YSaC, Vol. 945: Couch for Couch’s Sake
OK, I know we did a couch yesterday, but this is a MODERN ART couch!
It’s an odd quirk that drmk and I are actually more familiar with 20th century art than we are with the previous several thousand years. She’s better than I am, but I’ve actually tunnel vision to the point where I can successfully differentiate, for example, Sol LeWitt and Donald Judd, but not Monet and Manet.
In that context, I’d like to present you a little bit of mid-20th century minimalism:
Mark Rothko:
Josef Albers:
Robert Rauschenberg:
Wait… How’d that get in here? That’s a goat with a tire on it. Let’s try this one:
And now this:
couch
This is a used love seat. It is perfect for a college dorm or apartment. Needs to be gone ASAP. Best offer. PLEASE CALL OR TEXT ##########
There’s no green, so I suppose it COULD be a lost Mondrian.
Thanks for the art, Julie!
I didn’t know Manet and Monet were different. And I’m taking a big leap of faith believing that couches exist in those pictures. I’m going to have to resort to my default Socratic position-I do not know…
Socrates would have presented it as a question, cogito ergo sum:
How in the h-e-double lamb sticks should I know?
Band name FTW
IF’s The Philosopher Kings cover band.
No Smurfs were killed in the making of this couch.*
*This may not be true.
Hammy — I don’t thin that’s Smurf blue. More like Carolina Blue for the 2 UNC fans out there.
Now I can do each room of my house in a different artistic period, just from Craigslist. Lessee: I can have a couch in my impressionist room, a couch in my minimalist room, a black armoire in my Ashcan School room, and a Lionel Richie head in my pop-art room.
Dave, here’s something to go along with the armoire of darkness in the Ashcan School room (even if he’s not considered part of that group):
Malevich’s Black Square (does as it says on the tin)
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/57/Malevich.black-square.jpg
This picture was taken from the new game show, “Who’s ass is this anyway.”
I guess that imprint was left by Drew Carey.
It’s actually quite soothing to stare at, kinda like a lava lamp.
Except it’s all one color.
And it doesn’t light up.
Or move.
At all.
Other than that, exactly like a lava lamp.
Looks like a black light photo from the CSI investigation at the last college dorm.
I was just thinking that. I wonder what that patch of lighter blue is…? Must be… blood! It’s always blood! Or semen.
It looks to me kinda like a water color rendering of pocketless blue jeans in 2d, or half a necker cube, or a necker cube like rendering of 2d water color blue jeans. Man am I glad inspector gadget is on.
And I hate it when I run over goats and lose my tire in the chaos while driving over post modernly cobbled roads. Just kills me every time.
Manatte de Monette stood staring at the blank canvas covering the entire loft wall in front of him.
It taunted the artist.
It screamed, “Come here and paint me you silly, insignificant nerf-herder, you!”
Manatte paced back and forth in front of the massive canvas, hearing its silent screams and feeling more and more as though it was right. He was insignificant and nothing he did mattered.
He picked up a fan brush from the floor. It was just where he’d left it when, in a fit of rage, he’d stormed off yesterday after staring at the taunting canvas for hours.
When he stood up he caught a whiff of himself.
When, exactly did I bathe last? He wondered absently before turning his attention back to the task at hand.
He dipped the brush in the bright white oil paint and his hand quivered as he stood with arm outstretched.
Where do I start? Does it really matter anymore?
Manatte sighed as his arm dropped to his side. He threw the fan brush down on the floor where it left a white splatter to comingle with the assorted color splatters that had gone before it.
Manatte stared at the canvas and blinked.
The blank nothingness seemed to stare back.
Suddenly, after days of anxious pacing, cursing, not bathing and stops and starts it was all so clear.
Manatte grinned. It was the kind of grin one imagined the Cheshire cat grinned, if such a creature existed.
He picked up the fan brush and re-loaded it with bright white paint.
Stretching out his arm, Manatte made one small arc of white across the center of the equally-white canvas.
“Perfection!” He shouted and danced for joy around the loft.
At the gallery opening, Manatte – who had finally bathed – was in attendance. He had various pieces at this show, but the centerpiece, the magnificence, the one was given a room of its own.
Manatte walked into the room.
It was stark. Perfect he thought as he stood against the far wall staring at his masterpiece.
The tag, identifying it, was posted on the wall next to the canvas. It read, simply, “Taunting”.
Manatte was pleased and stood there a very long time. Finally, he was joined by a couple. They were dressed as all arts patrons are, and in fact, Manatte thought he’d recognized them from other art shows he’d had and had been to.
“What is this?” Asked the woman, standing a few feet in front of him.
Manatte desperately wanted to answer her question, but that wouldn’t be right. Art was to be experienced not explained.
“Damned if I know, but I can tell you what it looks like.” Her companion offered.
