Making Art and
Eating, Too
by
Cliff McReynolds
Artists need to communicate like salmon need to spawn. So compelling are those desperate messages buried somewhere within the mystery of most postmodern art that artists forced to choose will make art rather than eat. In the end, of course. this choice will slow even the most driven. Meanwhile, there are dental bills to ignore and landlords to evade.
There are approximately 500.000 serious working artists in the U.S. and counting. Of these, artist Wayne Thiebold guesses that maybe one-tenth of one percent make a living from their art. That may be a little high. How do they do it?
The classic method begins with a coherent body of work, followed by a lifetime of schlepping slides. A top priority, especially among the ego-advantaged, is getting famous and staying there, known in the trade as "gaining recognition." But even the most sharply honed survival skills and a craving for abuse will rarely do it; the pluralistic art scene is like a million desert flowers in August heat, blossoming at dawn and dead by noon.
Apart from the transience of immortality however. it all looks to the artist as basic as one, two, three. 1 must make art. In order to make art 1 must sell it. In order to sell it 1 must gain recognition.
The one alternative to the classic method applies to the occasional artist who senses something, more to life than making art - marriage or even a little security, for example. These can
do anything as long as it’s go to college, get a degree, teach and squeeze art in around the edges. For some this works, more or less. For others, it's a hard bargain. with competing needs constantly being reexamined and always the art hanging heavy, heavy over thy head.
Of the nation's half million or so would-be professional artists, maybe 200,000 of them live - if that is the word for it - in New York City. Most of them have real big elbows and go by the rule that "you do what you have to do." Quibblers note that this is roughly the code of a Mafia hit man, but it’s just business - nothing personal - and could help explain rumors that artists in this town can get a little grumpy or even impolite as all join in the lively effort to get famous. or at least get even.
Many arrive from elsewhere, willing to wait two, even three weeks for success, meanwhile crazed with hope and bedazzled by the glowing intensity of their commitment:
"I"ve got to become an artist.'
Why?
"Because I've got something to say."
Really, what?
"I've got to become an artist."
Such as these head right for the front, out there on the cutting edge of the avant-garde, even though no one seems to know just where or what it is anymore.
Way back when, everybody knew. If the stench of a show of decomposing body parts smeared with excrement caused enough people to vomit, you could predict it getting very pricey and know you were witnessing the next historical breakthrough.
In recent years, however, artists find themselves cramming into a funnel of diminishing possibilities. After years devoted to experiencing the thrill of outrage, collectors are barely shockable anymore, denying Mary Boone, Leo Castelli and the other joint chiefs of art their principal means of identifying great art. (Close observers also note a shift taking place here among those who benefit from the aesthetic experience. While ordinary people were once thrilled by the art of their time, in ours it seems primarily the dealer who is suddenly galvanized at the moment of a more contemporary epiphany . "My God!"' he exclaims, "This will SELL!")
It is hardly surprising then, to see the gathering interest in art which is obscure, or better pointless, or best of all impenetrable. It can be validated by decree, and if the wind is right, sold by sundown. Collectors rarely buy art anymore; they invest in it. Since most of them question their own taste, they rely on experts to dispense that reassuring explication measured in tonnage which by implication contains the key to decoding, if not the art, at least the marketplace. If you don't understand what you've read, it must be important, or if it rings false it must be true, or if it's really bad it must be good, or two leaps per chasm is fatal. Any more questions?
And the artist? No problema. The terminally ambitious will by nature generate product about the sound of time moving, for example, if that is the trend. Whatever it takes. And not only do they feed this ethos, they help birth it: they are like spermatozoa: all that wiggling, all that frenetic getting there, all those dollar signs.
And they frown a lot. And like most artists they are always willing to concede that they are right. And their families wonder when they are going to get a real job. And whether they follow the teachings of Andy Warhol, J. Paul Getty (rise early, work hard, strike oil), or Frosty the Snowman, they all succumb to a kind of egocentric rapture of the deep, guaranteeing that endless supply of tedium which promises to keep the arbitri elegentiae cashing in for years, while confounding the rest of us forever.
It is no small matter in terms of merchandising, that artists always come up with something new. Hardly surprising, though, when you think about it, every artist who ever made a painting or sculpture made something new. The point is that new sells, with this distinction: new cars or face creams imply better ones. Alas, with art, new only means different, and again we're begging the question: isn't every work of art different from every other? But not all differences are equal.
