Per 
- list not intended to be complete
- if you wanna make an omelette anart proposal
- if you wanna make an omelette anart tale
WHY CAN'T I FIGURE OUT HOW TO MAKE TABS
Placeholder for Sharo
- anomalous theeeEEEeeeme park stuff
- anart - theater people
- bone valley / peace river
- anart - portfolio reviews and studio work/thesis defense
- tale - medical side effects/drug interactions re: amnestics ?
- an artist in an anartist community?
Title: A Mouthful of Ash/Instinct#4
Material Requirements:
- 12 battery-operated micro-projectors (11 needed)
- 600 yards of clear monofilament fishing line
- 700 uncooked white-shelled chicken eggs (large or extra large preferred, please do not include organic or any form of brown/speckled variety)
- 10 handheld hotglue guns (9 needed)
- 1 value-sized pack of 144 hotglue sticks
- 5 B-1/2.25 mm crochet hooks (3 needed)
- 4 studio assistants (3 needed, prior experience using crochet hooks of this size preferred)
- 4 to 16 unmarked silver-backed mirrors (size unimportant, but for space concerns we have a preference for nothing greater than 7" across)
- 1 475 ml jar of Tia Sorjina's brand dry pigment in Roasted Virgin Blood, Male
- 1 475 ml jar of Tia Sorjina's brand dry pigment in Raw Virgin Blood, Male "Classic"
- 1 475 ml jar of Tia Sorjina's brand dry pigment in Unbleached Titanium
- 1 475 ml jar of Tia Sorjina's brand dry pigment in Phthalo Purple
- 1 2 liter jug of Tia Sorjina's brand acrylic medium - Matte Starlight
- 1 72 in by 84 in stretched, untreated canvas
Abstract: This piece is intended to remain on display for no longer than 18 hours; at this point the egg clusters must be disposed of in a sanitary and environmentally-save manner. After this time period the 2-dimensional painting A Mouthful of Ash may be relocated and displayed as a standalone piece, although video recordings of the live event could potentially be used its its display. The 3-dimensional installation Instinct#4, consists largely of 12 clusters comprised of 700 hollowed and dried chicken eggs attached to one another and mounted on woven cables of fishing line, with modified micro-projectors located throughout that beam live images inside of the eggs by means of conventional blood magic. The construction of the egg clusters and ritual marking of the mirrors will be undertaken by myself and 2 studio assistants, with my current studio assistant and the remaining assistant working on the modification of the micro-projectors. The egg clusters will be hung in natural-looking formations from the ceiling and wall surrounding the painting, with the lowest part of the egg clusters hanging no lower than five feet from the ground. Once the egg clusters and projectors are installed, the projectors will display live footage of select living embryos from a variety of dimensional native and non-native species against the insides of the eggs, forming the illusion that each contains a living, backlit embryo. As seen in my previous proof-of-concept studies (please see attached slides) the thin, white eggshells are ideal for conveying both the red-orange-gold light variations in the embryonic incubators as well as the clearest details and movement of the living embryos.
Intent: This work is the logical conclusion of both of my ongoing series- Instincts, which has dealt with the visceral responses people have when faced with their most basic urges, and Saints Of A Modern Age, which has been a semi-biographical series of traditional acrylic paintings. Both Instints and Saints Of A Modern Age have been featured in two-person and solo shows in a variety of galleries across the country, and the seventh entry in Saints Of A Modern Age, titled Hospital Room Confession, was awarded both Best of Show in Traditional Media and Juror's Choice in the Southeastern Regional Convocation last year.
She smells the perfume- Dior J'adore- first, before she hears the door open or the click of heels on cement floor. She's busy, though, so she almost doesn't realize what the fragrance or the noise means.
Delilah Witter is blowing the contents of a raw egg into the second-biggest mixing bowl her studio assistant could find when a woman in sleek businesswear walks into her studio like she owns the place, jingling loudly with each step. As soon as Delilah notices Rio Cardinalis enter the room, she's hit with another noseful of the perfume she bought for Rio's birthday last month.
