the spitted pig / installation
A visual and experiential interpretation of an anonymous poem.
The poem reads:
the spitted pig is a clock. one month in twelve. his grin is humorless. pigs are easy to catch; you can blow down most of their houses. name your pig "dinner." eat him with salt on butcher's paper. butcher's paper raises angels from tombstones. eat all of him but the squeal. leafy piles of green bills rise in the center of smoking men's tables. dead soldiers cluster about the edges. pork, it is said, tastes like young boy, though who but a few could know?
I constructed a $13 x $19 screen, interweaving about a dozen real dollar bills with the dollar counterfeits I made. The poem is reiterated on the screen in red. I mounted it in a large, dark film stage where I projected footage of a pig slaughterhouse onto it with the last lines of the poem overlayed in stark white. The sound of pig squeals was slowed and altered to create a menacing echo in the darkness.