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Why I Want to Fuck Donald Trump / Why I Want to Fuck Hillary Clinton
Watercolor on canvas
2016
60 x 74 inches
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I spent my elementary school years in rural Ohio—in a pile of animal parts. My friend's dad had a VCR with three tapes one of which was The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It was my favorite and not just because the fictional events occurred on my birthday. It has a scene where one of the victims stumbles into a room strewn with bones—mostly animal—at once terrifying and rustic in the yellow Texas sun. Not to be outdone my friend and I discovered a boneyard while roaming a nearby farm and harvested some cow skulls that we cleaned with bleach. There was also a fur dealer who lived nearby just past the creek. In our only encounter I watched him remove a fox’s heart and hand it to me. But even that didn't prepare me to find a severed eye in my mailbox. Lowering the mailbox door I found the milky sphere suspended in a jar of formaldehyde. It was from our veterinarian who was indulging my predilection for the anatomical. Pressing my memory for other experiences involving entrails I come up empty. But I remember my friend telling me that his dad had a fourth videotape: Adult Cartoons.

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