A Russian's opinion of Nik's paintings
Ioannis
the bizarreity that lurks in the steppes.
/START QUOTE
Subject: Mr. Maak your art look like it drawn by retarded child
Date:Sun, 11 Aug 2002 15:52:39 GMT
From:"Dimitri Bichapekerov" <dimit...@aha.ru>
Newsgroups:alt.surrealism, rec.arts.fine
References:1 , 2 , 3 , 4 , 5 , 6 , 7 , 8 , 9 , 10 , 11 , 12 , 13 , 14 ,
15 , 16 , 17 , 18 , 19 , 20 , 21 , 22 , 23 , 24 , 25 , 26, 27 , 28 , 29
, 30 , 31
"Nik Maack" <nikm...@sympatico.ca> wrote in message
news:3D566A4E...@sympatico.ca...
Mr. Maak I have been lurker on this news group for while, but after some
recent additions to your web site, I have to comment.
Your art looks like it was created by retarded child with no artistic
ability. Now you have attracted others of similar ability to
participate in
Dirty Word Art project. I suppose you are still at stage in your
development when kaka jokes are funny.
But you simply being talentless deserves not commentary and speak for
itself. One of your talentless friends drawn portrait of Lenin with
penis
for nose, and Russian obscene word in his forehead. Surely you know
that
even now Lenin is revered by millions of people in Russia and many other
places. How would you liked it if someone placed portraits of your
parents,
with penises for their noses, on Internet? That is degree of poor taste
of
that Lenin portrait.
/END QUOTE
Nik, sorry for reposting this, but I was laughing for 10 minutes after I
read it. I guess there is a great cultural barrier between West and
East.
--
Ioannis
http://users.forthnet.gr/ath/jgal/
_____________________________________________
The moment you think it's x, it changes to ~x
Parr
news:3D5856...@olympus.mons...
<...>
| From:"Dimitri Bichapekerov" <dimit...@aha.ru>
<...>
| One of your talentless friends drawn portrait of Lenin with penis for
nose, and Russian obscene word in his forehead.
| How would you liked it if someone placed portraits of your parents,
with penises for their noses, on Internet?
What a 'Son of Lenin'.
--
)>=capitalistBASTARD($> Parr
SleepyBhr
people who did the voice of Boris from Bulwinkle, then scripted him as
an art critic (aling side Natasha, of course) in a Beavis and Butthead
sketch. I'm guessing the dialogue comes just before he is splashed
with urine from a jar with a cross in it. Maybe later we find Boris
in a Russian steam bath when more hilarity ensues with him and Mr.
Big.
And for the record: the "found art" of te girl staring into the
flame is _really_ cool. That I would pay to have framed and show in
my office.
SleepyBhr
Aldo Pignotti
> This review of Niki's artwork sounds like someone dragged up the
> people who did the voice of Boris from Bulwinkle, then scripted him as
> an art critic
I think it's real. My little Rocco's second grade class put on an
art show that was a lot more interesting. Rocco and this retarded kid
made a paper mache pond with these beautiful ceramic creatures
all around it. The retarded kid made several little frogs
that were quite striking. Rocco made a garden gnome. The original
gnome was pissing in the pond but his teacher wouldn't let him
fire that one.
Nik Maack
Aldo Pignotti wrote:
> My little Rocco's second grade class put on an
> art show that was a lot more interesting.
Any artist worth a lick of salt will admit that there's no competing
with art made by a classroom full of children. Especially if the kids
happen to be mentally retarded.
Hmm. That gives me an idea... In Andy Warhol's "Factory", Andy's
workers often made the art, then Andy "finished it" by adding his
signature. I wonder if I could start up my own sweat shop of mentally
deficient children? Does anyone know where I can buy kids with Downe's
Syndrome in bulk?
Mark. Gooley
"Nik Maack" <nikm...@sympatico.ca> wrote
> Any artist worth a lick of salt will admit that there's no competing
> with art made by a classroom full of children. Especially if the kids
> happen to be mentally retarded.
>
> Hmm. That gives me an idea... In Andy Warhol's "Factory", Andy's
> workers often made the art, then Andy "finished it" by adding his
> signature. I wonder if I could start up my own sweat shop of mentally
> deficient children? Does anyone know where I can buy kids with Downe's
> Syndrome in bulk?
Down's.
China, I should think. (The old term is "mongoloid," but people of that
race
think that the kids look Caucasian, so Down's-syndrome is a better label.)
Assuming that they haven't all been drowned in farm ponds, that is.
