Three Square Meals (TM)
So… this is a lot.
I’ve been fond of collage as an art form since I was a kid. It has a lot of characteristics that make it conducive to how my brain likes to work - I enjoy multimedia elements and 3D art, I like words in art and wildly disparate sources, I like layers and the juxtaposition of high and low art. Unfortunately, it also hits a lot of my neuroses right in the nose - it has a way of never looking finished, or terribly polished; it’s even more subjective and interpretive than most visual art, so it’s even more difficult to identify “good” work; it’s composed of preexisting elements and therefore can feel like “not real art” or “not mine,” much like photomanipulation which I also love.
So collage is both very difficult for me to engage in and very useful for my brain. I started this one with the intention of making something autobiographical and emotional, but the initial elements I found all came from weekly advertising circulars, because that’s what I had on hand… and as a result, the topic rapidly shifted to something more about capitalism and racial inequality. Then I got this huge stack of National Geographics and the “Countryside and Small Stock Journal” from the 1960s and 70s, and that has been an amazing source of material - the shit they say, right there in black and white!
Since I’ve got you here, I’m gonna show you a few zooms on parts of it and try to explain some of the thinking behind it.
Top left corner here and the first of our Three Square Meals (TM). You’ll note the cheery, toothy white people proclaiming their love for your insurance, and exhorting you to get your shit together.
As you can see, they are in agreement with the white people below them, adjudicating lines of indigenous children - they agree that “there are no excuses for not making cheese,” not stacking that cheddar, and so these must be “intentional peasants.” Surely their poverty is their fault in some way, probably because they didn’t take advantage of this fantastic opportunity to pay $0 and become a “brighter, whiter adult!”
You’ll note the repetition of the phrase “Save the children!” and that this phrase is trademarked - go check for yourself anywhere you see this mindless cliche reprinted. So what they’re saying, you see, is, “We should save children, but what’s really important is that nobody else tries to encourage saving children in this specific way, because that might diminish my ability to make money off of these children who desperately need saving.” Save the children, only $69.99! For $84.99 you can try our “Choice Package” - mix and match!
Here’s our middle square, our noontime meal, as it were. It’s the middle class! We’ve made it! You can tell, because “we never have to worry about climbing the ladder again!” Never mind the ravenous, looming pig silhouetted behind our happy blonde couple - we should be focusing on important things like our mortgage, our groceries, and other “golden passports to the future.” Maybe snobbery is really only pride, after all!
This is Modern Maturity, where there is a growing concern for your growing needs. The Gold Americans, trusted and superior, clutch their be-ribboned purchases while they ponder, “Is happiness really desirable?” A fin de siecle decadence attends this question - stuffed, glutted, nauseated by their own consumption, they wonder whether this is what “the pursuit of happiness” was supposed to mean.
And then, the inevitable decline. Decadence and consumption gives way to skinfatuation, as they seek ever stranger and more sadistic pleasures, none of which satisfy the endless craving emptiness inside. Giftable vanity, voluptuous dark-skinned hotties still in stock, the Gold Americans pour more and more gold into the hole, hoping that safety will float to the top. “Have you seen me?” asks the last remnant of the conscience, the last inkling that perhaps they have bitten off more than they can chew.
The top portion here features the Christmas edition of the Ladies Home Journal from the 1950s and a cage the size of Massachusetts (so much room for not doing activities!). A cascade of brutal messaging pours down, nearly drowning a small indigenous boy. He too is trademarked, as is the phrase “Have you seen me?” because it is incredibly important that one protect one’s ability to make money off of kidnapped children. No fee-free government, as you can see! It’s just the same monster, same meal, every month, for years.
And here in the top right we see a lovely example of a Gold American, stacking that cheddar around her neck like those native people she’s seen on TV, like the one in the bottom right square. Unlike the pigs in the middle square, she’s made with the other other white meat - what a dish!
Perhaps she’s all dressed up for barbecue night at the KKK rally. Next to her, we see a woman and two men. One man’s meat. Can you guess which one? Which one of these three people is always delicious? Which man will be served restaurant style - crispy - when that cross burns down to the ground? It’s that vaguely minstrel-like fellow drumming a barrel on the far right, you say? Well, fortunately that one’s in stock - you wouldn’t want to run out, and be forced to find out if skin of any other color is delicious.
If all of that leaves you with a bad taste, I can only recommend that you go outside and fix your world. That would give me fewer opportunities to damn monsters with the words of their own mouths. If you have somehow managed to misinterpret any of the above vicious satire as support for capitalism, imperialism, or racism, go wash your mouth out with a donation to BLM.
