it's time

alright. listen. i am perfectly aware that this is my second update for the first of april, and guess what? i'll probably update again later tonight. you want to know why? it's because i can't shut up. you want to know why else? because i just couldn't get out of the house today to finish my bloody thesis, so now i'm just gripped by a mild, yet disinterested sort of panic and trying to make up for it by doing my corporations homework for monday. maybe i'll leave later. maybe. if i feel like it.

but that's not the point. the blasted point of this one is that, quite frankly, i have had enough of something. and it's time to air my frustrations out, here, in the open and to the public. ladies and gentlemen, i give you:

AN OPEN LETTER TO ANNE GEDDES.

Dear Ms Geddes.

Hello. You most certainly do not know me, yet. My name is Catherine Loya. You can call me Cat, if you'd like, if I can call you Al. Ha! Just kidding Ms Geddes. How about just Anne, then?

I am a law student, among other things. One of the things I am is the president of a very small, rather demented production company. In my coming up to four year stint at the helm of this lunatic asylum, I have had the opportunity to observe, advise, and yes, even produce some pretty....how shall I say....advant garde pieces. Pieces that no one in their right mind would be willing to pay money to see, nevermind actually interact with the people who put them on. All in all, we've come out with some excellent work, but whew! There have certainly been some struggles along the way. It's nice that as a result of all this, I've come to appreciate many different kinds of artistic expression, artistic vision, artistic philosophy. The reason I'm telling you this, Anne, is because you and I have to have a talk. Okay? Woman to woman. Art lover to art....er, artist.

Look. The babies? The babies. How to put this. The first time? I mean, you know, whatever picture you took of a sleeping baby and the light went on in your brain that flashed "now THIS is it! this is my picture!" that's nice. It's wonderful that you've managed to find your medium, and your ideal vehicle for expression--photography is an awesome way to express your feelings. Unfortunately, your feelings seem to be.....what, exacly? You see babies. Everywhere. In...er....insect costumes? That's cool. Maybe not exactly what I want to see manifested in twenty billion different ways, but whatever. I can get past that, as a concept. I can accept this about you, and about the many people--enough to put you on the mostly worthless New York Times Bestseller List--who really love your work.

But see, this was before someone sent me an article about your latest pieces. I have never really delved too deeply into your portfolio to experience all sleeping babies in flower hats had to offer. I really just passed you on the way to the free samples, down the greeting card aisle, in the grocery. Once I had a rather unpleasant experience in the toy section of a target, when I stumbled upon a stuffed baby dressed as a ladybug, but I was willing to let that one go. This article, however, has managed to send me over the breaking point. Let's just go over a few of the problems I'd like to address:

First of all, this baby is pissed. Not that I blame her, because she's probably really cold and nobody even bothered to brush her hair for this lovely photo op. She's obviously given up on fighting back, just sitting there all "Dude. If you don't put me down right this instant, I am going to poop." This isn't so much a "cute" picture as it is....sort of meaningless? It just leaves you wanting to help the kid out. Give her a bottle. Help her put on a warm little onesie. Maybe even place her on a level surface. You know, whatever.

Secondly, sunflowers. There seems to be a lot more going on here than you've hopefully realized. to begin with, the baby on the far right is looking at you like "Yo. Anne. you seriously need to stop it with the camera and come over here. there are all kinds of nasty going on over there. are you listening to me?" Baby in the middle is also attempting in vain to get your attention, even going so far as to point out where the source of the nasty is coming from. With careful deduction, even the simplest viewer of this piece can tell that the nasty is most definitely residing in flower pot number three, on the far left. Even the baby is like "Get me the hell out of this pot, you crazy bitch. I told you to leave my diaper on. This is what you get."

One of my all-time favorites has to be a piece from your "dark period," which I think was loosely titled "Help Me, The Teddybears Have Taken Over My House And Stolen My Baby And Oh God, Why?" The sleeping, peaceful, blissfully unaware baby being loosely cradled by the biggest teddybear I have ever seen is a powerful image, especially when the viewer recognizes its demented, manical smile as one from his or her own childhood.

Also, what the fuck is wrong with you?

I especially found striking what appears to be an unprecedented homage to one of the best television shows on nickelodeon, David the Gnome (I refer you here, as well, though I have to warn you that upon clicking the link your heart will yearn for kinder, simpler times, and give you an intense thirst for a juicebox). Except you, you clever maven of crazy, entitled it "Dwarves." What does this mean? Is it an attempt to bridge the ever-widening gap between Gnomes and Dwarves? Is it a loose reference to the weird obsession of America with The Lord of the Rings Trilogy--but only the movie versions--that may or may not be one of the signs of the End Times? Or did you simply get your ancient creatures mixed up after one too many hits of the ol' developing fluid? I could understand that. The same thing happens to me with pixies and sprites.

This one though, is the worst. I can't even begin to tell you how I feel when I look at this one. I don't even know what parts are the most terrible. Is it the baby in the bottom right corner, clearly frightened of you and your "light machine," trying to cling to the side of a tin bucket? Is it the baby in the middle left, who has clearly lost its shit and is ready, for the love of God, for its mom to pick it up, hold it, anything but this? Or, and probably most likely, is it the baby in the middle top, whose only thought is "The horror, the horror?"

I would appreciate a response as soon as possible. It may seem I've been overly critical, but I say to you, nay! At least you're not the lady with the kids all dressed up in people clothes kissing each other. Look on the bright side.

Yours very sincerely,
Catherine M. Loya