And here perhaps is the seminal rationale for postmodernism's standing army of art police: thousands are apparently needed to supervise and regulate the innumerable nuances of variation among differences. (Thousands more spread out and search for purpose as well, although the basic rule of thumb is clear to all: newer differences postpone ennui longer than older ones.)
The cacophony of countless opinions simultaneously expressed helps sustain the normal chaos of the postmodern art scene, a scene not unlike the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. In both, all that clamor somehow translates into trends, depending on who discerns them first and has the biggest lungs. But on the trading floor, demeanor doesn't matter. In the best museums and galleries, on the other hand, it can matter very much. In a milieu where elitism passes for class, salesmen and fast-trackers assimilate old money protocols, believing apparently that one gains an advantage by patronizing those suspected of using small words where large ones would suffice, or by being able, say, to pick one's nose while still conveying the absolute authority of Louis the Sun King.
For the artist who wants to make art and eat too, finding a way into this big-league art scene can eat up more time and creative energy than painting or sculpting. Priorities must be constantly reworked and useful people cultivated.
A top priority, especially among the ego-advantaged, is getting famous and staying there, known in the trade as "gaining recognition. "
Opportunities require milking. Appearances need planning, maintenance and deciphering, and, as in any house of mirrors, many get disoriented, many others lost. However, even the most predatory must still decide on a price for his integrity. No sale means no short cuts. Selling out corrupts the art. The trouble here is that the decision is seldom present and accounted for but seems to occur in unnoticed increments.
Overarching all other vexations, and currently preeminent throughout the art community, are what could be called blessings of autonomy. Autonomy assumes that the sovereignty of each individual is absolute. This perspective does not really leave a whole lot of room for higher authority, nor for any at all to distinguish good art from bad, except by decibel level, which is where those big lungs come in: he who shouts loudest gets to be right. Rather like junior high though, where the best kind of right is starting a fad or being part of one.
If autonomy is a mixed blessing for big noises and wannabes, it may be in the end none at all for the artist. Remember that, for artists, the choice between communicating or breathing is a very close call. Behind the games, flamboyance, awkwardness, coolness, heroic despair and all the rest is that blazing compulsion to get the message out. So why does contemporary art bewilder so well?
Self-centered artists make self-centered art, which helps explain why their work is so obvious and important to them, while looking so opaque and meaningless to everyone else.
Apart from that peculiar fascination with the newest wonders of banality which seems so characteristic of critical and curatorial careerists, the best clue may be found in the do-or-die independence of the overtly creative. Nobody will kill for total freedom sooner than the artist, but freedom from all restraint, after all, is license. And, ultimately, license crowns even the least among them with a wisdom surpassing God's, rendering each impervious to all things not of or proceeding from himself. With blessings like these, who needs curses?
Self-centered artists make self-centered art, which helps explain why their work is so obvious and important to them, while looking so opaque and meaningless to everyone else. Suppose an artist had an alcoholic father who boozed in the kitchen, urinated in the sink, and smashed beer bottles over his kid's head. So, later, the artist's work is all foul-smelling kitchen sinks, broken beer bottles strewn around the gallery floor and, hidden beneath, a father-doll with pins stuck in it. While the meaning of such art might somehow escape you or me, the artist muskies on undeterred. He might puzzle over our insensitivity, but he does not doubt the significance of his message, because it is so significant to him, and, more importantly, because he has no larger frame of reference.
If you want to create, some say, get in tune with the creator, who may offer a broader view of things than the ego does. For artists who see a spiritual dimension at the core of making art and making a living from it, this sounds better than sex by the fireplace.
By taking the view that God is everywhere and we are only here, that She is forever and we are only now, that He is very big and we are very small, that we know nothing and She knows all, these artists decide that their creator may even know how to guide their careers.
And a thousand failures and renewals of faith later-voila!-the muralist with a flair for writing grants keeps on getting them, or the painter with no feel for business sees her work sell anyway, year after year.
To artists like these, it must almost seem as if every human being is the creation of a creator who leads each of us to our own particular fulfillment, according to our own uniqueness and willingness to be led.
According to Simon Weil, "To be always relevant you must say things which are eternal." Deeming it true that God is in charge of eternity, and lusting like all artists to be relevant, faithful ones head, they hope, straight for the spiritual and aesthetic realities of the universe. Themes occur, repeat and vary; unity is balanced by variety; what goes around comes around. These, they believe, provide the strongest foundation for their art. They also believe that making art based upon eternal principles leads, as William Blake puts it, to "melting apparent surfaces away and revealing the infinite which was hid."
