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Confessions Of An Art Fair Anarchist

Confessions Of An Art Fair Anarchist image Confessions Of An Art Fair Anarchist image
Parent Issue
Month
July
Year
1993
Copyright
Creative Commons (Attribution, Non-Commercial, Share-alike)
Rights Held By
Agenda Publications
OCR Text

Confessions of an Art Fair Anarchist

By Arwulf Arwulf

Welcome to the Ann Arbor Art Fair. If you look closely, you will see that there is in fact a certain amount of Art involved. The problem here is the worshipping of salable commodities and the dominating presence of shysters. Money flows through Ann Arbor like shit through a tin horn, and everybody's trying to get a piece. There's a creepy feeling that a bunch of people from out of town are using Ann Arbor to try and sell things to a bunch of other people from out of town.

It's not a good feeling. Watching the event grow from benign to malignant, over the years many of us have developed some powerful resentments. For more than a decade I took to the streets every July, there to act out my angst in anarchic Art Attacks. Seeing men's slacks on tables in the middle of State Street somehow drove me to excesses. Where is the Art? Make your own.

The original Art Attack Assemblage, constructed in the mid-1970s, consisted of a ten-foot pillar with a toaster nailed to the head of it. Wired to a shopping cartand drenched in cheap latex paint, this module carne across like some terrible battering ram from heil, and we did in fact ram dormitories with it. When the toaster began to suffer from repeated impact, more toasters were added, and soon there were several toasters juxtaposed. It was grand.

There followed a series of furniture-oriented statements. I wore a hollowed armchair on my body, like a naked man in a barrel. Two coats of white paint, and it's Art. The title was neatly printed across the front of the chair frame: ARMCHAIR INTELLECTUAL. Then there was the couch, worn by three people. This took more coordination, with six legs in close quarters. The inscription read: The University of Michigan Does Not Exist. I guess we were confrontational.

In 1980 I nearly killed myself wearing a solid oakdresser. The insides of the drawers were removed, and my head protruded through a hole at the top. The full weight of the thing rode on my shoulders. But it really was a smart piece, with NARCOTICS BUREAU printed neatly across the drawer fronts. I was proud to stagger around with such a pun, pinched nerves notwithstanding.

Soon I began to dissect televisions. A gutted console model fit nicely around me, and the screen was vacant except for the words: 1984 Means Video In Every Room. Not everyone got the point. George Orwell's nightmare novel was haunting me as '84 drew nearer. A smaller TV, carefully mutated Into a video helmet cage, rode on my head and shoulders in 1983. By this time l'd started carrying a boom box in my arms, blasting the crowd with the hyper-expressive Free Jazz of Albert Ayler, Sam Rivers and Ornette Coleman. It really worked! The mass of sweating bodies parted like the Red Sea when they heard the saxophone squeal. The slogan for that year was: You Gotta Have Angst.

Do you recall the scene in Orwell's 1984 where the individual is being reprogrammed through terror? Finding that their prisoner has a morbid fear of rats, the interrogators affix a cage of live rodents to his face, using a special mask designed for just such a task. Naturally I had to emulate this nasty little episode at the 1984 Art Fair. I had the TV on my head , wlth rubber rats peering out, and a cage of live rats was hung on hooks directly in front of my face. It was cumbersome, yet effective. They were nice little rats. I took good care of them throughout the Fair, and then returned them to the pet store, where they were most likely fed to the boa constrictor.

The rats-in-my-face routine was presented to an audience out in front of the Michigan Union, where WCBN FM and Eclipse Jazz used to set up a stage and provide live music. This was very convenient, as it gave me a chance to conduct the annual Search For Art. I'd stand onstage and direct everyone's attention to the Art Museum across the street, explaining that some Art had in fact been sighted within the Art Museum itself. I would then go into the Lenny Bruce Prison Film schtick, my voice booming out over the sweltering throngs of shuffling humanity: "Allright, Art! We know you're in there! Stay in there, and you won't be bought!"

It was at the 1984 Art Fair that I was arrested while emceeing for the Blue Front Persuaders , one of Ann Arbor's hottest jump bands. I granted them a sixty second encore after a police officer had ordered the music to cease. In essence I was arrested for violatlng a sound ordinance and not having my driver's license with me. Hands cuffed behind the back and everything, man. It was quite depressing, especially when I returned to the area after getting out of jail and found a fraternity rock band blasting loudly on the front porch of their University-owned house next door to the Union. I was arrested at 9 PM. They were wailing away at 11:30, no cops in sight.

But I learned quite a bit in the holding tank underneath City Hall. After the cop gave up trying to find dope in my pockets, he answered my questions with a straightforward explanation of our city's transformation during the Art Fair. You see, this is hardly Ann Arbor at all during that week. The laws change, from sound ordinances to the restaurant owner's rights to serve people out of doors after a certain hour. We become Uke Paris during the Occupation -an open city. Different laws. It's true. I heard it from the Man. So you'd better be careful out there.

Some time ago, a local newspaper invented the legend that I personally had come up with the slogan IT ISN'T ART AND IT ISN'T FAIR. I do not know why one person needs to be singled out as the originator of a saying. If we must trace it back to a single individual, then maybe it was former WCBN DJ Steve Austin. But I don't think it came from one person at all. It didn't come from me, or from you. The people of Ann Arbor have been feeling that way for years, and some smart ones go to Lake Michigan during this Revenue Fair. Yes, revenue. Also Greed, Avarice and Sleaze.

Considering what Gov. Engler has been doing to Artists, we need to provide them with some opportunities to make a living. The Art Fair has become so exclusive. You wouldn't believe how many worthy creative individuals have been rejected by the arbiters - it really isn't fair. The best way is to support Artists year-round, whenever possible. If for some reason you find yourself in the middle of the Art Fair this year, watch out for the Sleaze, beware of that oily character from Orlando. He doesn't give a damn about Ann Arbor, and there are better people who need your money. If by some happy miracle you find real Art by real Artists, invest if you can. But watch your step. This is a different city during the week of too many people in one place. It's only partially Art, and it isn't Fair.

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