Here's a message for the best and brightest staying up at night trying to
figure out a way to revitalize the downtown area of our fair city: Hit the
snooze button. I've got this one covered.
It seems that turning our blight into might is less
complicated than we've been led to believe by the consultants in the
expensive shoes. Recasting Worcester as a must-see city won't require
enterprise zones, e-commerce entrepreneurs, or other
trendy solutions beginning with the letter E. All we really need is a
steady supply of offensive art.
I arrived at this conclusion after listening to New York Mayor Rudy
Guiliani hit the roof over the Brooklyn Museum's recent "Sensations"
exhibit. The cause of the mayoral temper tantrum was British artist Chris
Ofili's portrait of the Madonna. In the painting, the central image of
Mary is encircled by tiny photos of the nude female form and -
this was the kicker - a generous helping of elephant dung.
Once Rudy caught wind (sorry) of the unorthodox art supplies, he summoned
the press to announce he was cutting off all budgeted funding of the
cash-strapped institution. Let the lawyers and legal scholars wrangle
over the first amendment niceties. There was a painting somewhere in the
city that the mayor didn't like and someone had to pay. Take that, Mr.
Smarty Arty Pants!
The G-man should have done more homework before taking on the diabolical
forces of free expression. At the very least, he could have reviewed the
Jesse Helms vs. Robert Mapplethorpe heavyweight fight. In that classic
battle, Jesse tried to wipe out the National Endowment of the Arts over
what he perceived to be the kinky photographer's misuse of a
perfectly good bullwhip. In the end, Jesse's plot failed and Mapplethorpe's
fifteen minutes of fame was doubled.
Sure enough, moments after Guiliani's tirade a line formed at the
entrance to the museum. And these were not the usual
wine-sipping suspects. These were converts to the cause, all looking to
sneak a peek at the forbidden framed thing. Sensations was
now an actual sensation and the trickle down economics of offensive art was in
play. Money changed hands. Hotels booked to capacity. Restaurants
buzzed with arts patrons famished from a long day of being shocked.
Clearly, there is coin to be made in the offending business. And unlike
other get-rich schemes involving medical centers and airports without
airplanes, this art-thing can't fail. Why? Simple. The world
is divided into two groups: people that want to control what other
people get to look at, and people who want to look at whatever it is the other
group has decided they can't see. This dynamic sets up a perpetual supply
and demand. All we have to do it set the wheels in motion.
Setting said wheels in motion requires the proper level of controversy. Without
it, we are back to buying scratch tickets. Fortunately, creating financially
viable indignation is a breeze if you know how to make people squirm. Again, this is
a certifiable no-brainer. Here in the US,
we tend to be embarrassed by our bodies, mortified by the yucky things they are capable
of, and scared of being punished by unseen forces in the sky. Get that on
canvas and you're as good as gold.
So why wait? I say we organize Outrage 2000, a taxpayer-funded (I can feel
the negative vibe rising already!) search for offensive imagery by local
artists. We'll get a panel of snooty born-again judges to select the most
reprehensible entries. Our esteemed mayor can then host the despicable
winners at a lavish City Hall ceremony. Imagine, news coverage of sullen
art-types hanging around an open bar tossing back complimentary shrimp
canapés. People will go nuts! And when they do, Worcester will take its
rightful place as a world-class city. You have my word.
P.S. I don't want to put undo pressure on the competition, but my
work-in-progress includes St. John the Baptist, Sarah Michelle Gellar,
and two hundred pounds of kitty litter. See you at the unveiling!
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