Jonathon Keats is making porn for plants and I am writing a poem about it. The artist has recorded acts of "gross pollination" and plans to not only show the film in galleries and art houses, but to project the images onto lackadaisical plants to get them...going.
I drafted what, to me, was a very funny poem last night – it's cheeky and irreverent. But it's not a real poem yet; for the moment it's just fun word play.
I'm about to dive into plant "anatomy" research. I'm about to renew my familiarity with those Mapplethorpe tripychs. I'm about to revisit books on obscenity and art.
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