My former painting teacher/friend Dana Schutz did a series of paintings of an imagined race of “self-eaters,” people who could eat themselves and remake themselves in any form they wanted. The paintings are kind of funny, kind of gross, and beautiful.

Face Eater

It seems like a few critics/gallery blurb writers made the connection that self-eating was a kind of metaphor for making art. But I always liked thinking about the basic premise of the paintings: what would happen if you just ate yourself to live? If you didn’t have to rely on anybody else, or do any labor, if all you did was just be by yourself and eating? If food wasn’t a motivator, would we do anything at all?

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