Attention, Lamenters of Bare Walled Dwelling Places!
If you happen to be looking for something to slap up on that boring white expanse of room-boundary, and if you happen to have the right kind of mind, the sort of mind that can appreciate the horrific madness that long ago seized control of Richard Cutter's brain, then you are today vastly in luck.
Richard's selling prints of eight artsy abortions, all of which can be viewed in the picture page of his myspace profile...clicky clicky ... then go to his picture page and scroll down to the bottom, you can see scans of the original pieces. I'm not sure what his plan for transactions is, precisely, but I imagine that leaving a comment on the relevant picture to the effect of "I want this" would probably work.
Or, for those of you without a myspace of your very own, you can contact me through modayode @ gmail.com, and I'll put you in touch with him.
Sometime in the days of high school, I read some article in some magazine about Angelina Jolie. It revealed that when she was young, 15 or so, she kept dozens of Mead composition notebooks which she filled with scribbled notes to self, lyrics, and terribly disturbing drawings of stick people doing ... ungodly things, with lots of bleeding and dying and black pits for eyes and Xs drawn on foreheads and dark little poems and the like.
This stuck with me because Richard, 15 at the time, was always carrying around one of his dozens of Mead composition notebooks which he filled with scribbled notes to self, lyrics, terribly disturbing drawings of stick people doing ungodly things with lots of bleeding, dying, black pits for eyes and Xs drawn on foreheads and dark little poems and the like.
Nevertheless, we did not start calling him "Angelina," because his parents had long ago given him a much more imasculating nickname on his birth certificate, so what's the point really?
While the things Richard wrote and drew in these notebooks were terribly weird and disturbing and made us wonder if he were suicidal or perhaps even plotting one of those truly gung-ho school shootings (only, being Richard, it would have involved knives and ropes and devious little deathtraps all over the school instead of automatic weapons ...) the notebooks were still somehow compelling. Whenever we got the chance, we'd flip through them and perhaps comment or perhaps merely stare, but I could rarely put them down quickly.
Richard to this day draws unspeakable things on any scrap of paper that comes his way, and he takes pretty pictures too ... pretty pictures of awful things like white power grafitti in a sewer. There are three pieces of Richard's hanging in this very room, and I like them. Perhaps someone out there reading this would like them too.
