Exene Karros: God strike me down or at least pay attention
Sept 10 - Oct 12, 2022
30 Orchard St, Gallery 2
Dominos is flirting with UPS. Uber is fighting with Target. The green M&M is becoming less sexy, the orange M&M is Lisa Rina. Betty Boop is getting pants. Mr. Peanut is dead. Girls are posting pictures of their bloody noses, their bruises, their sunken eyes. Men post nothing. Only their paintings or the girls with the bruises. The jouissance of “nothing matters” has congealed into “nothing makes sense.” Everything makes me tired.
Rarely am I able to look anywhere without something telling me to buy something or change the way I do things. I’m working when I’m looking. It’s my job to look. The seat in front of me on the plane tells me about the snacks on board and it tells me what it will look like when I die. I will be smiling sliding out the window on a little inflatable slide, I will be wearing a purple dress and I will have no nose. The wrapper on the candy bar tells me about more candy. I want to close my eyes and just eat the chocolate without thinking about the ones I’m not eating. The cereal tells me to donate to help children with terminal illness. The writing on the highway underpass tells me to smoke weed. The billboards tell me to buy it on my phone and get it delivered to my front door. The dermatologist tells me to come back in three weeks. The man at the grocery store says I need to buy something to use the bathroom. I buy a banana but then I need a key. The banana sits on top of the toilet paper holder. I try to drive away but I need my ticket. I am offered so many options for what to put on my salad but there’s only one way I can pay. I get to choose whatever I like but I can’t be anywhere else but here.