Polishing the...You Know

So, I have had quite a few comments and questions about the name of this blog.  My “polite” short answer is that the name incorporates the major themes of my art endeavors, traditional ideas about making art and beauty mixed with the mundane details of life (in this case, the earthiest of mundane details).  But, as is the case so many times, the answer is really less straightforward, more of a “pile” of related thoughts and experiences about the intersections of daily life and art.  I could say:

• Well, there was this time when I was taking an undergrad ceramics class.  I was sitting in the clay studio after hours, rubbing a thick-walled wheel thrown pot with slip, and trying in vain to burnish its surface to sheen with the back of a spoon.  A grad student walked in, watched me struggle for a few minutes, and sadly shook his head, then spoke, “My dad always said, ‘you just can’t polish a turd.’”  Then he turned and walked out.
• My studio is in the basement of our house, the “bowels” of our home, and I work around the heating ducts and plumbing.  Once a year, our sewer will back up, and yes, the main sewer clean-out is also there in the basement.  This means that I get to host an annual studio visit with a Roto-Rooter technician.  I get to explain what is going on in my studio, discuss the merits of making art, and, if I am lucky, have an impromptu critique.
• Any beginning painting student will tell you that it is pretty easy to make brown.  Mix a bunch of colors together, and you will get some variation.  Add the texture of paint to that observation, and before long the associations with bodily functions will come.  My work explores those colors that pollute our every day environments.  It is fitting that processing and digesting these colors yields the “specimens” that populate my paintings.
• Do you remember Homestar Runner?  If you missed out on this surreal bit of internet pop culture, look it up.  As an artist I have always felt some kinship with the Poopsmith.  He is a quiet character, a little mysterious, always in the background, nobody is quite sure what his work actually is, but they are sure that they do not want to stand too close to him.
• Just in case you think that it is juvenile to dwell on such a subject, I would argue that adults, not kids, are actually much more likely to initiate conversation about this taboo topic.  Sure, I grew up with four brothers, but at least we were polite enough to use creative euphemisms when needed (my favorite was, “I’m going to take the kids to the pool.”).  As parents, my wife and I have developed specialized vocabulary to discuss the contents of diapers.  “Honey, it was just a Milk Dud, nothing to get excited about,” verses “Wow! What a crack-packer!”, for instance.  I did think that this was just an “us” thing, but I have had the same types of conversations with professional peers, say, in the hallways at work.  “Yep, my kid was at home with a case of hot lava all day yesterday.”  Speaking of maturity, this sense of shared experience does carry into later years.  My 75 year old father-in-law, who is not normally known for his intimacy (I can only remember hugging him once in our 17 year relationship), feels perfectly comfortable discussing the state of his bowels with me.  Recently he volunteered, “They make a really good chocolate wafer that takes care of me when I’m feeling a little blocked.”
• I was listening to a radio call-in show not long ago, and a doctor was answering general health questions for listeners.  One caller wanted to know if it was possible to purify your diet to the point that your body would no longer produce solid waste.  The doctor seemed a little taken a back.  “You know, like if you just ate like pure vitamins and stuff,” the caller clarified.  The doctor tentatively ventured a few scientific explanations, but then conceded; we will never be able to fully eliminate the crap from our lives.
• On my birthday last month, my family was eating out to celebrate, and my mom called my cell phone to wish me a happy birthday.  I thanked her, and she continued, “Did you know that it is also A.A. Milne’s birthday?”  I said I didn’t, and she continued, “So they call today Pooh day!”  She continued again, “It fits you perfectly, since you were born all covered with meconium!”

And, on that last note, I could just say that making art is a means of “polishing” myself, and that, of course, makes me the…you know.

See my artwork at kevinpkellyart.artspan.com