A few years ago, I was awarded a Professional Development Course for artists. Part of the homework was to write an Artist Statement. I worked and worked; polishing an eliminating, until I only had the kernel that was “me.” When I read it out; I was told: “That’s what everyone would say.”
I got tired of being known as just “Doug,” or “Oh, him,” or “If he’s coming; I’m not going,” and decided to remake my image — “Doug the Beloved” [the guy who used to be just “him.”] I was just about to announce this, when there was a Pandemic and the bar was closed — why does this sort of thing always happen to me?
February 23, 2021
Industrial farmers are ever-vigilant in their efforts to keep a wholesome image. In the unreported media gulf between urban newspapers and “Ag ghetto” trailers, theirs is the only voice. And they never stop trash-talking the rural community.
In an age that pretends to enlightened social justice, the “hillbilly,” “trailer trash,” “good-ole-boy” is a target that is fair game to all . . . because they’re “racist” and “ignorant” and “backwards” and “uneducated” and you really don’t know anything about them.
They’re people who live independently with almost no money, and no representation at all. You won’t see them golfing at your country club, but you might meet a rich factory farm owner — telling “redneck” jokes.
You Know You Live near a Factory Farm When Your Kids Go Fishing with a Pool Skimmer