Found. Art.

"One man's trash is another man's treasure."

Found Art.


The homeless people who haul around single go-go boots, plastic hangers, computer monitors, 8-track tapes, and random pieces of lumber are cutting-edge artists. At least that's what I've discovered by way of my MFA from an esteemed San Francisco art & architecture school. I always thought it was trash, those plastic milk & juice drink rings, expired bus passes, shoe laces, and combs. My bad. They were figures or unclaimed pieces for a "collage" or "sculpture" or "weaving".





There's actually a published, glossy-paged book (or books?) on Found Art. Who knew? Found. Not lost, not dropped, discarded, or tossed, but found.


The other day, along side the retaining wall against my abode, I swept up a bunch of wind blown leaves that expanded into its own bottomless pond of autumnal detritus. Somehow they never found their way into the nearby storm drain or city-owned shrubbery that lined the road. No big deal, I like doing my civic duty. Besides, dead leaves and twigs always smell so autumny.


Among the yellows, browns, greens, and glossy black beetles, a glint of something shiny caught my eye. There are many raccoons that roam the streets on the Eve of Trash Day, so I assumed it was a lost scrap of foil hoarded from a nearby knocked-over trash can. Instead, it was a mangled set of dentures or a bridge with little clusters of teeth and faux pink gums clinging to the metal arc.

Eeeuuuw! Someone's teeth!

Immediately, I stepped back, thinking that a serpent, monster, or some such horror film icon would jump on me. I don't know why I stepped back, but the sight of these fake chompers shivered me timbers. My parents both sport the same style: little white nubs molded into pink blobs welded into the curved monorail so I was vaguely familiar with the sight.

I vaguely scanned the roadside in case other body parts snagged on the spiny blackberry shrubs or under the guardrail --by then I thought that these ivories were part of a Mafia 'cleaning.' The street was vacant of toes or clumps of hair. I swept the fangs into the dust pan and let them slide onto the top of the wall. They sat there like some family heirloom.

My thought process was simple: if these fake tusks were not lying here as the result of foul play, then perhaps somebody lost them and I happened to find them, you know, like a key or a pacifier or a bus schedule.

It's been a few days and they're still there.

It's funny, but from a distance or even close-up, they remind me of a morphed scorpion. The thin metal track curved and divoted from passing cars or the nearby family of raccoons who, much like I did with a paper clip in 3rd grade, probably passed it around and put it in their mouths like a Halloween vampire prop before realizing they had to get on with their nightly trash-dumping schedule. The wire pokes upward and out towards the imaginary pallet, ready to jab and sting. The gaps between the clumps of pink and white stones are articulated body parts held together by an evil, metallic wasp-waisted petiole.

Given the gap of time and my association with my recent Alma Mater, I'm now wondering how I can attach this imperfect body part to a canvas to follow in suit with the Found Art phenom. Ideally, I'd use dental floss and lasso it up, just to keep it aligned with the oral theme. However, I've discovered a few "natural" cigarette pack wrappers, a flexi-straw, a beer bottle cap, and a fast food restaurant's cold drink lid (size medium) clumped into a cyclone fence's corner at a local produce store I visit. Obviously, these are art pieces in the waiting.

+*+*+*+

I know some people use Found Objects in their own artwork. Often this is called Recycled Art or some such title.

I understand this is quite a profitable venture, especially if the art of welding is involved. I've seen old truck cogs, hubs, and axels melted together into quirky figurines and images. People find old metal signs and keenly place them in their backyards where magenta sweet peas and bright sunflowers soften the rusty edges. Others create tinkling chimes from mangled cafeteria silverware and fishing lines found along sandy beaches.

At NYC's MOMA, I viewed a small art exhibit of 7 flourescent light tubes leaning against each other in a corner. I wanted to believe that these were waiting for overhead replacement by the museums the maintenance people, but I was wrong. I cannot imagine how much someone would pay for this.

The most difficult Found Recycled Art for me to accept and appreciate is the toilet garden. Yes, it's a perfect bowl, but when it comes down to it, I have no interest in approaching this display, let alone sniffing the fragrant buds that bob their multi-hued heads, knowing that their stems and roots reach out along the edge of the porcelain and stretch down the oft-plunged hole which once housed, well you know. Too much prior knowledge on that planter's usage, thank you very much.

So go ahead, make your Recycled Art. But please explain to me how gum wrappers, a dirty yellow shower curtain ring, coffee cup handle, deflated mylar balloon (purple and red ribbons still knotted onto the nipple), a bread loaf's wrapper and its twistie, and a library book's crinkly cover all glued onto a canvas, or "woven together" with the other above-noted items are Found "Art." It just seems like garbage to me, not some cool sculpture, drawing, or figurine found at a garage sale or in the back of somebody's dusty, forgotten attic.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my multi-textured mouthy collage, begin gluing a chewed-tip pen cap, a boot's tongue, a single jigsaw puzzle piece, and a Reese's PB wrapper onto a cheap canvas. It shall be titled, "Oral Life" and I will offer it for sale at the artistic price of $500.

Found. Art. Canvassed trash for sale. Yet, I must say, the streets are a little cleaner for it.