PLEASE HELP ME I’M LOST
PLEASE HELP ME I’M LOST is the sentence printed in capitals on one side of the brass disc hanging from Max’s collar. On the other side is his owner’s name, address and telephone number. Would we relate to each other any differently if everyone wore a t-shirt or some other printed matter pasted onto our bodies revealing that day’s existential koan?
I guess I’m thinking here about Gillian Wearing’s 1992 series of photographs in which she XXXX She called this piece “Signs that say what you want them to say and not Signs that say what someone else wants you to say”.
Imagine, ever time I greeted a client at the door, or walked past someone on the street, along with the pleasant smiles pasted onto our faces, the other person also had a piece of paper taped to their backpack or briefcase which read ANXIOUS AS ALL FUCK, or GETTING DRUNK IS ALL I THINK ABOUT.
And as they crossed the threshold of my doorway, they too would look down at the badge affixed to the lapel of my jacket, reading the words scribbled there in purple felt-tip pen: UNTETHERED, UNMOORED, DISCONNECTED, FRIENDLESS.
