The Celebrity Hesh-Match

Artist Brandon Bird

Death by Party | Brandon Bird: It just makes sense

We all perchance to daydream from time to time about celebrities, providing succor in our oft repetitive work days. It’s but a palliative position to play out in the abscence of booze and bud in the office. It’s arriving home, however, when we’re able to marvel upon the What If’s, thus continuing the whimsy with first sips and big hits amongst good friends and enlightened wits. During these magical hours, we furlough all reservation upon recreation, and truly dare to dream. ‘What if Simon Cowell was pedestaled on Mt. Sinai, scowling at the Golden Calf?’ ‘What if Christina Hendricks was Nurse Ratched?’ Somewhere within this cogitative coalescence, the colorfully resplendent pop art of Brandon Bird ejaculates on our grey matter. It asunders our realities, bolsters our foundation of imagination, and rebuilds the wreckage from our detritus. ‘What if Famke Jannsen from Singer’s X-Men gave Ash Ketchum his first kiss?’

I will not be remiss in the heady assertion that I’ve a slightly marginal skill in the finer points of painting. In other words, the only oil I’d ever perpetrated to canvas was my Caddy’s reduction sauce on my Chucks. That’s not to dismiss that from middle-through-high school, I had the prowess of Brandon Bird.. literarily speaking. I penned celebrity ‘literotica.’ My what if’s were fueled by libidinal tendencies rather than libational ones and pervy creativity rather than perspicacious inspiration. My supposition is that having Jessie Spano trilling ‘I’m so excited’ whilst she’s pounded from behind by Bruce Wayne in the dark recesses of the Batcave doesn’t possess the same cachet in words as Bird’s dejected Harrison Ford, Sega Master System clenched in hands from two guys playing a Nintendo Entertainment System does in paints. I guess that dissonance in art mirrors our cognizance.

You, I would wager on any day have magnetized your insightful insanities. Tenebrific as they may be, they come from bright minds. Sunny as they may be, their dark humor stems from an inveterate wisdom. You have all wished and respectively lived it. In some orgasmic, nay, protoplasmic medium, all sentient incongruities that grace these craftfully orchestrated pieces succumb to you, leaving us all in a viscous puddle of love (think Ghostbusters 2.) Though born of Brandon’s brilliance, this artwork wasn’t gestated from singularity but of a fucking weird yet beautiful gestaltism, as each of your proclivities play a role in the plot. ‘What if Bill Murray, Harold Ramis, and Ernie Hudson were to blow you out of the work-related malaise and blast you into million-dollar reality?’ The director Brandon Bird makes without argument, that you and I, within our R.E.M. daydreams will be utterly slimy, happy people.

-Robert Kijowski

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