1000 Things We Hate #31: PSU Art Building

15 03 2010

Only picture I could really find.

Alright. That’s it. I’ve fuckin’ had it with all you hipster pricks who only enroll in the art program, not because you’re particularly talented or dedicated, but because you have money and it’s the cool fucking thing to do. I get it. Portland’s the “cool” city to be in at present. It’s all new and fashionable, it’s got all the music and the scene, it’s all green and vegan and friendly or whatever, yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s all fine and dandy. I don’t give a shit.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love this city. I love it so much. I love walking to school downtown in the morning, just as the sun is beginning to peak through the buildings. I love wandering the thousands of shelves covering the walls, floor upon floor in Powell’s. I love seeing the bum on my corner yell at the telephone, sitting quietly, completely inanimate in its cubicle. I love seeing smeared feces covering the bridge as I walk. I love the rain. I love turning my head on the burnside, just to catch a last glimpse of the lights before I crawl into bed for the evening. This town has kept me going every morning. But then I walk into the PSU Art Building, and all is lost. Every hope, every dream for life has gone to complete shit with everything that comes out of its sweaty sphincter, aching from a day’s wearing of outlandishly tight pants and every piece of trash they hang on those godforsaken walls.

I’m sure you’re thinking, “It can’t be that bad. She’s just being a bitch.” But before you rush to judgment, let me explain the situation to you properly. Let me paint a picture for you; I waltz to Art History, expecting a fun lesson, to experience Goya and Turner, David and Ingres.

Who WOULDN'T want to study this?

I’m so excited, blissful. Nothing could possibly go wrong. But instead, I walk into the fiery pits of hell, masked by the exciting reds and greens swirls coating the building. As soon as I walk in through the doors, immediately to my left is the showing room. This is where they have film showings and run student made film twenty-four hours a day. Okay, so that doesn’t sound too bad. But that’s where you’re wrong.

In this film room they showcase, just possibly, the worst filmmaking I have ever witnessed in the entirety of my life. And I mean, I once ran a fucking puppet extravaganza over film and it turned out one thousand times better than any piece of shit that’s ever found its way through there. The first film I ever saw showcased there made me late to class; I couldn’t help but stare, eyes wide, mouth open. I couldn’t believe my eyes, what was on the screen was an atrocity, a smearing of the art of film. On the screen was a bunch of girls, dressed in only bras and skirts, dancing around for some reason. They were clearly standing in front of a green screen with, just possibly, the worst film editing I have ever been alive to witness. Fake plastic cows slowly wandered onto the screen in front of the ladies. I didn’t know why they were there, but they were there, just walking. Give me a reason! Cows don’t just show up walkin’ around for no good fucking reason! Suddenly flames shot up and a statue of Santa Clause rolled onto the scene. What the fuck is that? Naked, dancing ladies? Cows? Santa: The Bringer of Darkness? For real?

That's right bitches.

I was flabbergasted. Who would do such a thing? Just as I thought that a man in a dress popped onto the screen, dancing in a sea of green screened diamonds. The camera was shaking, following every move. And then it happened, the below shot. The camera had suddenly gone from following his protruding shoulders to his crotch in an instant. The camera began moving up the skirt towards his nut sack.

This didn't have to happen.

My eyes began to water. I couldn’t bear to watch the horror any longer. I had to get out of there. I ran to the street, covering my eyes, screaming in agony. Collapsing onto the pavement I breathed in the fresh, cool night air and kissed the walk. My god; was I glad to get out of there. Those bastards. What had they done?!

I brushed it off; they could all be like that, right? So, I shielded my eyes and walked back into the building, rushing up the stairs towards my classroom. And then there it was: a massive native woman, staring hard and fast, staining a massive canvas thrown onto the side wall. The background was all greens, blues, and purples, over a sea of evergreen trees. In this purple sky lay the head of the native woman, with a massive elks head next to hers. On the left side of the canvas was the outline of a giant tree, outlined in white. And that was it. What the fuck? Why are there heads floating in the sky? Do they know the secrets of life or something? Why are there invisible trees littering the fucking forest? I don’t understand! What is the symbolism in this?! You know what, I don’t give a shit what the symbolism is, because it was poorly fucking executed, whatever it was supposed to be. Whoever you are, you failed. Thanks a lot.

Week upon week I would see the same shit. Bad paintings, poor sculpture, stupid collages, experimental pictures with indie pop to match, and shit film on top of shit film. I don’t even want to call it film. I need a new word for it, whatever it is. Recently I stopped to check the screen in the lobby, as I always do so that I might take my chance to mutter angrily and punch a wall or something. But this time, I wasn’t just angry. It was pure shock. On the screen they were showcasing another green screen film. This time it was featuring the adventures of a withered sea witch and her young, small, wary companion. It was a deep sea adventure in which some old broad just took any chance to show off her wrinkly tits.

I didn't want to see this naked either.

Her and the boy travelled to some poorly constructed graphic Atlantis and found some sort of treasure chest, but not before the witch flashed her drooping chest again, just in case the audience forgot.

We've stuck a goldmine, gentlemen.

What? Why? How? I just… My god! What has happened here?! I don’t understand? Why was she so naked? All the time? Why were they travelling to atlantis? Why did the old wench smear green and blue makeup across her face, making her look like she’s been in the business for fifty years, will suck your cock for ten dollars, and ain’t quittin’ yet. This is all just a fucking mystery. Why would someone do this?!

They clearly had no knowledge of what they were doing, whatsoever. If they did they might have cleaned up the fucking shot for fucks sake. And maybe, just maybe they wouldn’t have tried making it look like a low budget 80’s music video. Yeah, alright, I get it. You think you’re all fucking fashionable, and you figured that you could just transfer it to anything you fucking touch, right?

You look like a dick.

Well you’re wrong. You aren’t Tom Ford shit holes! I know all you hipster fucks like your vintage shit, but let’s face the facts here, you’re doing nothing original! It’s all the same shit as before! And somehow, you’ve managed to make it even fucking worse! I don’t understand what it is that compels you to do it! Please, for the love of god, I need an answer. And please don’t tell me that you’re “bringing it back” or “reinventing the process” because you’re not. And especially don’t ever use the excuse, “We were just trying to be ironic.” Ironic? What the fuck? Honestly, I don’t think it means what you think it means, shit bags. You’ve got nothing. You’ve created nothing worthwhile. Congratulations for thoroughly destroying an art form. Good job.

So, PSU Art building, you’ve failed miserably. You’ll figure that out when people stop nurturing you and you can’t make a fucking cent in commission. So good luck, and thanks a lot; I’ve lost all faith.


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One response

30 07 2010
Hannah Haugen

I love this so much! So so much. ❤

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