On Laughter, Angst and Cai Guo-Qiang

And we should call every truth false which was not accompanied by at least one laugh. –Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

When I read Roberta Smith’s description, in todays New York Times,
of the small army of assistants to the artist Cai Guo-Qiang–Mr. Cai
puts large sheets of paper on the floor, distributes some combination
of gunpowder and/or fuses across the paper and then lights it all,
after which the assistants rush to put out the small fires which have
ignited on the paper itself–it cracked me up! Imagine the sight, a
room full of blue, sulfurous smoke and a half-dozen m.f.a. students
running around stamping out little fires with their soon-to-be-ruined
Converse lo-tops.

Mr. Cai’s work reminds me that Democritus and Heraclitus
were both right; we are at once pathetic and pitiable. But we are
hilarious as well. Mt. Rushmore? It’s
a caricature of hubris and it’s really funny!  Or Warhol’s “Empire”?
Sadistic and terrifyingly boring and bust-a-gut funny! Thank you Mr.
Cai for taking up this honored tradition.

Mr. Cai’s bravado illustrates how in the western
world, where anything seems possible, much of our privileged,
existential angst can be traced to the ongoing
problem of keeping our Franklin/Covey® ‘To Do’ list up to date;
schedule the meeting, pay the bills, buy the groceries, fill the gas
tank, finish the novel, call mom. It’s frantic. It seems really
important. We court misery and worry ourselves sick. And eventually we
need meds. [some of us, anyway.] And this is all exactly like  Mr.
Cai’s work. The
tyranny of absolute freedom, theoretical or not, wreaks havoc among
every one of us not singularly motivated by financial gain. Remember
John Kennedy Toole’s Ignatius Rielly,  from ‘A Confederacy of Dunces’:

“Employers sense in me a denial of their values.” He rolled over
onto his back. “They fear me. I suspect that they can see that I am
forced to function in a century which I loathe. That was true even when
I worked for the New Orleans Public Library.”
“But Ignatius, that was the only time you worked since you got out of college, and you was only there for two weeks.”
“That is exactly what I mean,” Ignatius replied, aiming a paper ball at the bowl of the milk glass chandelier.
“All you did was paste them little slips in the books.”

“Yes, but I had my own esthetic about pasting those slips. On some
days I could only paste in three or four slips and at the same time
feel satisfied with the quality of my work. The library authorities
resented my integrity about the whole thing. They only wanted another
animal who could slop glue on their best sellers.”
“You think maybe you could get a job there again?”

“I seriously doubt it. At the time I said some rather cutting things
to the woman in charge of the processing department. They even revoked
my borrower’s card. You must realize the fear and hatred which my weltanschauung instills in people.” Ignatius belched.

Slap me in the face if that ever fails to make me laugh!

Thank you John Kennedy. Thank you Andy Warhol. And thank you Cai
Guo-Qiang. You crack me up, even those flying Fords in the SAM lobby.
[I know I'm supposed to be thinking about the ubiquity of violence,
post 9-11, ruminate on the mediation of extreme brutality and terrorism
by technology, etc. But they just look so...hammy! Thanks again.]