Mark., cynical
goo...@gator.net
Nik Maack
"Mark. Gooley" wrote:
>> Does anyone know where I can buy kids with Downe's
>> Syndrome in bulk?
>
> Down's.
I always want to call it "Downe's Syndrome" because "Down's Syndrome" is
what happens to plucked geese and elevator operators. I had a cousin
who worked as an elevator operator. When people wanted to go up, he
felt good. When they wanted to go down, he felt bad. Coincidentally,
he was a plucked goose. He got the job thanks to a government program
designed to rehabilitate plucked geese who (due to government error)
were plucked but not eaten at Christmas time. As part of the program,
they were given sweaters knitted out of used dental floss.
> China, I should think. (The old term is "mongoloid," but people of that
> race
> think that the kids look Caucasian, so Down's-syndrome is a better label.)
I cannot think of the word "mongoloid" without singing the Devo song of
that name.
"Mongoloid, he was a mono-go-loid! Happy as you and me!"
Fortunately, people rarely say the word, "mongoloid".
"And he... wore a hat, and he... had a job, and he... brought home the
bacon, so that... no one knew..... WOOOOOOO!!!"
Ahem.
Matthew Skala
Aldo Pignotti <aldopi...@yahoo.com> wrote:
>I think it's real. My little Rocco's second grade class put on an
>art show that was a lot more interesting. Rocco and this retarded kid
>made a paper mache pond with these beautiful ceramic creatures
One year the administration at my school instituted a program of
cross-grade arts and crafts. We all got to sign up for our first and
second choice of what subject we wanted to take, and then we were assigned
to groups, including students all the way from grade 1 up to grade 7, and
we'd leave our regular classes for one day a week to go learn whatever
topic we'd been assigned to. I ended up in candle-making, which was
pretty good because we got to play with hot wax.
So after making our candles we asked if we could keep them, and the adults
in charge said that yes, we could take them home, but Not Yet - because we
had to wait for them to entirely cool down, which would take more than a
day. So we should wait. Over the course of the term I asked about this
several times (as we made more and more candles) and was always told that
I'd be allowed to take them home later, but not right then. I don't know
whether they were lying to me all along and never intended that I could
keep the candles, or if I didn't ask enough, or if someone who was
supposed to tell me that I could take my candles home never remembered to
do so, or if maybe I was supposed to eventually just *take* the candles
without waiting to be told I might, but the point is that although most of
the older children in the class did end up taking their candles home, I
never got mine; neither did a few of the other youngest children in the
group.
My candles were sold at the school rummage sale. I did not find out about
this until I was at that sale with my parents and discovered some of my
classmates' candles for sale. Mine had already sold, because I had done a
better job making them than had most of my peers and they were more
attractive.
This happened 20 years ago, and I'm still pissed off about it.
--
Matthew Skala
msk...@ansuz.sooke.bc.ca Embrace and defend.
http://ansuz.sooke.bc.ca/
SleepyBhr
[candle story snipped]
> This happened 20 years ago, and I'm still pissed off about it.
I can understand this entirely, and I'm sorry you had to go through
it. It was damnable, and I can only hope that one day they got caught
by this and had angry parents to deal with.
[catharsis on]
When I was in third grade, we had a very cold and snow-filled
winter. Many children, including myself, would go to scholl in snow
mobile suits. (Full body, one piece winter coats, essentially.) They
would go where everything else went: on a sort of metal rack with
hooks and a shelf at the top. Every day, I would hang my large, bulky
suit up. Sometimes it woudl fall off, bacause it was heavy, people
would brush it on the way by (along wit hall the other ones), or
someone would knock it off with their jacket. Happened all the time
on a crowded rack, right?
One day for recess, I couldn't find it. I had known exactly where I
hung it and it wasn't there. I looked and looked, and still no snow
suit. I mentioned to the teacher. She said I should go around to
each and every classroom and ask people. This seemed really dumb. I
mean, it's not like it was a unique color or anything.
Now, right across the hall there was a supply closet. It was always
wide open. It had been in the morning, as usual. I mentioned to the
teacher, and asked her to unlock it so I could look there. She
refussed. She said it couldn't possibly be in there, and that I
should go around asking. This seemed more dumb. Someone _could_ have
kicked it over. Things get moved around all the time. She refussed
and was rather bitchy about it.
So, recess came and went and I found nothing. At the time my mother
worked 2nd shift at a nursing home, and wouldn't be home when school
got out. I'd have to call her before she left.