“Do tell!” The woman said, excitedly.
Manatte leaned in, wanting to hear this.
“Shit. Big.White.Expensive.Shit.” the man said, without a hint of irony.
The woman laughed long and loud. Her laughter brought other patrons into the room.
Surely at least one of these people will recognize genius, thought Manatte.
Instead, the collected crowd just stood and gaped at the canvas – bloody masterpiece – on the wall.
Finally, one distinguished gentleman in front turned to the crowd and said, “Well, that’s two minutes of our lives we’ll never get back. Shall we then?” , he gestured to the crowd indicating it was time to leave.
Manatte, heartbroken, walked outside in the cool night air. His cell phone rang and he saw, once again, that it was his brother-in-law.
“Hello?” Mannatte said.
“Manny, dude! Hey, sorry we missed your art-thingy, but I was wondering. I know I’ve asked before but I really, really think you’re a natural for the furniture business.”
“Look, Lenny, I’m an artiste” Mannatte replied ignoring the irritating nickname his uncouth relative liked to use, “and I’m not into manual labor.”
“Oh no, nothing like that for you! I was thinking more along the lines of upholsterer. I just got a deal on about 7,000 yards of bright white fabric and……”
*Alice stares at image*
*Alice notices tell-tale white stain on left cushion*
*Alice re-reads phrase “used love seat”…*
*Alice needs to be gone ASAP*
You guys are hyper observant. I’ve been going through life not noticing blaring white things on blue things. What the eff? Can you teach me?
Hang around, Corey, you’ll figure it out.
Or you’ll go mad.
It’s a fine line really.
My lifeline in a crazy world. Charlie Juliet. Maybe drinking two jugs of coffee at midnight is narrowing my focus. I’m ready to partay!
PUDDING NOT ON FIRE!
Well, first, you’ll need to join the Royal Society for Putting things on Top of Other Things.
The rest will follow naturally (especially if you elude the film crew).
Meeting adjourned forever!
The positioning of the stain suggests some, *ahem* creative usage.
Yes, but where is the t-shirt? Or is that why this lovemeseat picture was so cleverly cropped?
My guess is that it was properly placed at some point, but the user overshot.
Sparky should have paid more attention in math class when they were discussing ballistic trajectories.
True, but math only goes so far. Eventually it comes down to the accuracy of the barrel and the steadiness of the hand.
And SJ, let us not discount the non-linear relationship between surface area and drag. With a gaping margin with regard to the main variable, not to mention “muzzle” velocity. We literally are shooting in the dark? Blindly? Going blind while shooting? That’s what my grandma always said would happen.
Now SJ, I believe we’ve already had IF come in and explain the trajectory of such things to us once.
I’d rather not have to see math betray me like that again.
Yeah, my mind edited that to “used self-love seat” automatically. (Not sure what that says about me, other than I spend A LOT of time here.)
*tried, really, really, really tried not to notice*
*did anyway, vomitusinmouthus, ensued*
Thanks, Alice, just thanks.
“intra-oral emisis” is the term-of-art you’d want.
that, or “emisis imperfectus”
Has anyone noticed that they tried to clean the white spot off? If you look at the picture without focusing on anything in particular, you can see the greyish smudge of normal wear and tear kind of hovering over the upholstery, except it makes a bit of a curve around the white spot.
Or possibly the white spot is in fact not dirty at all, but a random placement of pure cleanliness, which is repelling the rest of the grime/funk.
Slightly OT: I think that is the perfect tire swing for the Li’l Killers Swing and Deer-Carcass Set.
I thought that when you did the staring-focusing thing, you always saw a dolphin?
Gahfunit, it’s a schooner! We’ve been over this.
Gesundheit!
Danke!
Curator: “This next piece by Werring Hauskoat entitled ‘Love Seat’ is deceptively shaped like a small couch, but the details reveal his bold statements. Note the present but subtle divisions in the cushions, indicating that they are separate, yet one both with each other and the sofa, perfectly mated to one another. And yet, the bold choice of Prussian blue to colour the couch with speaks of a sadness in the relationship that reveals that they are doomed to be alone in their misery even as they are together.”
Tourist: [raises hand]
Curator: “Yes, you with the tuft.”
Tourist: “Why are those men taking it away?”
Curator: [looks behind her, sees two men carting the couch away] “Hey, what are you men doing with that piece of art?”
Men: “Art? We got this at Ikea. It’s going in the staff lounge.”
Must have gotten it mixed up with this chair.*
This must be Furniture Week. *Thanx to Sara from LL.
Jebus. That chair dun gone got itself viviseated.
I just spent twenty minutes wandering around the Cult of Weird. That is a neat site!
You and me both, sister.
I hope you’re not blaming me for that. I told you not to swing that sword around.
Here. Here’s a needle and thread, now you can just fix that little mistake yourself. Don’t worry about painkillers, I think the chair is beyond feeling anything now.
