Oops Chernobyl: Recent Episodes
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Oops Chernobyl is an art collective based in Southern New Jersey. Where serious art and buffoonery are not mutually exclusive.
Oops Chernobyl's Jason Trautz is showing some work at Salt Art Gallery in Old City, Philadelphia. The opening reception is on December 4th from 6-9 pm. The exhibition runs through January 26th, 2010. See it while you can! For directions and other info go here.
Hello world! I have received and read the multitude of letters you were all so kind as to send me. After hearing voice after voice, outcry after outcry, begging for my swift return, I knew that I must respond. Yes my friends, I have been away attending to my health and, though you may have to go without me for a time longer, I can assure you that I will be back to add that special touch that only a woman can bring to Oops Chernobyl.
I am also pleased to report that Oops Chernobyl will begin featuring the work of other artists. Our first featured artist will be photographer Vincent Filbert – keep an eye out for his work. Also, if you, or anyone you know, would like to become a featured artist, don’t hesitate to drop us a line. Thank you, my good people, and goodnight.
“The Revolving Door: An Ego-Friendly Art Show”, featuring new work by Oops Chernobyl's Jason Trautz, will be on exhibit at Camden County College from February 27th to April 4th. The opening reception is on February 27th from 6-8 pm. The Art Gallery is located in Lincoln Hall on the Blackwood, NJ Campus. For directions and other info go here.
Oops Chernobyl member Ned Hylton has some work included in Photography 27, a juried photo exhibit being held at the Perkins Center for the Arts in Moorestown, NJ. The opening reception is on Saturday, January 26th from 1-4 pm and the exhibit runs until February 24th. If you want to go, check out the Perkins Center website for more details and directions.
After a long hiatus, Oops Chernobyl will finally be posting some new material. Check back for drawings, videos, and more. Thanks Harry Potter!
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Meet Bob, former assembly line worker and burgeoning actor. A video by Sam Hylton. With Jefrey Wilkerson (of Chicago's Suspicious Clowns).
Harold opened the phone book and started with the letter Q. He had always liked the letter, particularly its alphabetic conjunction with R, S. Damn. Why is it so few people answer their phones on a Saturday? “God made Saturdays for working in the home”, Harold said aloud, “and I need to off-load this piana!”
After listening to the answering service message, left by a man named Quaintance, Harold carefully delivered his name, telephone number, home address, in case the man wished to reply via the post, and a detailed description of the instrument he desired to sell.
There had been discouraging Saturdays, letters like C and L that had left him crestfallen. Even letters that had stung and humiliated Harold like F and T, but ever since his retirement back in 1977, his only duty had been these weekend sales. Selling personal and found items was Harold’s job, and he was not a quitter. This last call was pleasing enough. Harold noted what he felt was an improvement in his message leaving and was ready to tackle more calls.
A woman had once suggested putting an add in the paper, “You know, let the advertising do the work for you.” Thought she was a real help, that one. Loathsome as he found hang-ups, akin to line cutters and loud public conversation, Harold dropped the receiver in its cradle hard enough to sound ding. Papers were shifty in his estimation, full of reviews on restaurants that only serve spicy food and other numerous perversions.
Quering, Quigley, Quinden…
“Hello?”
“Yes, hello sir, my name is Harold Rinkler and I was won-“
“Who?”
“Harold Rinkler, would you-“
“Yes sir.”
“Harold Rinkler.“
“Harold Rinkler?”
“Yes, my name is Harold Rinkler and I-“
“Dolores! There’s a man on the phone. Would you come and take this thing, I can’t understand a word he’s sayin'.”
“I’m sorry sir, my husband is a bit hard of hearing and not so goo-“
“I…
“What?”
“Buy my piana!”
click.
You should see me at the supermarket, barely alive at the cold cuts counter, smiling at other shoppers, knowing that they know I have been circling the same three aisles for almost an hour, uncertain of where I am or what I need. Don’t look them in the eye! I stare blankly at a potato dish I have no intention of eating. A carted child passes, sputtering happily over an existence without choices. So many lamb chops. No, something textural. Something… granola.
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The first in a series of foreign films and videos subtitled by auto spam.