El Critico

El Critico 

(inspired by The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron)

©️ Karrie Kirchner

Created 10/4/20

Written 10/5/20

Spot light 

Authority

Trusted on baseless value.

White can no longer validate you anymore.

Your maleness is irrelevant.

Vigilantes stand down.

Your women will smile at you

grinning as your gas

floods the interstitials.

I am immune now.

Submit no more.

From now on

I will be alive with color

A living FUCK YOU

  bird flipping and all.

Bibliography

• Woodcarving prints signed by Lyle M. picked up off the side of the road by my sweetie.

• Advertisement from National Geographic about solar energy.  Part of me feels bad for converting and casting him in the role of the critic.  He actually looked like a nice person and if he is advocating for solar energy since the pages of this magazine have crisped and yellowed - I am a fan of him.  

• Sharpie

• Washi tape

• Puffins cereal box cardboard

When I was gestating about bringing my critic to life, originally I thought it was going to be a female - more to mirror my inner self accurately.  I came across this man - and he looked authoritarian.  Someone to be taken seriously.  People listen to him - believe him.   

and I confess - I believe him too.

For some reason, el critico is in Spanish.  It sounds harsher when you say it.  Although it does sound snappy in English when you say it outloud. 

I needed to make the critic cartoon-like.  I envisioned putting a blindfold over the eyes - to symbolize not seeing the REAL WORK.  A blindness and inability to see reality - the pain and suffering, joy and happiness - communicated in the work.

As I fiddled around and played - I noticed I was cutting out facial features - so I played with the man’s image and the woodblock prints.  The eyes came first.  What better way to see you with my dear…..

His eyes needed to be the color of correction, edits and crossouts.  Searing into my work.  Scanning for unsteadiness.  Moving in, going in for the kill.

The mouth came next.  I need to tell you how you are doing it wrong.  You need to sit down while I critique your work.  This should be here and you are too sensitive. This crap isn't art. You have no idea what you are doing.  You can't charge money for your work!

The eyebrows came next.  My scissors shaping them into meanness.  Sharpies and arcing them into scorn.

His hand seems to suggest my ignorance.  Why can’t you “get” it.  Stupid girl.

Well.  I am not stupid.

Your laser eyes cannot bore into me.

You will never know the depths of my soul.

Your words have no power over me.

Go fuck yourself.