Last week I found this small painting on South Oxford Street near the fort Greene Observatory. My landlord made a face upon seeing ‘Poop’ and I said, “I have a plan.”
I’ve always loved the sublime nihilism of Duchamp’s toilet seat and Piero Manzoni’s ‘Shit in a Can’, but felt both works were missing ‘je ne sues quoi’ until I found ‘Poop’.
My landlord’s seven year-old son thought the painting was great as would any normal seven year-old boy.
Nothing gets to them better than poop jokes.
“Don’t tell your mother about the painting.”
“I won’t,” James was a good kid and went back downstairs to his room.
I shut the door, because ‘Poop’ needed one last touch and that was a little poop to add pop to the piece.
I sat on my porcelain throne and cranked out a dollop of # 2 brown and plucked the ‘ile flottant’ from the toiler with thongs.
Voila.
Perfection.
Poop Pop.