Channelling pachamama: Pipilotti Rist’s Pour Your Body Out. (Photos by C-M.)
If my vagina could appreciate art, what would it want to see? Something earthy, I imagine. Images of damp soil, lush flowers, and gigantic, wall-sized boobs. Oh, and lots and lots pink. Well, today was her lucky day, because I spent a good portion of the afternoon experiencing Pipilotti Rist’s Pour Your Body Out in the atrium at MoMA, perched inside the embracing shag-rug confines of a giant circular couch (hello, womb!), with my head resting on a rather labial-looking pink pillow. It was like being back at Smith.
As girly as this 25-foot high video is (and it’s girly), it’s also spectacularly stonerrific. (Especially good for an I-can’t-move-my-facial-muscles strain like Trainwreck.) There’s slow-mo images of fertile earth, luscious tulips, lily pads, pigs and a frolicking strawberry blond, all set to a medley of gooey, abstract tones that seem like the sorta soundtrack you might hear if you’re parked in utero. I have to confess: I was skeptical at first. I’m not big into vag art. But this was quite refreshing. By the time I set aside my labial pillow, fixed my hair and put on my shoes, I felt very rested — and ready to take on the rest of the museum. Rock on, Pipilotti.
You’ve got ’til Monday, Feb. 2 to see the show. More images — and video — after the jump.
I think I saw something like this in a Woody Allen movie once.
Cue the video.