Oh come now, it’s obviously an important design piece from De’Riere’s “Blue” period.
Daba dee, daba doo.
Excuse me, please pay attention to this short anecdote about a gentleman who lived an indigo existence.
Also, every day, night and all things in his visual range were entirely indigo, as was his internal and external organs. The blueness extended to his metaphorical self as well.
He also had a home which was indigo, and its singular window was of a like color. Not to mention his rather expensive car.
Just like him. Yes him. And all the people around him. Mostly due to the inattention he was paid by the aforementioned people.
…and then, one day, his father was killed….
…he changed his name to “Inigo”…
The Montoya family would be avenged!
Blue, blue, my love seat’s blue,
Take it away, asap, do!
White, white, one little stain.
Don’t turn the cushions, you’ll see lunch again!
And the Rose blooms with the morning’s sun…
Thank you! Be sure to water lightly, don’t want my roots to stand in water all day. 8)
Synchronicity is odd; was a newsfeed earlier on how the gossip sheets are wondering if LeAnn is too thin.
And, givern her penchant for yellow-orange eyeshadow, “blue” always seemed an odd thing to associate with Ms Rimes.
Edwardo Rumplebottom always favored the more plain couches. For a furniture that could run the gambits from elegant to tacky, cheap to expensive, antique to modern, and so forth, it might seem odd that somebody of Ed’s keen intellect would choose to favor only those that were plain. But the stark white lines of a plain couch, bleached to shining perfection were Ed’s favorite. Yes, something just felt so clean, sterile even about such a couch.
But they never remained so for long; and the daily maintenance of such a couch was beginning to take its toll. The steaming in the morning, a coat of bleach after lunch, a second steaming in the afternoon, and one more quick rub with bleach before the rubber couch protector would go on for the night. Indeed, it had become nearly a full time job keeping these couches clean, and Ed’s passion for the couches meant that all else could be pushed aside for them. Job, family, and wife all came second, much to the chagrin of Salvia Fruitedstoat Rumplebottom.
But that had all changed a few days ago. Salvia, after much heartache from their failing marriage, had found a couch to match the sterile collection Ed had so loved. This new couch had his undivided attention. And, better yet, it required so little maintenance. An overstuffed leather beauty, it was stain resistant and nearly waterproof, a paragon of what couch was!
Surely when Plato claimed that an object could not be the true, essential form, he had not seen this couch. Truly this couch was the form of all couches made whole in the world by some miracle of upholstery. Ed was finally complete, resplendent in the very essence of couch.
Salvia lounged upon the couch considering the change in Ed since the couch entered their lives. He had allowed her to rid their house of the now stark, empty white couches; an allowance unfathomed before the princely couch took command of their lives. She snuggled deeper into the couch, drawing her laptop up closer so she could finish the advertisement she was typing up. One more couch left, and they would be rid of the impostors.
Idly, as she found herself doing often, Salvia ran her hand over Ed’s birthmark. From what she could tell, it was the only blemish on the leather.
I’ve got a pile of birdseed for a special lady who can change:
“For a furniture that could run the gambits from elegant to tacky, cheap to expensive, antique to modern, and so forth.”
To:
“For a furniture that could run the gambits from elegant to tacky, cheap to expensive, antique to modern, and so forth, it might seem odd that somebody of Ed’s keen intellect would choose to favor only those that were plain.”
Also, I’ve still got Camothulhu held hostage.*
*I keep forgetting to bring him to work so I can use the post office here.
I read that as, “Also, I’ve still got Cthulhu held hostage” and I wondered how you captured it/him/whatever. Surely not with the birdseed?
Camothulhu.
Squee!
Also sorry it took me all day to get to that. Had a luncheon engagement. Ditto tomorrow. I am a popular girl!
It was a lot of work, stuffing three people in the box today. I guess the box has gotten smaller, due to budget cut-backs or something.
Nothing wrong with a small box.
What?
tsk tsk
Hammie, move your elbow.
I can’t breathe.
Sorry, that was me.
Then who is stepping on my foot?
That’s my fault – I dropped Mr. Crowbar.
Elbow?
Knee.
Shoulder Knees?
Pecil!
On the topic of Shoulder Knees, I can’t hear my wife singing “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” to the baby without cracking up a little inside.
Head, Shoulder Knees, and Toes!
Head, Shoulder Knees, and Toes!
Pecil, mouth, and Hammy’s elbows,
Head, Shoulder Knees, and Toes!
Modern art always makes me hungry. Now I’m craving skittles. And cheese.
Blue otter pops!
Boone’s Farm wine and potted meat—the perfect finger food and libation for art openings.
That would go well with the blue couch crumbs.
😉 You’re such an Epicurean LL and obviously throw the best parties!
