American accent would be nice.
Claes Oldenburg: I am for an art (1961)
I am for an art that is political-erotical-mystical, that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum.
I am for an art that grows up not knowing it is art at all.
I am for an art that imitates the human, that is comic, if necessary, or violent, or whatever is necessary.
I am for an artist who vanishes, turning up in a white cap painting signs or hallways.
I am for art that comes out of a chimney like black hair and scatters in the sky.
I am for art that spills out of an old man's purse when he is bounced off a passing fender.
I am for the art out of a doggy's mouth, falling five stories from the roof.
I am for the art that a kid licks, after peeling away the wrapper.
I am for an art that joggles like everyone’s knees, when the bus traverses an excavation.
I am for art that is smoked, like a cigarette, smells, like a pair of shoes.
I am for art that flaps like a flag, or helps blow noses, like a handkerchief.
I am for art you can sit on.
I am for the art of conversation between the sidewalk and a blind man’s metal stick.
I am for an art that you can hammer with, stitch with, sew with, paste with, file with.
I am for an art that tells you the time of day, or where such and such a street is.
I am for an art that helps old ladies across the street.
I am for the art that comes up in fogs from sewer-holes in winter.
I am for the art that splits when you step on a frozen puddle.
I am for the worm’s art inside the apple.
I am for the art of bending and kicking metal and breaking glass, and pulling at things to make them fall down.
I am for the art of ice-cream cones dropped on concrete.
I am for the majestic art of dog turds, rising like cathedrals.
I am for the art of bread wet by rain.
I am for the rats' dance between floors.
I am for the art of flies walking on a slick pear in the electric light.
I am for the art of soggy onions and firm green shoots.
I am for tile art of clicking among the nuts when the roaches come and go.
I am for the brown sad art of rotting apples.
I am for the art of meowls and clatter of cats and for the art of their dumb electric eyes.
I am for the white art of refrigerators and their muscular openings and closings.
I am for the art of things lost or thrown away, coming home from school.
This is my first recording for RhinoSpike. I hope it is to your liking. I tried not to speak too fast, but let me know what I could improve if need be. :)