"Wassup. Jst got an email abt this kewl xhibit. I want 2 go. U near soho?"
"Yup. When u wanna meet?"
"30 min at Spring St Physique?"
Now, I was the first person in the above textersation (the murder of the English language facilitated by the world of texting still makes me cringe, but I, alas, must make my messages less than 160 characters like the rest of the world.) and my friend Zakiya was the second texter. Per our vastly complex communication, we promptly met in Soho and headed toward a new art exhibit entitled (hold your ears, Mom), "Knitting is For Pu$$ies". Yep. And I hate to say it, but the name, in all its crassness, was partially what attracted me to the exhibit. Also, I'm a pretty avid crocheter, so I figured that someone that shares my penchant for both crochet AND vulgarity was someone whose art I should see. And yes, there was a lot of art to see.
No, I hadn't. Bad Michelle. Read the crochet and find the underlying meaning of this artist's hours and hours of toil. There must be something she was trying to say. I looked at the nearest inscription.
"Soul is the part of you that sees a lap dance every time you close your eyes."
What?!?! Hold on a second. No quotes from God? The Dali Lama? Confucious?
"Ur pu$$y is my soul mate."
"My mother hates Mother's Day".