My buddy Todd just visited. Todd celebrates and encourages my love of the eighties. At least two weeks of memory lane eighties rehash ensue after every Todd sighting. I'm up to my ears in it today. (Oh, Nina Hagen, Chico DeBarge, Sonny Crockett - I miss you so.)
So, today I'm thinking, where have the performance artists gone? I was briefly an eighties performance artist. It was a good life. Goofy not jaded. With enough rhinestones, tongue-in-cheek ire, and Aquanet you too could be a performance artist in 1986. I had high hopes for a resurgence in the art when the political landscape turned retro-eighties. (Always looking for that silver lining, I am.)
Today there are all kinds of performance artists in a general sense: poetry slammers, political printmakers, renegade radio dj's, multimedia bloggers, creative peace activists, off the grid resident musicians, kara-okies with hearts of gold... but no eighties performance artists. No prophets of silliness with a higher purpose and higher hair.
Wanted: retro performance artists to work street corners, city council meetings, malls, car dealerships, public parks and concert venues. Must not take self too seriously. Must still believe that there is some hope for pop culture. Must not have allergy to hairspray, cheap jewelry, used clothing, or rhythms produced by drum machines. No need to call first. Will know you on sight.