Cannibal Girls

This painting has rarely been seen in public here in Canada. But each time it has been at an art show I have been attacked for misogyny, or told with a chuckle, ‘I know them!’ All I have to say is its an observation of human behaviour, and I actually met them one night at the cLuB. Humans are aggressive, male and female. Click image for full screen.

‘Cannibal Girls’, 42″ X 42″, oil on canvas.

One night at the cLuB.

I liked this particular club, as it was truly abstract. Everyone in there was an abstraction of some dismal emotion. The standard costume was black, with a dash of red or purple. Dressed as myself, a brown hound’s-tooth jacket, I pushed my way through the depression to my favourite bar, and my favourite bartender girl. She had arranged a free pass for me anytime I wanted to attend. I was designing a tattoo for her bum and wanted lots of observation time. She poured my usual, a pint of white domesticated Canadian fermented grape stuff. And I did my usual, observing everything around the club, including her. I liked the music, but never danced. Nine Inch Nails and such punching people in the belly with noise and pain. Eight-foot high platinum robot men stuck out from the walls. Another painter I knew stood beside a robot, observing and drinking a gin and tonic, the only drink that fluoresces under black lights. Brief recognition from miles away, why are you here, why not. Everything else, including the floor was flat black. Exhilarating, something to hallucinate onto. After I’d finished a couple of pints of wine, a tall, beautiful young woman approached me, spiky multi-coloured short hair, lilac lipstick, her shirt said ‘I Love Her’, she wore sprayed on white pants, and her belly button was winking at me. She was a glowing beacon of confidence amidst the trembling uncertainty of doom that was the club. She was almost an hallucination.

‘Buy me a drink!’ She demands.

A hand touches my shoulder on the other side. Another vision of loveliness, ‘I Love Me!’, her shirt points out, why not, I would too.

‘Me too!’ She states. ‘Buy me one too!’

All I can do is my usual shrug and empty pockets look.

‘Asshole!’ says lilac lips, and she sticks her cigarette in my drink. Then they were gone, like predators deciding I was a vegetable after all. Just had to check.

My favourite bartender comes to my rescue.

‘Never mind them,’ she says, ‘it is what they do, have another mug of wine.’

So I went on observing, ‘I Love Her’ and ‘I Love Me’. Doing what they do. Wondering about the depressed young men with money in their pockets.  I noticed others with the same well-rehearsed poverty shrug. But they were cornered at the bar as they tried to refuel their beer mugs. If you say you’re broke, you had better be broke. They had ways of making you pay. And I have no doubt they had good reasons. Men can be pigs.

‘Love’, ‘Deceits’ and ‘Broken Promises’ in jars on a shelf.

A flower in a vase on the wall.

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