Found Art #4: Dying

In all seriousness, folks. Sometimes in my hunt for great found art I come across something that makes me step back, analyze every decision I've ever made in my entire life, and move forward slowly, like a perky-eared jungle cat, with renewed insight on the human condition and the fragility of like. This is one of those pieces. I'll show you the wide view, so you can dip your toes into this pool of existential worry.

First off, I have to let you know right away that I can't remember for the life of me where I found this. I remember it so vaguely that it has been, like so many of our memories lost to time, reduced to the afterglow of emotions felt and the residue of many inklings. I don't know when I found it. Most likely months ago, since I know I had it before I had the 'The To Do List' , but after I created the first Cheezy Pretzel Pie. Other than that I have no idea. To be technically prudent, you can say that I, because of this, technically found it in my wallet. I have lost this piece so many times that I am somewhat embarrassed to have to admit it. It is one of those things that you find, lose, find, lose, and find, and then lose again, so many times that you finally decide that you're going to do something with it and that's when you lose it the last time. When you've finally resigned to the fact that it is just plain gone, it appears, probably in your wallet, where you just vaguely, barely, almost remember putting it. You know, one of those things.
Perhaps this 'push and pull' of the item is exactly the intent of it. Either a reminder from God or a foreboding taunt from the evil one, the cycle of pain and relief is the spectre of a primordial understanding of the piece's content, which is in itself, title, subject, content, and denoument, all in one. Let's now take a closer look.

This is a very troubling piece to critique. Not because of the statement made by it's highlighter-stroked inscription, but because it is so unique that I barely have any bearing on how to call it. First, we should look at the actual tool used. A pink highlighter is pedestrian enough to be recognizeable by even most men, but it is exotic enough to actually warrant a second look, another glance, and a possible moment of clarity. It was clearly made by a woman, or a very feminine man, or perhaps a man who knows a lot of women, and is so exposed to their doodlings that he knows how to perfectly emulate a creepy note. The word , 'Dying', inscripted so clearly and deftly, as if it were made out of mundane obligation, sits to the upper left, and it seems that its orientation is such for no reason other than to allow space for the flourish, the switchbacks curving down and colliding with a pathetic, messy termination. The underline, normally used simply as an emphatic motion, here is used as both an exclamation and as a sort of prophetic gesture, the stationery pantomime of the piece's inevitable result.
Perhaps, though, most interesting about this diminutive piece is the medium. In case you hadn't noticed, it is a sticky note. At first it seems rather innocuous but once you understand the utilitarian nature of such a medium, the piece takes on a whole new character. A dark character, a cynical character. This fact means one of two things.
One possibility is that it was actually meant to be placed on something, like some cruel joke or angry message to the universe. It could have been placed on anything, and the fact that the knowledge of where I found it is gone with the wind makes this idea even more mysterious. It could have been placed on a plant in a row of specimens in a lab study. It could have been placed on a hamster cage in a 3rd grade class, regardless of the health of the hamster, in order to teach the children a valuable life lesson. It could have been placed on someone's forehead during some truly depraved but nonetheless highly entertaining improvisational comedy game during drama class. Who knows...who knows?!
Another possibility is that the medium is purely symbolic. The adhesive on the back of this piece could be the stark reminder of the inextricable grasp that death has on us all, and regardless of the morality of the artist,who may have created this cry for help and sobriety or as a desperate declaration of surrender, the preponderant nature of the subject is indeed, to say the least, effective.

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