While the Holy Spirit looks like the tooth fairy to a self-centered artist, and self-centeredness like the endless enema to a faithful one, ultimately perhaps, it all comes down to a matter of faith.
Two atheists stand on a cliff agreeing that it is impossible to believe in anything you can't see. Suddenly one loses his balance, grabs the other, sending both over the edge. As they plunge to their deaths, both have hurried revelations: "I believe in God!" screams one. "I believe in gravity!" screams the other.
Similarly the experience of two artists may lead each to different conclusions. By relying on his maker, one may live out a career tailored specifically to his weaknesses and strengths. Adapting the morality of a serial killer may lead the other to the many variations on two alternatives: starve until you make it, or teach and make art on the run.
The first one says: "I've never seen God, so I'll just walk blindly, trusting Him to lead me. After all, it's only my life."
The second asks: "Why should I settle for fulfillmeno when I can be successful?"
Maybe artists really are crazy just like everyone says.
Home Page Making Art and Eating, Too
President Survives Another Press Conference
Wonders
of the Visible World
by
Cliff McReynolds
New art museum is causing
controversy; huge
erection pleases some, offends others.
The inaugural biennial at the just-completed Hirsheim-Gebtune may not have any redeeming social value, but in an era which dotes on equality among subjective realities - no matter how curious or vile - it is probably fitting that a museum purporting to survey the contemporary art scene should itself reflect the art which reflects the culture.
The building, designed by Max Zicon-Withpit, confronts us with uncompromising eclecticism - ranging from classical Greek to the wigwams of the Iroquois - a sort of "Why not?" approach to architectural design which serves notice that here is one more architect with an original vision, while also affirming that 39.2 million dollars and 782,000 square feet of floor space can be fun.
The entrances are indicative; there are 16 of them but only one is open at any given time. That one entrance is subject to closure without prior notice. It often is, so that another may be opened elsewhere. Although posted signs state which entrance is open, they are inaccurate. This is why one may regularly observe frowning herds of ticket holders wandering from one entrance to another.
Those who actually gain admittance may notice other facets of personal statement. The walls are constructed at a 45° angle, which would create serious problems for the curator hoping to hang paintings. Alas, that was not meant to be; the walls are studded with hundreds of weathered railroad ties jutting from all angles, creating a blinding compositional drama In the revolving light of powerful starch lights glaring out from among them. The display of sculpture has also proven an Insurmountable challenge. The floors have beets inspired by a meaningful personal experience which the artist dots not discuss except by allusion to a subsequent obsession; that the floors of the museum could only be lacquered panty hose constructed to resemble the Atlantic off Cape Hatteras in a storm.
Zicon-Withpic has often emphasized how much he loves his work. Nevertheless, he treats a building as an object, an approach which some feel reduces the union of art with edifice to an act of passion. Perhaps. In this instance, however, It seems apparent that only a will undistracted by complicating entanglements could thrust the instrument of its own justification into that higher emancipation where the climatic surge of a supreme self-expression could, at last, release architectural form from function.
Since display of the exhibition would be impractical within the actual museum, it has been mounted instead on the canvas walls and dirt floors of two full-sized circus tents purchased for that purpose, as well a for display of the permanent collection.
The scope of this first biennial, though ambitious and wide-ranging, cannot pretend to represent more than a few hundred of the myriad directions artists are exploring in this new age of artistic pluralism. And, yet, a number of artists, burrowing ever deeper into the concentric circles of their deepest depths, continue to establish differences between their work and that of their peers by reaching beyond the usual new and original departures to reconnoiter the somewhat less traveled realm of unusual originality.
Although crypto-red unctonism his been a recurring impulse among the northern Iconoclasts in many of the post-modernist schools, no one until Heinz ilcterbaum ever commanded the technological means - not to mention the brio and single-minded determination to validate its premises. His "Au Revoir Chartres," documented here with correspondence, working drawings, before and after photographs of the cathedral and aselccted list of indictments, may one day be regarded u a pivotal catalyzing development in the evolution of the post-structural era as he envisions it. Indeed, If the vision finds its means, then we may also be sure that the means points the vision to its proper end, even when certain procedures toward that end cause grumbling or disapproval.
Dieterbaum had previously worked mostly with Jack hammer and wrecking ball, but the enormous scale of the present piece compelled consideration of tools with greater fire power. According to his computations, seven 105 mm howitzers, correctly placed and expertly manned, could complete the work in a six-hour time frame. In fact, It took almost four days, because ' of the unexpectedly spirited efforts of French gendarmes (and a civilian ad hoc force) to place limits on Dieterbaum's freedom of artistic expression.
