This is an artist’s statement from a photobook which does not exist, and which, god willing, never will. It is representative, unfortunately, of a lot of photobooks which do exist.
When I began this project, it was titled, “Those Poor Bastards Living On The Mississississippi”, an obvious, albeit hopelessly naive, homage to Alec Soth’s important work. As I travelled that great waterway photographing and talking to people, I realized that my early simplistic ideas simply would not stand up. I needed to expand outwards conceptually and literally. And so I did. Under the working title “Those Sorry Dipshits In The Midwest”, I explored other states that are not New York or California. I visited Ohyeo, Eyedaho, Cantuckey, and even more.
In the end, I took my practice to every one of the 40-whatever states there are in the USA which are not New York or California. A chance meeting with a junkie in Deetroyt which I think is in Tenassee led to an epiphany, the project could only be called “Flyover Cannibals” and that is it’s name. By the time I finished this project, I had interviewed alot of people. In fact, I had interviewed every single person in the targeted states, and I had learned so much. I had learned alot.
Every single person I met was a drug addict, and on each page of this book with the exception of page 17, and page 158,286,728 you will find tipped in an actual hypodermic needle used by the subject of the photographed subject. Those subjects would not give me their syringe because they needed it to inject more drugs right away. Each one of the 273,211,922 pages shows you a person, a fully formed, human with emotional depth a complete history with hopes and dreams. Of course, they’re all the same history, the same hopes and dreams. Every one of these poor shitheads is a prostitute, they’re all either just out of prison or just entering it, and they’re all gun toting idiots. Their history is the same stuff about divorce, ruined relationships, stupid hobbies gone wrong. I guess. I mean, it’s not like I was paying much attention I’m an artist not a listener.
All these people are all bipolar too but not the cool kind where you work with a therapist to develop holistic strategies to manage your illness, just the doltish stupid kind where you take lithium and kill yourself every week or so. Many of my subjects had killed themselves 3 or 4 times. Usually in prison while high on opiates. Like animals. Not that they’re animals their just not from New York, California, or Europe. So basically.
Anyways, I despise all these people, and so should you. What a bunch of losers.
I would like to thank various Giant Corporations for their support, although obviously I deplore the influence of money on Artland. I’d also like to thank the various eurotrash that spent all my grant money helping me make this book.
The artist RZG Star moved to the outskirts of Staten Island from Iowa two weeks ago but describes themselves as “from New York” now.