One Night Or A Thousand Others

 

 

 

 

 

Sultan Schahriar beheaded each morning she whom he had slept with the night before. He knew no virgin or woman could be trusted.

 

 

 

 

 

Rights were not violated nor license taken in disposing of what was no longer of use.

 

 

 

 

 

Another un-elected sovereign reigns today and the thief of Baghdad lives off shore. Imperial US foreign policy dismembers its former strange bedfellows across the globe.

 

 

 

 

 

No one man or woman, elderly or child, alien or brother can be trusted.

 

 

 

 

 

No rights are rescinded, nor opportunities overlooked in protecting patriotic actions and personal profits.

 

 

 

 

 


By definition the work of enhancing our interests shall be shared by all others.

 

 

 

 

 

In the late eighth century in the reign of the great Caliph, Haroun al Raschid, stories were told of the legendary Sultan Schahriar whose bloodletting, despite public outcry, subsided only after he became enchanted with the imaginative story telling of Scheherazade.

 

 

 

 

 

The exotic, the other, the fabulous merged with invention, woven narratives, psychological sophistication.

 

 

 

 

 


Twelve hundred years later no atrocity can stave off apathy.

 

 

 

 

 

The corpses mount this night and on a thousand others, while the living no longer yearn for the grand vizier's eldest daughter.

 

 

 

 

 

It is not the lore but gore, distress, injustice and perpetual violence that's entertainment.

 

 

 

 

 

One Night or a Thousand Others presents a row of severed women's heads, cast in plaster, fastened to the ceiling.

 

 

 

 

 

Delicate features of partially parted lips play against the raw exposure of amputated necks.

 

 

 

 

 

Each head is cast from women of Middle-eastern descent.

 

 

 

 

 

Directly below each head is a pillow cast in fiberglass hydrocal, covered in Black Beauty sand.

 

 

 

 

 

Each of the pillows in the resulting row is sliced horizontally where the neck of a sleeping head might be,

 

 

 

 

 

exposing a white plaster embedded with down feathers.

 

 

 

 

 

Standing apart in the gallery is a levitating, reclining, bisected life-sized figure of Mohammed, headless and covered in drapery flowing to the floor, again coated in Black Beauty sand.

 

 

 

 

 

This prophet is split from his anus to his throat as he was in Dante's sixth layer of hell.

 

 

 

 

 

The space between the bisected halves is wide enough for a visitor to pass through, with Mohammed's body roughly at shoulder height.

 

 

 

 

 

On another wall is a plaster mold of a lamp similar to those associated with Aladdin. Plaster coils of smoke rise 11' up the wall, swirled with embedded black sand.

 

 

 

 

 

Throughout, the sound of blowing sand,

 

 

 

 

 

punctuated by the unsheathing of a magical sword blade, along with the ethereal sounds of fluttering moth wings, play on a continuous loop.