Shit Happens

A friend had this book—a book dedicated to photos of shit. From all over the animal kingdom. Exquisitely shot. Photographed as lovingly as modern fetishistic food photography...

All under the artistic direction of Oliviero Toscani, the photographer behind the increasingly controversial "United Colors of Benetton" ad campaign we all grew up on...
Anyway, my friend had this book at his apartment—the sort of coffee table book that dares you to crack it open—and NOBODY could flip through this book without starting to get sick. Not even the guy who bought the book. I managed to get through the whole thing, choking and dry-heaving...

Which I found fascinating. Because they were just pictures. There was no smell involved. You didn't see the waste BEING PRODUCED. You just saw the final product. Against a sanitary white backdrop, Richard Avedon style. If the book were called "Chocolate Truffles", you could probably breeze through it without incident...

Oh, that must be toffee or peanut butter... that one must have melted... are those caked with coconut shavings...?

But there was no way around it. These were full on photographs of shit. The stuff you're programmed to avoid at all cost. The stuff you NEVER want to look at for long. And seeing the vivid imagery just triggered violent retching. Some primal, averse reaction. The brain reaching deep and telling your body, "This is unacceptable."

I got no idea why I was reminded of this recently. I will try to refrain from having a "shit-themed" week up in here. I know how divisive some of my themes can be...