fourth incarnation, Olso

I've built four or five of these fuckers. I say four, but remember the fifth being the balls-out helmet, painted blue, lasting one show, a performance that emptied 400 or so ping pong balls (from the head) while bouncing on an amplified yoga ball, yeah, that one...





Eye placement is key.

My longest lasting helmet (from last year) had virtually the same blockprint eyes, bicorn element, but was so stinky from cigarette smoke, bars, and the last straw, a fog machine that nearly maced my eyes out of their sockets, that, it too has been placed into museum status, meaning, stuffed into a box or stapled to a wall, never to be worn again. Which brings us to this one, or me to that one, as I doubt anyone actually reads this blog. Here we have number 4-5, number 3-4 is gone, done, left behind for a one-off in Naples. Same supermarket aesthetic, though: IKEA catalog and all its consumerist handpicked genotype-friendly family photos, aaah neoliberalism, same EYES, motherfucker.

Eyes are funny nodules. You put em on and bam, you're no longer a papier mache fool, but a flat-headed sturgeon, orator, guffawing, interloping as well as interrupting, and hats off to ye. Thanks to everyone who came out, so they say.



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