Lee Price creates realistic oil paintings, that show women and food in their intimate and private settings. The pictures are self-portraits of her, getting excessive with food that is considered indulgent, forbidden, or comforting. Her works addresses the intersections of food with body image, addiction, and unabating desire.
"No one likes it when their ideas are stolen." -Nick Kroll on Twitter
That is entirely too much tuna fish.
TOO MUCH TUNA!
When someone isnt gonna finish their dinner
I wrote dis for Nerve. It will make you want to wear a male chastity belt for life.
It was Saturday night and I was eating a full pasta dinner by myself at a restaurant where my friend works in Williamsburg.*
As with most of my solo-dining experiences, I was more than a little buzzed, frantically typing “Harriet the Spy”-esque notes on my iPhone with traces of marinara sauce on my face.
“It’s my birthday, bitches!” a 30-something year-old man in khakis slurred to an old couple at an adjoining table.
"I need to buy my pants bigger because my dick’s so big. Like I need more room for my balls."
(to the older couple) “Why didn’t you guys and my mom and dad just get a room at the Wythe Hotel and kick it Brooklyn style?!”
Soon another bro with black slicked-back hair and a paisley pocket square walked outside accompanied by a cheetah-print clad woman in her late 50’s.
"Ooh maybe I’ll join her!”, he full-voice whispered to his frost-tipped companion, motioning to me, to which she replied loudly, “Yeah, not my cup of tea.”
"Come on, Mom!" he said.
Now I was intrigued.
"No, I just don’t like women," she continued. "I’m a woman. I know how they are. I really don’t fucking like them. I really disdain them."
"Hey Tina/Tammi/Bernice!", I wanted to say, "Hey. Yeah, you. Come over here. Wanna ‘Lady and The Tramp’ this pasta with me? I swear we’re not all bad…"
Just then, my friend Asher showed up with some of the birthday boy’s stolen party favors including a pedophilic melange of Bourbon-flavored lollipops, Chinese finger traps and Play-Doh.
After watching full grown men lick lollipops for 20 minutes I ran to the bathroom where, as fate would have it, Tina/Tammi/Bernice and I met again.
There were so many questions I wanted to ask her like:
"Were you at Woodstock?"
"What actually is a placenta?"
”Where’d you get that top? TJ?”
But instead I said, “Is that your son over there?” motioning to the paisley bro.
"Yes," she smiled, "I have some magic ovaries."
And I said, “I bet you do Tammi, I bet you do.”
And she said, “What?? My name is Evelyn.”
And I said, “Shhhh. You’re all the same.”
JUST EAT THE FOOD
* Much like this man, only not as endearing:
My spirit animal
This is what loves is. Mac and Cheese Burger anyone?
This words are majic (bom shaka laka bom ) say it next to your vagina and the jenie will come out to make your wishes come true
- an actual message on OKCupid
Even now, I can’t recall whether it was the soft accent on the word “majic”, the rhythmic onomatopoeia of the bom shaka laka bom or the tender advice to whisper to my vagina so that a mystical “jenie” would come out that made me fall for you, Rider911.
But I fell hard.
I studied your provocative beach picz with a hookah in hand for hours.
What I wouldn’t give to be a grain of sand on that beach!
Your glorious room, where the real majic would happen…
But then I tried your request, Rider, and nothing happened.
Just me alone in sweatpants whispering to my vagina.*
Waiting for an answer that would never come…
YOU MADE A FOOL OUT OF ME, RIDER!
I see now that the jenie was a metephor.
You’re the jenie; the jenie who broke my heart.
So why don’t you and your chic oversize black coat and XXL vespa helmet go toy with another woman’s emotions and leave me here.
I hope I never see your hauntingly sexy blurry face again.
Also, cute dog.
JUST EAT THE FOOD
*It was, after all, a Tuesday