as she darts to the restroom.

And so, artists undergo the same occurrence while creating art, so here, for your pleasure, a small collection:

Andrés Serrano, Piss Christ, 1989. Material: crucifix in piss.

Santiago Sierra, Sierra-Shit,2007, Material: Shit from the lowest caste of India and plastic.
Piero Manzoni, "Artist's (Poo)," 1961, Material: cans and shit.
So if this blog makes you want to puke or shit... now you know.

Don Quixote, condensed

The thoughtful edigator understand that not everyone has the time and patience to read the complete version of Don Quixote, but they should. Therefore, the magnanimus has condensed the novel written by Miguel de Cervantes, who found the manuscript composed by Cid Hamete Berengeli and took it to be translated to a semi anonimus arab, all of that... to be read in less than a minute.

El ingenioso hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha

In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire tocall to mind, there lived not long since one of those gentlemen thatkeep a lance in the lance-rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and agreyhound for coursing.

Don Quixote: I am a knight, I will go in search of adventures.
Everyone: No, you are not!
Don Quixote: Yes, I am.
Everyone: Ok, lets play along.
Don Quixote dies.


Source
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