In a similar vein, John Smith (his nom d'art) raises questions relating to artistic freedom with "Big Deal." Does the right of free speech guaranteed by the First Amendment include the artist's right to express himself aesthetically, unimpeded by legal restrictions? Does the artist have the right to refuse entry to his creation when it is displayed In a public setting? These and other questions will apparently be settled in court; a suit brought by the city attorney's office against Mr. Smith and the Hirsheim-Gebrune is scheduled to reach trial next March.
The polemical nature of "Big Deal" reminds us that the formal parameters of the creative process are usually most tenuous when they seem most secure; relativity then becomes a movable beast (as Hemingway almost said). When the consensus of one generation becomes the intolerable impediment of the next, art becomes the branch that waves the winds of change.
Change, of course, Is discomfiting and problematical. It involves the unknown, the fearful, the mysterious. So does Mr. Smith's work. And despite the intense curiosity of a perplexed public, the enigma has remained, in part because no matter how creative or persistent, no one was ever able to view the interior without fulfilling certain requirements.
From the outside, "Big Deal" appeared to be a huge mobile van shaped rather like a long armored truck. It was powered by a 3,000 HP Pratt and Whitney J.L engine, and had a small windshield and portholes of one-way bulletproof glass. No one was admitted inside without a large bundle of cash and/or close questioning, and no press or law enforcement, period.
By special arrangement with the museum, "Big Deal" was placed at the main exit of Tent II, and Mr. Smith given permission to drive away in his exhibit at any time without prior notice. Around 2 a.m., Thursday morning, he did, just as Sheriff's deputies, according to reports, were arriving at the Tent II entrance with search warrants.
Thus, the aura of the mystical at its core - that unearthly quality of Inventive will which must always defy ordinary limits In order to break into the attainment of a higher order of originality - implies that a condensation of experiential particulars, i.e., the swift transaction, or the sudden paranoia, has been intermingled with the artist's intent to create the sort of unique encounter with previously undisclosed levels of instinctive reality which is the essence of the aesthetic experience whenever It occurs. Perhaps this must suffice, since not only the mystery, but the Intention of the work of art may be diminished or perverted by attempts at full disclosure by the artist, definition by the critic or adjudication by the courts.
"Broom IV," by Zap Flant, is the sixth in his latest cycle of assemblages, all of which tend to mediate and ratify the felt nature and physical existence of the objects he selects. Although the present work, a broom leaning against a wall, may still generate a keener honing of the artist's metaphysical itinerary, Flant has not yet expanded his sensibility to Include the ramifications of a philosophy formulated outside the indicative mood. But why quibble? The progression of his beguiling solutions reflect a simulated vision of definitions from statements connoting negation to assertions intersecting their proper function as signifiers, or bridges as it were, across the lush terrain of an eminent Interior transcendence.
Recall that even in the early '70s, when Flant first produced the flamboyant "Trios," he was already intimating the possibility of extending his oeuvre to encompass additional reductionist proclivities, as indeed he later did with "Duo" and "Trio Minus One" aeries. By late 1978, not only was he placing a rock, a pair of sunglasses and a shower curtain on the floor of a gallery, for example, he was sometimes removing the shower curtain. It was this counter-elaboration of expression implicit in the condensing of his means which unleashed that unexpected primordial tension of the various "Duos" and "Trios Minus Ones." It is this same characteristic tension which Flant continues to tap as the activation mechanism for virtuaily all the work he has subsequently produced. As he puts it: "Well, I just thought when I felt like I was doing the other things, I was like a free trip to the movies, but then I had that period when I was licking fly swatters, and I dreamed this would not be the wave of the future so now I eat the whole tomato and so on..."
We find this progression provocatively extended In the work of Blakely Potter, although the aggressive sullenness which his "Blink, But Flinch Not" evokes probably relates less to its nature than to its presumed location. By reinterpreting the formulaic amenities of spatial relationships in the light of his own existential concept of presence, Potter implies a denser texture of motives and ontological assumptions on his part, while inducing a heightened sense of inquiry on ours.
In terms of formal composition, the space around objects has traditionally been assigned an Importance equal to the objects themselves. However, by merely subtracting the object, Potter compels us to refocus, to involve ourselves with the idea of an object, a process which suggests the art object need not necessarily be the art, but rather, serve as the vehicle for the experience of the art.
