See, the issue here is that while it raises an interesting point, it’s ultimately stymied by the number of crudely drawn phalluses that dominate the walls. Admittedly, the crudely drawn phallus has been a staple of art going back some 20,000 years now. And seeing them in the bathroom stall, they were drawn with a certain haste, a sort of time-limit performance art. Unless the perpetrator was a pervert who is comfortable spending all day atop a fetid toilet.
Well damn this argument actually gets better by the moment. In a gallery, there are expected to be critics, canapés, and the trappings of intellectualism. In a toilet, there are expected to be humans, odors, and embarrassing sounds. Which one is really more honest? Should we give equal attention to the Sharpie-armed shitter and the design school virtuoso?
Before you answer that, consider this: Unless you are an art gallery owner, the president of a publishing company, or a film executive, you DO give more attention, statistically, to the Sharpie-wielding toilet bandits. Odds are you will spend more of your time viewing the creative works of rest stop interlopers than you will the serious, high culture artistes who lobby for patrons like pigeons fighting over crumbs. And they, in what is arguably the biggest difference between them and our toilet-graffitiosi, think their shit doesn’t stink.
Food for thought.
RJC
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