In an effort to honor the late Dieter Roth, whose opening exhibit in the U.S. consisted of nearly 40 suitcases of rotting cheese, Erni sent me Camembert which arrived the other day. The post office shrouded it in plastic due to the stench, I imagine. I invited friends and family to the grand opening.
Then it was time to assemble the exhibit with the help of an audience member:
Due to the rainy weather, or perhaps cowardliness, only two people showed up for the opening reception.
I am hopeful however, and have left the binoculars case and cheese on the table outside my house near the public sidewalk. I plan to take photographs regularly to document the decomposition of the exhibit or until city officials hand me a citation to clear it away. Lincoln Avenue may never be the same. Flies are already using the cheese as a breeding ground...
Comment
Due to the volatile nature of Erni's mail art, closing ceremonies were held today for the Dieter Roth Staple Cheese Exhibit:
The Staple Cheese was buried today in my garden beneath the Korean Spice bush. Maybe I'll dig it up a year from now to see what it looks like. Here is a final list of signatures belonging to the beings brave and curious enough to enlighten themselves by stopping by the exhibit:
Thank you Herr Erni for this fantastic, mind-blowing opportunity. I'll close now with some words by the late, great Dieter Roth:
Maggots make their debut in the Dieter Roth Staple Cheese Exhibit:
they are the same color and texture of the cheese--how poetic is that?!--but if you look closely you can see them in the center of the photo. Diane Keys' [late] entry--one can o' cheese spray and one bag o' crap:
My niece from Singapore bravely looked on, and by the tears in her eyes I could see how overwhelmed with pride she was and I think she has come to appreciate what a unique asset I am to the family.
LET us go then, you and I, | |
When the evening is spread out against the sky | |
Like a patient etherised upon a table; | |
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, | |
The muttering retreats | 5 |
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels | |
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: | |
Streets that follow like a tedious argument | |
Of insidious intent | |
To lead you to an overwhelming question … | 10 |
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” | |
Let us go and make our visit.
From the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot |
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