Suring a class after recess, our teacher started this long, venomous
rant about how we were all spoiled brats who never take care of our
things. We leave things a complete mess ALL the time, have no sense
of values, etc. She then told us the she had seen my snow suit on the
floor and kicke dit into the supply closet, locked the door, and told
me to go around stupidly asking if anyone had seen it to humilate me
into thinking about my stuff. I sai din class that I had hung it up,
that I did every day, and always try to take care of my stuff. And I
did. I was really anal about dealing with my toys as a kid, and
putting laundry where it should go, etc. (No, I wasn't a lot of fun
as a kid.) She would have none of it. In her mind, there was no
reason anything could ever drop on to the floor after being carefully
managed.
I remember it to this day, and all the bitterness I felt comes back
easily. I never liked that teacher after that. The only lession she
taught me is that people you trust can suck (the bad way), make
assumptions, and then lie and manipulate you for "your own good", when
really they have zero clue about what they are doing and what's going
on in the world. If I ever find a friend doing something that, it
would end the friendship. Badly.
There are many things I regret in my life. There are people I wish
I had nicer to, mainly. A guy in high school I thought was making fun
of me, but really was just showing kindness. Conversations missed
with my father because I didn't want to deal with him when he was
drunk. With this teacher, I'm sorry I didn't tell her some time after
she'd cooled down that I would never trust anything she said ever
again, and followed it up at the end of the year with the same
sentiment.
[catharis off]
SleepyBhr
Scott Dorsey
>"Mark. Gooley" wrote:
>>> Does anyone know where I can buy kids with Downe's
>>> Syndrome in bulk?
>>
>> Down's.
>
>I always want to call it "Downe's Syndrome" because "Down's Syndrome" is
>what happens to plucked geese and elevator operators. I had a cousin
>who worked as an elevator operator.
This is stupid and false. Downs Syndrome is in fact the disease that
killed Elvis. You start taking downs, then you have trouble functioning
so you take some ups but then you can't sleep so you take some more downs.
Then you find yourself taking ups and downs all day just to function and
then you break your nail opening up a bottle of downs and OH NO! HANGNAIL!
You're in terrible pain, so you need to get the percodan! Then you start
feeling too down so you take the ups again and then you need to take more
downs. This is why it is called Downs Syndrome.
--scott
--
"C'est un Nagra. C'est suisse, et tres, tres precis."
nikolai kingsley
> You're in terrible pain, so you need to get the percodan! Then you start
> feeling too down so you take the ups again and then you need to take more
> downs. This is why it is called Downs Syndrome.
for reasons to do with the timing of the arrival of the Memphages in the
system, the illness always enters the cycle just as the downs are coming on,
and therefore the first symptom associated with the syndrome is the downs.
*that* is why it's called Downs Syndrome. slight phase change, and it'd be
the Ups.
nikolai
---
who has them both
Aldo Pignotti
A couple of years ago, little Rocco joined the Cub Scouts, over
my objections, by the way. Anyway, a couple of weeks before
Christmas, I, having nothing better to do, was assigned the
task of making a Pinewood Derby racer. To accomplish this
task, we were given a block of wood and some plastic wheels.
Little Rocco and I actually had a good time working on the
car. I took the opportunity to instruct Rocco on how to use
various tools, so he actually did most of the work. I did
a little bit of research on the net and we ended up with a
very nice car that I thought had a chance to do well in the
competition.
The race was a round robin competition on an enormous wooden
track that Rocco's troop rented for the event. It had
electronic timing and everything. Unfortunately, the dorks
who were running the competition couldn't get the sections
of the tracks lined up properly, so there was a very large
gap on lanes 1-3 and less on the other lanes until there
was no gap at all on lanes 5 and 6.
I knew I could set it up better but it would probably take at
least another hour and these Cub Scout leaders didn't have any
other activities for the children. The children were already
a little bored and restless, so I decided the best thing
to do was to press on.
After a couple of races,
the dorks in charge decided that they were going to have to run
several races with each group of cars because the cars in
lanes 1-3 were being slowed down by the gap in the track.
When it came time for Rocco's car, it drew lanes 1, 2 and
3. The other groups of cars had been given 5 or 6 races
but by the time it was our turn, the maroons who called
themselves Cub Scout leaders had totally lost control of
the children and decided three races was enough. Rocco's
car had been doing very well considering it's lane
assignments but it wasn't chosen to move on to the next
bracket. Little Rocco was heartbroken. I was irate but
I decided I would only make a fool of myself if I complained.
The lad knew he was getting fucked. He was also a
little angry with me for not cracking someone's head.
Two years later and I'm still pissed off. I found out later
that the winning car that night, hadn't been seen by the little
boy who was racing it until the night of the competition.
His father had a shop teacher build it the day of the race.
Fuck the Cub Scouts.