And by night I have become my own canvas, painting my face to perform at drag shows and charity events. Sometimes the paint goes on a little too thick. I put the La Brea Tar Pits to shame. If you excavate deep enough, you will find the bones of past boyfriends, bless their hearts.
So I know a thing or two about art. And I like most art. Most art.
But there are two pieces of art in Denver that really make my skin crawl.
One of these prances along Speer Boulevard. I call them the dancing Gumbies — those big white dorky stick figures that tower more than 60 feet tall. Bigger is sometimes better, but blowing up a couple of aliens to the size of King Kong was probably not the best idea. Their official name is “Dancers.” If you ever see me dancing like that at the club, please shoot me. They say the statues have music the wafts up from beneath them. I would have no idea about that. There’s no way I am getting close to those things.
It takes two people to produce a great work of art. One person to make the art. And another person to shoot the artist when they are done.
But what happens when it’s the other way around? What if the art kills the artist before it’s done? Sounds like some bad voodoo, if you ask me.
And that is just one reason why I abhor the demonic blue horse out at Denver International Airport. I cringe in horror and fright every time I see it. It’s not a pretty shade of blue. It’s a dark, dirty, nasty blue. The kind of blue that babies turn when their heads get stuck in recalled cribs.
When you see that kind of blue, it’s never a good sign.
And it has red eyes. Not just red eyes. Red eyes that glow at night like a demon. And those eyes, they follow you. You cannot escape their evil gaze.
It’s not just a blue horse with demon eyes galloping through a field. No, it’s reared up, like it’s about to kick your ass straight into the depths of hell. And, well, that’s pretty much what it did to its artist creator, Luiz Jimenez. For 14 years, he worked on that horse. Fourteen years of his life slaving away on a 32-foot tall stallion, complete with genitalia. Yes, if the red eyes don’t freak you enough, the blue balls certainly will.
Then one day the sculpture, already reared up, comes crashing right down on him, killing him dead. Now, anyone in his or her right mine would say, “Bad omen, honey. Time to put that horse down. Let’s search for a new sculpture.”
But, no. They just pick that horse up, drag the dead artist away and put that horse on display for every person about to risk their life on a plane to see.
Flying can be scary enough. But to see a demon blue horse right before you are getting on a plane, a demon horse that killed the artist that made it…that’s some bad juju.
Bad art, bad, bad, bad art.
