Yes, everything is art, but that doesn’t mean you’re not fucking insane.
Here’s looking at you, Sophie Calle. The bourgeois woman who got a job as a maid at a hotel so she could look through people’s possesions and photograph them (L’hôtel, 1981). The artist who stalked a man for a week including following him on a plane to Italy to document his every move (Suite Vénitienne, 1980). The person who found an address book in the street, and instead of returning it to its rightful owner, called and interviewed every contact in the book to ask them about the person who owned it (Le Carnet d’address, 1983). Keep up the good work crazy, I’m writing a paper about you right now.
