The memory comes unaided every time he passes a butcher’s shop. The blood-infused smell of freshly cut flesh slices from whatever he’d been thinking about and immediately brings him back to her.
Tracey’s art work was getting further away from his own conceptions of what art should be about. They both agreed art needed to challenge the viewer in disturbing ways.
And the exhibition that broke them was doing just that. Josh will pause, ever so briefly, and try to figure out why he fucked things up.
The exhibition titled “Dinner” had live lambs and calfs running around the gallery space. A piece titled “Mommy”, she had reconstructed a cow from bought pieces of meat. She created the head out of offal.
People had to step over entrails and droppings. They could feed the lambs and calfs using bottles, but she’d place a mini speaker on each bottle. As the lamb or calf suckled, Tracey’s voice would sing a lullaby telling it how mommy came to be dinner.
The longer the exhibition went for, the more it would smell.
Having it shut down was exactly what she wanted.
Josh mentioned to a friend his distaste for low art as they cradled a lamb.
Later, she said a little lamb had told her he thought her work was “low art”, and she needed someone who would support her unconditionally.