What I love about this work is that it takes the most basic image in our culture, biology and DNA - some psychologists believe face recognition is hard-wired right into the grey matter don't you know - and just packs multiple versions of a mug within a canvas. Very simple but beautifully effective in evoking something in the viewer.
I mean that's my take on it.
I came across Clint's work in the latest issue of Broken Pencil Magazine, an invaluable survey of independent arts in North America. It is totally double D DIY, which is to say its fully packed with everything you need to know about music, art and the written word. And the latest issue exposes what's underneath and behind the new burlesque.
Broken Pencil also mentioned my little fast fictions in their latest print issue and I'm very excited to announce that a short-short story of mine is slated to appear in issue 30.
So put down the knitting needles which you're using to knit your latest soft 'zine about elephants and anvils and enjoy...
"Blankety, blank, blank, blank !!" he vociferates red-faced and enraged. He slams more money into the two quarter thick slot at the front of the vending machine and waits for his bag of cheetos. Dangerously cheesy, my ass, he mutters into his fist. If the bag of yellowy goodness which is hanging on the tip of a large metal corkscrew does not drop this time, he will become the epicenter of rage.
He wants them.
He hates them.
A rope tightens around his midsection.
He presses "B" "12" and is rewarded with nothing. It doesn't even make the effort of moving.
"Fuckety, fuck, fuck, fuck !!" he screams, shaking the machine back and forth. He sees reflections of faces in the glass facade as he tilts it towards the light but when it crashes back down to its upright position he sees all the bags of chips, chocolate bars and cookies which are out of reach. He shakes it again with renewed vigor and this time on its tilt he witnesses the faces of everyone who's ever denied him what was rightfully his. Stone faced and unsympathetic. An Easter Island of indifference. He can see them all crammed into a portrait of his past.
He screams as the machine lurches over upon his measly 145 pounds. A weight he used to lord over those who were smaller.
A lineup of kindergarten kids clinging to a rope stand in front of the conclusion to the struggle, wondering how the field trip can possibly progress from this moment to a friendlier and happier place.
The boy at the front makes a half-baked attempt at playing tug of war against immobile death.