i became frustrated with the messes that my children were making, that I was making, that we all were making. and having just come off writing about how violence is inevitable, and consuming (thus consumerism) are both inevitable, I came to realize, sitting there watching my sister-in-law and her boyfriend pick up toys, well, I began to ask myself if human's can live without making any messes, and I thought of my son who was born and he spilled blood and water and all sorts of things upon his birth, the messy placenta, all of it was a mess. and then there was the mess of poop and shit and barf and throw-up, and those continue to be an issue throughout everyone's lives. just the mere fact that each of us make crap-loads of crap is testament to the inevitability of messiness. there really is no way to live a mess-less life. one can work towards some sort of minimalism, some sort of way to cover their tracks, but you will tread, you will walk and leave behind an impression with your foot. well, let's make all paths solid, and in the act of making the path solid rock, you've left a mess where you took the rocks from, and you'll still leave oils with the bottoms of your feet. your body is constantly excreting air and oil and crap and words, and it's all disturbing and messing up the world. perhaps the question then, perhaps the answer is how do we make a good mess. how do we make a beautiful mess. which is why I respect "artist's shit." it's a piece of work, sure, but it calls our attention to the inevitability of our messes and then asks us to consider how we can make it something more than a mess. it's a very real and very direct way of asking us to consider all the crap that we leave behind us or flush away. this artist refused, for a moment, to flush that crap down the toilet. he considered it a duty, a responsibility to attend to, to, just for that moment, not ignore. there must be something that we can do with our messes, recognizing them as messes.