TABLE OF CONTENTS

MY POP

Jason Rhoades

Pop after pop, pop, pop . . . Can you hear me? Art that interests me goes pop! like little explosions of bubbles. My daughter’s middle name is Bubble: Ruby Bubble Rhoades. She should live in a bubble in the sense that her world should be the way she wants, but it should also pop, and then she’ll grow a new one. This happens all the time in my work. It’s my job to grow a bubble I can live in and then have it burst. It’s all soapy stuff that expands and explodes. Then the air or the language inflates it again to create a new mind space—this great bubble that art can grow. I’ve produced a bathtub full of foam.

Everything goes pop! It’s constantly exploding; it’s like a wasteland here in LA. Nothing lasts or builds up into anything. There is grayness and capitalism and self-destructiveness. It’s the beginning and end of the world, and I’m obsessed with it. There’s so much garbage but also

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