"Hey," Florian snaps, which is not enough to stop her from coming in. "You can't just walk in here, that's breaking and entering."
"It's not locked," she protests, and Delilah glances over to confirm that Rio's standing with a sheepish grin on her face, the bejeweled chatelaine at her waist the only thing that really gives away that she's not some accountant who got lost. Delilah lowers the egg slowly, letting what's left of the yolk dribble out through the tiny hole on the bottom.
"Didn't I lock it earlier, babe?" she asks mildly, and Rio gives her a look of supreme innocence.
"Must not have, riverfish," she says smoothly, giving Florian and the projector on the table- well, the pieces of a projector on the table- a small, smug grin that Delilah pretends not to notice. "I came to see how your arts and crafts are going."
"Must she interfere? Her weird magical jewelry is going to screw with the ritual," Florian grumbles. "We just figured out how to make the battery last for eighteen hours, she's going to suck the power out of the ritual or something."
"That's not how that works," Rio informs him, which he ignores. "They wouldn't suck the power out of anything, otherwise I'd never get to visit anywhere interesting."
"I'm sure Miss Cardinalis has an explicitly business-related reason to be here," Delilah says, wiping the empty egg and putting it aside to dry before sighing deeply at the rest of the carton. "Knowing how busy I must be right now. Hollowing out seven hundred eggs by myself."
"Didn't the committee approve studio assistants for you two?" Rio asks, frowning.
"Said I wouldn't need them until the fourth. Set up two- not the three I asked for- from some backwoods Arkansas coven of anartists, even though artistic history wasn't required, just somebody who could blow an egg, crochet, or knows basic electrical engineering. Refused to approve funding for me to hire some locally myself." Delilah sighs, poking a needle into the top of the raw egg and carefully making a hole in the shell. "Think they want me to fail, but, you know, whatever. I'll just do it without the help."
"Well, sure, they think you're wasting resources with this kitschy shit, they're hoping you give up and do something angry and devastating," Florian mumbles around a pair of tweezers.
"Shut up, Florian, it's not kitsch," Delilah huffs, poking the tip of the needle downwards until she hits the bottom of the shell and breaks through. She quickly plucks the bits of shell out one-handed, before blowing the raw contents out into the bowl. She's on egg sixty-four. She's trying not to think about the fact that there are more than six hundred eggs to go.
"Don't you think you're missing the obvious solution here, picklesugar?" Rio asks carefully.
"That sounds disgusting," Florian says mildly.
"It sounds gross," Delilah confirms, wiping the egg down. "It sounds nasty."
"That bowl full of chicken mucus is nasty and gross," Rio says, and both Delilah and Florian groan. She frowns ferociously at them, fingering the small clamshell compact dangling from her waist, her manicured thumbnail stroking against the red enamel bird on the front. "You need some idiots to come in here and do this for free. You need to call in the Feds."
"Don't call them that," Delilah says sharply, and Rio puts her hands up, all innocence.
"They love when I call them the Feds-" she protests.
"You know what I meant," Delilah snaps, and Rio sighs dramatically.
"Fine," she grumbles.
"Oh, don't call in the Feds," Florian pipes up. "They're not even artists."
"They went to a liberal arts school, that's basically the same," Rio reasons.
"It absolutely is not," Florian retorts, and Delilah ignores the resultant argument in order to move on to egg #65 and #66. Her fingers hurt. Her mouth hurts. Her back hurts. She still has work to do with the blood sigils on the mirrors and on the back of A Mouthful Of Ash.
She looks at the bowl and really, really thinks about what it's going to be like, eating seven hundred eggs' worth of omelettes, frittatas, and quiche over the next month or so.
"You know what? Rio's right," she sighs. "We need to call our other friends in and see if they want to blow some eggs in return for too many omelettes."
