|The joyous refrain of the summer playground. You’re eight, and the neighbour-kids coming over after school for a game of show-me-yours. Things are all a-buzz.
Decades later, Muddy York’s milk has run dry, and she’s casting her smog-filled flatulence over the city and gleefully pissing a steady stream of acidic lemonade into Lake Ontario. All the while we stand by incredulous with the neighbour-kids, thumb-in-ass, and wonder aloud, “This is where the fudge is made?”
It’s summer, and the York MFA students have brought a sample of their work downtown, this is their group exhibition. Herded together over the course of the year in a dark windowless room, we, a group of moaning rabble-rousing malcontents have come together one last time for a game of you-show-me-yours-and-I’ll-show-you-mine.
MARY PORTER and MIKE STEVENS