Naturally, I have yet to find anyone who doesn’t like to eat vienna sausages and play ‘Go Fish’ for hours.
I thought you could only pot brownies…
At some point, I’m sure you can get away with potting anything.
Sherman T. Potter.
Peabody & Sherman.
Peabody Hotel
Hot L Baltimore
Lady Baltimore cake
The cake is a lie.
“You will be baked and then there will be cake.”
And we’ve come back around to potting things.
I like pie.
Don McLean.
Whiskey & Rye
Catcher in the Rye
John Lennon and the Dakota
I’ll take Manhanttan
(and I had to look that up, thanks Mudsy)
The Muppets take Manhattan.
“It isn’t easy being green!”
Being John Malkovich
Dear John
Bambi
Venison
Sonny and Cher.
Cherokee People
Cherokee Purple tomatoes
Indian summer
Jonathan Winters.
Maude Frickert
Bea Arthur
Bees Be Upon Them
Once Upon a Time …
In a galaxy far far away
Carl Sagan
Carl Jr’s
Junior mints
Baby Ruth
Ruth Buzzi
Phone Rings; Answering Machine picks up: “Alright all you stoners! that kitchen had better be spotless or you’re all to be sold for medical experiments!”
The Secret of NIMH
(I’m assuming Capn has decided to participate in our little Word Association game in his own special way here.)
Bambi meets Godzilla.
Are you a Carl Sagan, Ronald Regan, San Diegan Pagan,
Who every other Tuesday night, worships Israel’s Begin?
That is all I remember of that Filk Song. Sigh.
Yo listen up here’s a story
About a little sparky that lives in a blue room
And all day and all night and everything he sees
Is just blue like him inside and outside
Blue his couch with a blue little cushion
And a blue cover
And everything is blue for him and his post
And everybody on craigslist
Cos he ain’t got nobody to sell to
It’s blue
da blue de
da blue die
da blue de
da blue die
da blue de
da blue die….
(I’ll be in my corner)
But you’re an upside down twin today?
*points to Taco’s post earlier* 🙂
Sorry, I’ve been locked in a closet for a while (see yesterday’s return of Lyle). Little slow on the uptake 🙂
Yes, Your Blueness!
Are you gonna take it home today?
Set it down beside that red table, right?
Are you gonna shake the dust mites out?
Fat bottomed girls
You make the blue cushions squish down.
Hammy, that was pure artistry.
You know, it just dawned on me what that really is. It’s not a couch at all. It’s a macro image, taken through a blue filter, of Gary Busey’s upper lip and top incisors.
Well, his or Bugs Bunny’s.
You think? I was suspecting it might be a phone photo taken by someone who was accidentally buried alive, but with his phone (hmm, so that’s what the velour casket looks like inside when it’s closed). Or perhaps posted to their very last Facebook status: “OK, joke’s over, guys!” By the time they could dig down to him, it was too late.
Since we’re all about minimalism today, I thought I’d take the time to introduce everyone to some geeky minimalism.
Speaking of video game art;
http://www.artofvideogames.org/
*Begins to drool*
*hands Taco a towel*
You probably won’t want that towel back, Lyle.
I couldn’t vote for Hunt the Wumpus on Atari. Or a screenshot that says:
You have moved into a dark place. It is pitch black. You are likely to be eaten by a grue.
>go east
Living Room
A battery-powered brass lantern is on the trophy case.
Above the trophy case hangs an Elvish sword of great antiquity.
>take lantern
Taken.
>Take sword
Taken.
I cast Magic Missile into the darkness!
You are in a maze of twisty little passages all alike.
Are there girls there?
You are in a tight, square area, and a bird with brass knuckles is facing you.
Punchity Punch Punch!
G’Night, Daugavpils!
Wow, 139 comments! And a wonderful word association thread! I wanna do that again! I’ll start.
Blue Heaven.
Stairway to Heaven
Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door
Knocked Up.
Up in Smoke.
Stoners baked by the dashboard light?
(Dude, dude, stove looks like a car! Yeah, duud, meatloaf’s burnt”)
Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
Ebony Eyes
Ebony and ivory
Leave your reply here >>>>>>
ebony’s song in les mis . . . and I had to goooooogle that! Sheesh.
Tickling the ivories…
BTW: This looks like one of them couches from a CSI crime-scene where they shine the black light on it to highlight any…ahem…”stains”. Which makes that spot on the left a…ahem…”stain” on the love seat.
Love crime.
Blue velvet *
*don’t blame me, between smoke gets in my eye and love crime, it was the inevitable conclusion
**on a side note, I had a prof in college assign watching this movie….everyone was really stoked except me, who had actually seen the movie…
limelolly, you are indeed the epitome of snarky reptiles. That sounded better in my head. Punchity Punch Punch!
Good Morning, Ol’ Blue!
I adore epitomes.