Goth Kids, False Apathy, and a Black and White Butthole

My buddy, John, went to school at the University of Arizona back in the late 80's/90's. We lived together in a rental just off campus. He took a photography class. I know you're worried about the title at this point. Rest at ease-- he did not take a picture of anyone's anus. There's a sentence I never would have guessed I'd put in writing. Where was I? Right! Photography class.

Late teens/early twenties-- who isn't an artist, am I right? So John, a 4.0 student from 4.0 family takes photography as an elective, and he's into it. He's taking pictures of all kinds of shit-- his fish, the tree in front yard, the huge rock named Burt, which is also in the front yard. (It's Tucson-- summertime, people start naming rocks. Blow me, it gets friggin hot.) Where was I? Right! He's taking pictures of everything, just hoping something is... I don't know... artistic?

He's not getting the image he wants, and he's coming up on a deadline, so he's desperate. He buys some clay and starts sculpting. Mind you, John is no sculptor. He doesn't know what the hell he's doing but he's going after this clay like an animal... an animal! I'd had my wisdom teeth removed a day or two before, and I was slipping fried zucchinis covered with ranch into my mouth like quarters in a slot machine because they fit. John kept at his wad of clay. After enough zucchini, the pain killers set in.

I came to in about an hour. John, having worked and re-worked his clay wad at least a hundred times over a period of about three hours, had finally achieved something he was certain he could photograph, and maintain his 4.0 in doing so-- he held before my waking, eyes, a giant cock and balls.

"Get that thing... the hell away from me."

"What, you don't like it?"

"No, I friggin' love it, just keep it away from me."

So he puts together his spread of photographs, and I mean, he's tickled pink with himself. He's going for shock value and nothing else. Why? Because, in the world of photographic art, in John's vast repertoire of talent, there was nothing else. Dude couldn't recognize photographic opportunity if he'd walked through Yosemite with Ansel as his guide. So he planned a to make a statement to all the prissy, bullshit artists with their camera shutter speeds and their lighting angles and their super-expensive photo-quality paper stock. He didn't care anymore. Or so he said. He did care. He only pretended not to care, so that he could live with the fact that he wasn't the artist he hoped he would be.

That whole situation put a needle in the back of my brain for twenty-five years. It pissed me off to no end, and I didn't really know how to get it all laid out straight until the "Raisins" episode of South Park. Stan was all butt-hurt because Wendy dumped him (don't even try to pretend you don't know exactly what episode I'm talking about). He degrades himself into one of the Goth kids. Of course, Stan isn't raising a big middle finger to all of society, per se, he's just bummed about Wendy. But the Goth kids were the embodiment of the false apathy which overtook John in his non-quest for something truly meaningful.

Instead of accepting that they don't fit in with the crowds they'd like to, the Goth kids opted to "go Goth," and simply declare that the crowds which didn't accept them were not worthy of their membership in the first place. John had decided that he couldn't find the type of art which "fit the mold," and instead of being courageous and creating his own mold, he raised a huge middle finger to the entire art world, in the form of a giant clay cock and balls, and went for shock value. He might as well have dressed in black, painted his fingernails, and posted himself on the steps beside the loading dock behind the cafeteria.

He was prepared to drop the class the next day. He rolled into class looking forward to disgust and silent ridicule written all over his teacher's face. He's take his seat for attendance purposes only, and just wait for that smug prick to dare say something negative about the heap of crap he'd turned in the day before. The whole plan backfired spectacularly. He had the second-highest grade in class for his project. The teacher loved it. The only higher grade went to a feisty co-ed who actually did take a picture of her own butthole.

We all know the difference between art and smut. It's as plain-as-day as the difference between a movie director and a porn director. You don't have the talent, but you've got bills to pay. Beauty escapes you, so you paint your fingernails, pretend you don't care, and start dropping F-bombs as if endless waves of vulgarity belong in any venue that doesn't have two-drink minimum.