Monthly Archives: June 2015

The “Why Cheap Art Manifesto” by the Bread and Puppet Theater

A couple of days ago, I discovered this manifesto on cheap art put out by Vermont’s (formerly NY’s) Bread and Puppet Theater in 1984. While I’ve been aware of the B&P Theater’s work ever since my student actor days in Auckland, New Zealand, in the early eighties, this manifesto was a new find. I share it here as I think it chimes nicely with my own project, Barcelona Free Art, a guide to art you can see for free in Barcelona. It inspires me regarding why we produce art.

The Bread and Puppet Theater company, which this year is celebrating “50 years of sublime arse-kicking puppetry”, was established in the early sixties by Peter Schumann, a sculptor, dancer and baker recently emigrated from Germany, and his wife Elka (apologies if I quote liberally from their website, but the hour is late). Its aims were (and are) to highlight issues like “rents, rats, police, and other problems of the neighborhood”, and it has gone from strength to strength, creating bigger and braver productions over the years.

Anyway, without further ado, the manifesto:

Cheap Art Manifesto_Bread & Puppet Theater_lge

You can purchase your copy here.

Further info: http://buff.ly/1G3p23S 

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The Morality of Language

Cody Delistraty

Does speaking in a second language make you a more moral person?

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“i like living, breathing better than working. my art is that of living.” –duchamp

With great shots of early #Cadaques to start, #Duchamp speaks on “avoiding the painting of the retina”, from his Impressionist beginnings to “Nude Descending Stairs”.

titus toledo

“i like living, breathing better than working. my art is that of living.” –duchamp

#duchamp #art #antiart #zen

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Get Dirty

Very inspiring! My mind is ticking over concerning my next novel.

Storyshucker

I’m going to be dirty today.

As a kid, Mama often met me on the back stoop as I came in from playing outside. With a broom in her hand she’d have me slowly turn in a circle while she brushed dirt from my blue jeans. She wasn’t against sweeping my bare legs either if I happened to be wearing shorts.

“Don’t bring that mess in this house.” She’d say. “Did you plan to get dirty?”

Well no. I hadn’t planned to. I was a kid. There was dirt. We met and fell in love. The end.

I remembered that this morning as I thought about where to plant some things in the yard. I still love dirt. Not potting soil in shiny garden-center bags. I don’t care for the sterile smell of plastic and perlite. I love real dirt. Earth.

One of the finest smells of spring is that…

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