Why Did The Chicken Cross The Heat Death Of The Universe?
*Imagine some creature arrives here far into the future and upon digging into our past we are survived by a rubber chicken. Turning this object with her tentacles she attempts to come up with its purpose. (Feynmann's ' "thinking like a martian") Does anybody know what the hell this thing is for? I don't know that you could find a more useless and ridiculous object. Should it help me feel more food secure? A doorstop? Affordable pet option? Religious relic or just a laugh?
*"I don't get it" The resounding remark cast upon any and all artist's works at some time or another. Like we should come out with it and quit goofing off. A familiar theme and one we all are complicit in. ( The obvious is ignored and the obscure is ridiculed. Goldylocks comes to mind. )
*My work in painting toys has been about the avatars and thinking tools we used as children to figure ourselves into the world. These important little artifacts help us tell our story, often indulgently. We bring our own unique set of experiences and interpret the world through them. We become them to make ourselves more real to ourselves. Heroes and villains and simple dramas to become alive. But is that it? What happens when life throws you a plot that you are not the center of? or one you don't survive? What's to become of our fragile identity tangle?
There is a common question here, asked interminably . We find ourselves in a puzzle of bizarre human behaviors or we get caught in the heightened emotions associated with so many experiences and hands to the sky we want to know "What does it all mean????!!!!", as if some anwer would settle it and not deepen the well of inquiry.
What does a rubber chicken mean? This is no more ridiculous a question.
The history of this rubber weirdo according to wiki is obscure but points to possible origins with court jesters' use as slapsticks, as chicken carcasses would have been plentiful and people in desperate need of a laugh. Alan Watts had some things to say about the jester. I guess he kind of saw himself as one. The role was to remind the monarch of his humanity. "....and at last death comes with his pin and bores through his castle wall" and so on. None, even the very powerful, are exempt from death and the seeming futility of it all. Death is the great exclamation point at the end of this existential quandary. I'm reading a lot of books on dying and death these days. It seems an overlooked portion of the whole deal of being a living thing. Addressing all that death brings seems important to having a good life. I may end up as a helper for those on iminent approach. Much of the study material aligns beautifully with my interests.
When exploring the far ends of existence the futility of things compounds with the scale of inquiry. The guarantee of eventual extinction, our comic isolation (and increasingly so) and the heat death of the universe are all good nails upon which to hang this rubber corpse. And so, then what? Why make the bed? Why be honest when it's inconvenient? Why go out of your way?
Much like the rubber chicken of Allan Watts' court Jester, my rubber chicken thumbs his nose at the whole question. Maybe instead, "How extraordinary?"
I bring this rubber chicken and lay it at your feet. It's yours now and you can do with it what you will.
As adults, the toys we now play with and the tasks we set for ourselves shape the way we see the world. We fashion our lives in service to them and they limit our grasp of so many realities.
I believe there must come a point where our lives are the thing we measure the universe against. Our principles as pillars that stand in the place of every action. So that we may supply some meaning , even for just a little while. So why learn to navigate from the stars ? or weave a basket? because of what such things fashion us into and how they may teach us to fashion ourselves and our world.
“Life Is Like A Rubber Chicken” 24x48
