I want a movie about a little girl, aged like 11-12, going through the stuggles of prepubescent girl life, with her entire inner monologue is narrated by Samuel L. Jackson.
Shot of disgruntled adorable little girl.
SLJ: I knew that Susie was a backstabbin’ motherfucker, and if anyone was going to ruin my chances of being Miss Sugar Drop Queen, it was that asshole.
I didn’t know I needed this in my life until now.
I am beset on all sides by regular bullshit.
Quentin vs Coen: an art show tribute to the films of Tarantino and the Coen Brothers
Opening night reception - July 5th (6pm - 10pm) - On view until July 26th
Spoke Art is proud to present: Quentin vs. Coen - An art show tribute to the films of Tarantino and the Coen Brothers. Over 60 artists were invited to reinterpret their favorite scenes, characters and films from the prolific directors, resulting in an eclectic showing of inspirational fine art. Showcasing a plethora of original works from painting and sculpture to limited edition screen prints and digital works, Quentin vs Coen demonstrates a wide range of mediums and practices.
Playing upon the already highly stylized vision of these directors, Quentin vs Coen pays homage and re-imagines these momentous post-modern genre makers. Although Tarantino and the Coen brothers differ heavily in their directorial styles, artistically they both have an aptitude for overlapping themes. Both gravitate towards potent, film-defining soundtracks, both fabricate their own versions of neo-noir dark humor. Their penchant for ample brutal violence and bizarre story lines compliment their overarching topics of American culture, revenge and fate as well as classic hollywood narratives.
For this exhibition, no guidelines on subject matter or content were given to the artists. This artistic liberty allows for a boundless selection of personal depictions and interpretations. Each artist was allowed to choose their favorite character, scene or location from whatever movie they liked. Quentin vs Coen therefore offers an eclectic selection of works both diverse in style as well as subject.
Quentin vs Coen will debut on Saturday, July 5th, from 6pm - 10pm. There is no cover charge, complimentary beverages will be served and some artists will be in attendance. The exhibition will be on view until July 26th.
Online sales begin Tuesday, July 8th via the Spoke Art website.
Sherif Adel, Derek Ballard, Oliver Barrett, Joshua Budich, Sandi Calistro, Tracie Ching, Dan Christofferson, Craig Church, Ben Clarke, Nick Comparone, Tim Doyle, Matt Dye, Jason Edmiston, Anarkitty, Veronica Fish, Sam Gilbey, Ian Glaubinger, Gene Guynn, Sam Ho, Christine Hostetler, Primary Hughes, Tim Jordan, Alex Kirzhener, Cuddly Rigor Mortis, Doug LaRocca, Nan Lawson, Tula Lotay, Steve MacDonald, Dave MacDowell, Tim Maclean, Adam Maida, Crowded Teeth, Scott Mitchell, David Moscati, Joemur, Johannah O’Donnell, Rich Pellegrino, Joel Daniel Phillips, Michael Ramstead, Fernando Reza, Jesse Riggle, Jermaine Rogers, Cuyler Smith, Peter Strain, Meghan Stratman, Maria Suarez-Inclan, Geoff Trapp, Justin VanGenderen, John Wentz, Bruce White, Bec Winnel, Kate Zambrano
He doesn’t even have to pause to recall it. It’s like he makes that speech into the mirror every morning.
White: “If people could see the world for what it truly is, saw their lives for what they truly are, without dreams or illusions, I don’t believe they could offer the first reason why they should not elect to die as soon as possible. I don’t believe in God. Can you understand that? Look around you, man. Can’t you see? The clamor and din of those in torment has to be the sound most pleasing to His ear.
And I loathe these discussions, the argument of the village atheist whose single passion is to revile endlessly that which he denies the existence of in the first place. Your fellowship is a fellowship of pain and nothing more. And if that pain were collected instead of merely reiterated, the sheer weight of it would drag the world from the walls of the universe and send it crashing and burning down through whatever night it might yet be capable of engendering until it was not even ash; and brotherhood, justice, eternal life? Good god, man!
Show me a religion that prepares one for nothingness, for death, that’s a church I might enter. Yours prepares one only for more life, for dreams, illusions, lies, banish the fear of death from men’s hearts and they wouldn’t live a day. Who would want this nightmare? But for fear of the next. The shadow of the axe hangs over every joy. Every road ends in death. Every friendship. Every love. Torment, betrayal, loss, suffering, pain, age, indignity, and hideous lingering illness. And all of it with a single conclusion. For you and for every one and every thing that you have chosen to care for. That is the true brotherhood. The true fellowship. And everyone is a member for life. You tell me that my brother is my salvation? My salvation? Well then, damn him. Damn him in every shape and guise and form. Do I see myself in him? Yes, I do. And what I see sickens me. Do you understand me? Can you understand me? I’m sorry. Black: How long you felt like this?
White: All my life.
Black: And that’s the truth.
White: It’s worse than that.
Black: I don’t see what could be worse than that.
White: Rage is really only for the good days. The truth is there’s little of that left. The truth is that the forms I see have been slowly emptied out. They no longer have any content. They are shapes only. A train, a wall, a world. A man. A thing dangling in senseless articulation in a howling void. No meaning to its life. Its words. Why would I seek out the company of such a thing? Why?
White: So you see what it is you’ve saved.
Black: Tried to save. Still tryin’. Tryin’ hard.
White: Who is your brother?
Black: Who is my brother! Yes.
White: Is that the reason I’m here in your apartment?
Black: No, that’s why I’m here.
White: You asked me what I’m a professor of. I am a professor of Darkness. The night in day’s clothing. And now I wish you all the very best, but I must go.
Black: Just stay a little while longer.
White: No, no more time. Goodbye.
Black: We can talk about something else, I swear.
White: I don’t want to talk about something else!
Black: “Don’t go out there. You know what’s out there.”
White: “Oh yes. Indeed I do. I know what is out there and I know who is out there. I rush to nuzzle his bony cheek. No doubt he will be surprised to find himself so cherished. And as I cling to his neck I will whisper in that dry and ancient ear, “Here I am. Here I am.” Now open the door.
Black: Don’t do this.
White: You’re a kind man. I’ve heard you out and you’ve heard me, there’s no more to say. Your God must once have stood at a dawn of infinite possibilities and that, is what he’s made of it. You tell me that I want God’s love, I don’t. Perhaps I want forgiveness, but there’s no-one to ask it of. And there’s no going back, there’s no setting things right. There is only the hope of nothingness and I cling to that hope. Now open the door.
Black: Don’t do this.
White: Please…open the door…
Thank you. Goodbye.
Black: Professor, I know you ain’t mean them words. I’m gonna be there in the morning. I’m gonna be there you hear! I’m gonna be there!
You know he ain’t mean them words. You know he didn’t. I don’t understand why you sent me down there. I don’t understand. If you wanted me to help him, then how come you didn’t give me the words? You gave them to him, what about me? That’s all right. That’s all right. If you don’t ever speak again, you know I’ll keep your word, you know I will, you know I will, you know I’m good for it.
Is that ok?