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If you must get a liberal arts degree, do not get a creative writing degree. You will find yourself at age 23, living at your parents’ house, tweeting what you ate for dinner, posting links to YouTube videos of koala fights, and thinking, ‘Everyone must think I’m pretty great because I always post cool videos to Facebook.”
In “The Anthony Weiner Weiner Collection,” on display through July 21st, we are asked to follow New York artist Anthony Weiner through an uncut, sexually-charged, erotic journey into his self—and loins. It’s a myriad of raw self-portraits, drawing from Weiner’s throbbing ego and drawers. But, once we’ve felt his work, like a high-profile tryst splashed on the cover of tabloid rags, there is no satisfaction.