Thus, a space may appear as a void (a void to enter), an extrapolation of sublimations alluding metaphorically, perhaps, to the maleness of projection through the guarded gate of another's receptive vacuum. If so, this is art in the service of acceptance, of liberation, a work which speaks to the affirmation - finally - of men who wear dresses, or would like to.
Too often, the collision of attraction with inhibition means entropy; by the time one is ready to rationalize the matter, the means has ceased to exist. But here we find one of those rare occasions when art informs life rather than simply mirroring it, and we sense that the exhilarating rush of eternity is more a probing kind of static, a realization which compels us to strip away the clothing of symbology to receive the essence of the message; when universal principles become inconvenient, emptiness and substance may become interchangeable among aesthetic value systems, free associations and consenting adults.
There are some, of course, who may no longer trust the artists to make art. Empiricists and certain traditionalists, for example, might want to suggest that art which excludes mere existence as a condition of Its reality would have difficulty attracting an audience to relate to it, search for it or even maintain the concentration required to explore the rhetoric of its didactic. However, skeptics do well to remembcr, as the history of art in this century repeatedly demonstrates, that today's trash is tomorrow's smash. Furthermore, as people mill around Flant's work (i.e., "The Name Tag"), the discerning may already see telltaIe signs of that classic combination of testy bewilderment and awed intimidation masked as polite interest or good-matured contempt which traditionally precedes lnternatlonal recognition for the artists, valldation for his art and, naturally, Increased sales.
While It is hardly possible any longer to group artists according to plausible "Isms," there are still some who pick up threads from past movements even as they slide courageously (and painfully, one assumes) around out there on the cutting edge of the avant-garde. Vestiges of futurism, for example, an early expression of the impact of machines upon culture, arc still found in the work of Jack Slack, the New York building ascensionist and Samantha Mill Valley, whose "Earth, Sand, Rain, Peace" maybe seen In Tent I opposite "Ant Wars XIV" by Dooley Simms.
Ms. Mill Valley's reaction to those disembodied recorded voices we sometimes hear when picking up a ringing telephone has been to create her own series of recorded responses, activated by audio tone recognition, so that her machine interacts with their machine. The whole device is constructed of seashells and celestial dust, weighs "less than a basket of rose petals" and is suspended 15 feet above the ground by positive thought and harmonic premonitions.
While the incoming messages are uniformly pedestrian, Mill Valley's recorded reactions combine with them to create 2 surrealistic, almost mystical interplay of technology with emotional complicities and informal ideological positions. One mechanical caller offers, free, "three days and one night in Las Vegas." Another offers congratulations on winning either a Porsche 911, a beach-front cottage in Sausalito or a set of steak knives. In reply we hear: "I am me . . . Vegetables are animals, too... Let the water run-with joyful feet. . ." Responses are sometimes smug, chanted, accompanied by beetle chimes, or by the sound of one eye looking. The point is obvious: this juxtaposition of vernacular narratives postulates the displacement of decontextualized appropriations of time, of distance, of space, segueing to a transformation of revitalized technological propensities ranging from a kind of overbearing passiveness to a fragile, loving vengeance modified by the forthright ambiguity of a gynecocratical revulgency of power, of purpose, of predaciousness which seems marginally mitigated by her suspicious tendency to use small words where large ones would suffice.
Nevertheless, Ms. Mill Valley seems positively aglow with the promise of her projected schema; in addition to continually dueling with technology, she hopes to help reestablish the ecological balance by removing unenlightened vibrations from the food chain. This process can be facilitated, she feels, by following the teaching of Hrka Mikovilc, a 7th century coven member from Lapland, now in her 142nd Incarnation, who speaks through Whey Uthustra, a trams-channeler living in San Francisco. According to Uthustra, Mikovlic has returned to help us understand that her teaching has superseded God's because it is older but newer, and that we may become as one with the two souls of the three eternalnesses by returning animal skins to their rightful owners, learning to milk reindeer, and, above all, remembering to manifest new astral spheres Into the flow of our meditation each day, so that we may resonate with the universal energy of cosmic niceness.
Varying "religious" concerns emerge as a recurring theme of the entire exhibit. We find a large computer, shaped like a cross, plugged directly Into the checking accounts of over 374,000 "prayer partners" whose faith and generosity support the an and tanker fleet ministries of Happyjack Humbly. One also notes, in an apparent gesture of curatorial whimsy, a large, tightly rendered oil by the mythological Arcadian, Thomas Helms. Although wonderfully adequate, If one goes in for spine-tingling beauty, masterful technical skill, spiritual truth and that sort of thing, It is the unabashed substitution of simplicity for self-absorption which gives the painting its delightful, if occasionally tedious, vulgarity.
