Sign of the Apocalypse #37: Suri's poop (in bronze)

From the "artist" who brought you Britney's pro-life birth sculpture, otherwise known as SOTA #31, behold the latest piece of shit from Daniel Edwards, "Suri's Bronzed Baby Poop". Here it is -- see left -- in all its repulsive glory.

According to E! Online, which is surely about as trustworthy an entertainment news source as it gets (sarcasm intended), the sculpture was "inspired by the TomKitten spawn's first solid meal and the fecal matter that presumably followed". Like the Britney-on-her-hands-and-knees-giving-birth-on-a-bearskin-rug-to-Baby-Federline piece, this masterpiece of crap is on display at Brooklyn's Capla Kesting Fine Art gallery, which clearly operates according to different artistic standards than, say, the Louvre.

Director David Kesting: "A bronzed cast of baby's first poop can be a meaningful memento for the family." Um, okay. I'm sure Tom and the brainwashed Katie will love it. High-end celebrities like them wallow in self-absorption, and this is nothing if not an appeal to such wallowing.

Or am I being too hard? Here's how the gallery interprets the piece: "It's partially a statement on modern media that 'celebrity poop' has more entertainment value than health, famine or other critical issues facing society and governments today, and also the absurdity of the media coverage on Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes' new baby, Suri Cruise, which has reached stellar proportions, eclipsing far more notable events with more substance."

Well, fine. I can appreciate that. Just as I can appreciate the fact that proceeds from a forthcoming auction of the piece will go to the March of Dimes.

Still. However much I may find fault with the "modern media"'s obsession with celebrity, not to mention with the consumers who lap it all up, and however much I may find absurd "the media coverage" of Tom, Katie, Suri, and all the others like them, not least Brad, Angelina, and Shiloh Nouvel, there is something so pretentiously postmodern about the Suri poop sculpture, as well as about the equally pretentious and equally postmodern attempt to justify it as a legitimate and important work of art, not to mention a profoundly ironic one, that it must surely be a sign of some coming apocalypse, if not the Apocalypse.

Edwards' "art" aspires to lofty heights but ends up mired in self-importance, as much a reflection of media-driven celebrity-obsession as all that on which it aspires to comment so ironically.

Besides, if this particular piece is only "partially" a commentary on the media, what else is it?

A SOTA, of course. Our thirty-seventh.