In art there seems to be a rule that states: the crazier the work, the nicer the artist. John Bock, for example, speaks about his psychedelic B-movie massacres with the calmness of someone spreading Nutella on his bread at breakfast. Cindy Sherman poses in her city apartment for home decoration magazines, yet can appear, in her work, to resemble an abused doll. And then there’s Mike Kelley, the pope of camp, whose films might include any number of crude expressions,…
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