In a manner which quaintly unites the humanity of Rembrandt with the line and mysticism of Blake, Helms has depicted an ordinary-looking Jew in a dusty robe who appears to bring a dead man back to life. What might have been embarrassing becomes amusing when one realizes that the content is actually Its punch line. Nevertheless, bringing to bear even the casual discernment of a mature perceptual/contemplative process will lead the well-schooled viewer to the recognition of an intrinsically convoluted orientation in which the apparent meaning of the work is its true meaning, and a framework in which each succeeding layer of thematic elaboration confirms, rather than contradicts or obfuscates its message.
In a less sophisticated era, when objective distinctions were imagined to exist between truth and error, freedom and license, good and bad, It must have seemed possible to gauge the merits of art according to universal values such as theme and variation and the balance found throughout creation between unity and variety. Today, however, when will power plus experience proves that certainty is only ignorance of ambiguity, and when doubting everything, or better, knowing nothing is the sine qua non of the knowledgeable, we must caution that, by including work like Helms', even the wittiest curator may unintentionally endanger the random (i.e., personal) subjectivity of the selection process.
This is a small matter, however, one which hardly dims the bright prospects of a contemporary museum destined, perhaps, to help quicken the pulse of progress as art continues to move forward in all directions.
While one may say the very presentation of a survey of post-modern art signifies the fulfillment of its purpose, the more important exhibitions function on other levels also. Thus, the Hirsheim-Gebrune not only provides a serviceable visual forum from which to continue refining written commentary on the implications of the pluralistic era Into a higher art form than the art it critiques, its bigness and newness, of course, invests It with the authority to validate those artists deemed to have struggled most successfully to create the trendiest epiphanies, most promising alternatives to reality, cleverest degradations, most urgent banalities, newest expressions of heroic despair (in itself a growing industry), the subtlest derivations, freakiest titillations, coolest esoterica, funniest obscenities and most bankable aesthetic truths. Seeing also that these circumstances enable the credulous many to know what they like and provide the more seasoned few with opportunities to transform their love of art into a profitable emotion, we realize all this helps establish the divine purpose of art (in today's market).
We applaud the arrival of architecture as proclamation and acknowledge a major new museum's brilliant initial effort to advance the cultural agenda. In the usual modernist tradition, Zicon-Withpit has insisted on regarding himself as the source of his creativity, with two auspicious results: his achievement marks him as one more candidate for great renown within the contact of the present system, while making it obvious that the circus big top may perform a natural function of the museum, freeing architectural structure to define itself as pure self-expression, unrestricted by purpose.
Home Pagea Making Art and Eating, Too
PRESIDENT
SURVIVES ANOTHER PRESS CONFERENCE
by
Cliff McReynolds
Harrisburg, PA-In a wide-ranging press conference from yet another undisclosed location this morning, President Hinkel announced that He will conduct His entire campaign for reelection this fall from the Chief Executive’s bunker 250 feet below ground somewhere In southern Pennsylvania.
"We feel that this ground-breaking approach to campaigning not only sets an exciting new precedent for the way successful political campaigns may well be conducted in the future, but also offers a practical demonstration of my administration’s courageous willingness to think ‘outside the box’."
Following this announcement, the President answered reporters’ questions from the nearby pressroom for over an hour via closed-circuit television.
He seemed surprised but serene when asked if He was aware of the estimated 600,000 armed civilians searching for Him in the immediate vicinity, determined to express their discontent "personally," as one spokesman put it, "in unmistakable terms."
After noting that "some apparently remain unwilling to protest lawfully from the area provided them" (a roped-off field on Rock Island, near Portland, Maine), the President expressed His antipathy to violence and strong support for the controversial gun control bill coming to the Senate floor for a final vote in October. "While some may not agree that shooting their fellow citizens is a form of speech protected under the first amendment, most thoughtful Americans understand that the principle of minimal restrictions on gun ownership is more important than the 30,000 people shot each year with them. While these deaths are unfortunate, let me make clear my intention to defend this bill against efforts by well meaning citizens, whose misguided good intentions blind them to the real threat: government regulation."
The President cited Title III as an example. As presently worded, this provision places significant restrictions on the sale of hand-held weapons of mass destruction to teenagers, and forbids their use entirely on December 25Th, as a concession to "sentimentalists" hoping to preserve the spirit of Christmas.
The faint sounds of faraway explosions seemed to distract the President at this point, but only momentarily. After a brief whispered exchange with security, He returned to the podium to mention that "defensive incursions" against several nations have commenced as of 0600 this AM. He declined to name them, citing national security, but expressed his certainty that most Americans would have supported these incursions had they known of them.
"While Americans constitute at least 6% of the world’s population, we consume only 40% of the world’s resources. This means that the other 94% of the people on this planet-in particular those populating the nations we intend to delete- continue to hog a full 60% of the world’s magnesium, natural gas, copper, food and, of course, oil. ‘Operation Peaceful War’ therefore, is necessary for a number of reasons and includes many others, and so forth." Pressed to elaborate, the President spoke feelingly of the right, if not patriotic duty, of every American to own an SUV, since these vehicles can serve as tanks in time of war.
Hard-pressed NFL football team owners are heartened by the President’s support of the NFL Team Owners Relief Act. Sponsored by Sen. Biff Hammer, this bill would provide football stadiums for all major U.S. cities, paid for with money now frittered away on health care for the indigent. Each stadium would contain at least 40,000 luxury boxes and a maximum of 5000 general admission seats, chosen by lottery prior to the 8 days yearly home teams actually use the stadiums.
Asked about the 6.2 million dollars team owners have contributed to his campaign, the President seemed surprised, but serene. "Let me be perfectly clear," He said. "America is great because we are united in our crusade to bring the blessings of peace and democracy to all. This President is totally committed to the sacred ideals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for all Americans, and violence will not be tolerated. We shall never rest until every man, woman and child in this great nation of ours is good for the economy, has attained the American Dream, realized the universal vision of brotherhood with all mankind, has government off their backs, is standing on their own two feet, has attained maximum getting-aheadness, freely attends the church of my choice, and has joined the ranks of those of us who are already fortunate enough, through hard work and perseverance, to enjoy the security and peace of mind which only stock options, high-yield bond funds and extensive offshore holdings provide."
Many questions centered around the recent report from the Commission To Preserve The Grand Canyon. This commission, appointed by the President last January after gold was discovered along the banks of the Colorado River winding through the canyon, has unanimously recommended several proposals which may prove controversial. By proclamation last December, the President granted the canyon to the Coalition for Tender Caring Mining (CTCM) -a hastily formed consortium of mine owners-in exchange for their oral pledge to extract gold from the designated areas only in a canyon-friendly manner. Although they all reportedly crossed their hearts and hoped to die, rumors subsequently circulated indicating that some owners may have had their fingers crossed behind their backs.
After extensive investigation however, the Commission concluded that the mine owners’ promises appear "deception-free," pending further review, as exemplified by this affirmation from CTCM spokesman Wesley Williams: "Our pledge to maintain the designated regions of the canyon in their present pristine state will be given every consideration with no strings attached. As anyone familiar with our assertions will verify, we are as committed to walking as gently on planet earth as the reddest, if you will, of our good friends, the Redskins."
The arrangement approved by the commission includes provision for the massive amounts of earth which will necessarily be displaced by blasting during the course of operations. This dirt will serve as fill in the mined-out areas. Planners predict that enough earth will be available to accommodate the entire remaining 85% of the canyon set aside for mining. Once these canyons are filled up to the level of the surrounding areas, they can be smoothed out, paved over, used as a stationing facility for the vehicles of the 3.2 million tourists anticipated daily. The CTCM has assured the commission that costs will be minimal, not only for parking, but for trips to the top of the Sky Tower, now nearing completion. In addition, they have pledged to hold down the cost of admission to CTCM Grand Canyon World (including many of the rides), and to the CTCM Scenic-rama museum, Auto Mart and Gift Shop.
Watchdog groups, such as Citizens For Smaller Theme Parks (CFSTP), question why most members of the president’s commission remain employed as executives or paid lobbyists for many of the same companies in the miners’ consortium.
In response, the President gave his "best assurances" that those He appointed to the commission have seldom been indicted, and none have been convicted. The fact that many of His appointees also happen to be long time associates (the President is a former board member of Up Your Income Mining And Shipbuilding Corporation) should not "in my judgment," He said, "disqualify them from the opportunity to provide more jobs and demonstrate their commitment to good government."
CFSTP is also seeking documents under the Freedom of Information Act which could help explain how 8.7 million dollars the mine owners’ coalition contributed to President Hinkel’s reelection campaign was apparently reported to the Federal Election Commission as a "misc. expense." Such documents were a matter of public record until last year, when the President declared them "protected information" and apparently had them shredded, citing "executive privilege".
The President was again interrupted momentarily by the sound of explosions, which seemed nearer than before. Once the racket subsided however, He continued, disclosing that "Democracy can only work when the public is informed. That’s why I have nothing to hide when mistakes may have been made, violence will not be tolerated, I presently intend to be completely forthcoming in this matter, perhaps soon, and don’t anyone make any sudden moves. Meanwhile, in order to remove even the appearance of impropriety, I shall sign the Major Campaign Finance Reform Act on Tuesday. This bill will place severe limits on the ability of corporations to purchase legislation from Congress. Discount sales shall be discontinued, and those buying on credit shall no longer be pre-approved. Furthermore, down payments shall be increased to a minimum of 30%, and we shall increase to 8% the sales tax on all purchases after January 1st. The money from this increase shall be placed in a fund, and divided equally among former CEOs to help defray costs for defense council, and legislators seeking early release into work programs. Finally, corporate lobbyists shall be required to make available all legislation they write to the appropriate members of congress BEFORE it is voted on, and legislators must pledge to have a staff member review this legislation prior to accepting campaign contributions from these lobbyists, or the corporations they represent.
These changes will allow lawmakers to raise more money more quickly and more efficiently. Supporters believe this bill may even permit some legislators to forego fundraising long enough to appear on the Senate or House floor and vote, at least between 12 and 3 AM in the final hours before adjournment, when most significant bills such as the Major Campaign Finance Reform Act are slipped through Congress, often legally. The President believes that this bill will enhance democracy and create more jobs, as demonstrated He says, by a poll taken by someone, somewhere.
Despite growing criticism, the President continues to support Rep. Billy Blake’s proposal to build a Salvation Army base on land near Valleyville, Al, in his home district. Once the swamp is drained, the quicksand removed and the Valleyville River rerouted, proponents believe that the Billy Blake-Income Corp. Salvation Army base can be merged with the Billy Blake-Income Corp. Submarine Base And Fish Farm complex 6 miles to the west. This complex, now nearing completion for less than the cost of WWII according to the President, has kept 18,600 convicts employed since 1989, primarily digging a canal to the Gulf Coast, 116 miles to the south. When finished, this canal will provide ample sea water to fill Henson Dry Lake and easy access for submarines to the open sea, once it is widened (the original canal was built 12 ft. too narrow for the ingress and egress of actual submarines).
The President was asked about the last remaining issue, the controversy surrounding the 243 submarines to be built at the Billy Blake-Income Shipbuilding Works (a subsidiary of Up Your Income Mining and Shipbuilding Corp.) at Lake Henson, which the Navy did not request and claims not to need. Lying as truthfully as He could, the President implied that the contracts have been signed and construction begun, but that all options are on the table and reports of a 35,000 million dollar cost overrun are grossly exaggerated. He then dismissed the whole matter with His oft repeated observation that those opposed to enhancing national security and creating more jobs, are, as usual, politically motivated and that apart from the facts, there is nothing to support their claims.
The President was about to elaborate, but just then the explosions resumed, even louder now, joined by intermittent machine-gun fire and much muffled shouting. As smoke began to fill the room, the President was surrounded by Secret Service agents who quickly sealed Him into the President’s maximum security, self-contained portable living quarters, and rolled Him away.
White House reporters, watching all this on closed-circuit television, grew uneasy, then agitated. Palms got sweaty. Stress got intense. Some began hyperventilating. Others lost bowel control. This upset many. Then smoke began filling the pressroom also, and hysteria kicked in. The racket of machine guns and blasts grew thunderous, and reporters began racing around in circles, and some were trampled in the stampede for exits and many were screaming and most were bloody and fists were flying and bones were breaking and suddenly the President’s soothing voice came booming over the P.A. system, louder even than the din.
"Behind every cloud is a silver lining," He announced, then alleviated the worst of the terror by declaring that He would, in His capacity as Commander-In-Chief, send in, immediately, sufficient forces to insure a safe escape for all journalists.
Those still able cheered, and as the pandemonium subsided, many seemed to get caught up in a great wave of euphoria, groveling and thanksgiving which flooded the press room. On this rapturous note, a wild-eyed Helen Porterfield, dean of the White House press corps, brought the press conference to a close with the traditional, and in this instance, fervent expression of gratitude. "Thank you, Oh- THANK you, Mr. President," she sobbed.
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President Survives Another Press Conference