Dear Dirty America


Nude & Progressive: One Artist Drops Paint Eggs from Her Birth Canal

Nude & Progressive: One Artist Drops Paint Eggs from Her Birth Canal
April 20
13:00 2014

The Huffington Post is becoming an authority in various subjects like Kim Kardashian’s sensational Twitter photos of her plastic-inflated butt, all the way to endorsing butts*x on college campuses. And why does butts*x have to be censored? Both words are perfectly normal and acceptable in common society, yet together they create an explosive atmosphere that one does not dare to lightly tread.

Here’s a new lesson in triviality. A Swiss contemporary art performer named Milo Moire awed folks with her “PlopEgg Painting” at Germany’s Art Cologne fair. Of course, the Huffington Post was also astounded by Moire’s performance piece, and they included a description of the performance video:

“The ‘PlopEgg Painting’…releases a loose chain of thoughts — about the creation fear, the symbolic strength of the casual and the creative power of the femininity,” the video’s description reads. “At the end of this almost meditative art birth performance the stained canvas is folded up, smoothed and unfolded to a symmetrically reflected picture, astonishingly coloured and full of [strength].”

Warning! The following video is not safe for young children or old men (here’s the uncensored version, if you’ve got $4.99 in Euros).

I got chills from watching the video (and that was the censored version, I should add), where Moire stands atop two metal scaffolds. With her legs spread, and her nude body writhing slightly, she drops from her birth canal a paint egg that hits the canvas below and splatters. After releasing a few more eggs, she is finished, and a painting is born.

The “creative power of the femininity” was mind blowing, as every male standing around the artist squeezing eggs from inside her body could attest. O! we’re so progressive in the West.

Moire is also celebrated as an artist because she rode the public transit system nude, which also symbolized the “creative power of the femininity” as other men aboard the train thought, “Golly, I’d love to take a swing at that.” This was not unlike what men in Egypt were thinking when local female bloggers took off their tops in public to protest the harsh treatment of women in the country. “Finally some action around here!” thought men everywhere.


Maybe Moire deserves front page online newspaper recognition because she has, after all, reminded people in my own life of their zany “could-be” art experiences. Art is much simpler than we thought. Michelangelo made it look so difficult.

Lyle_ShoveItHollywood’s most famous bum and oracle, Lyle Shove-It, told me about a man he called Swampy who puked in front of an electronics store in downtown Los Angeles. Swampy had eaten the leftovers of a carne asada burrito he’d found in the trash can, and then washed it down with the last of his tequila he’d bought with the dollars he’d been saving up from generous passersby (he’d done extra well that day because of the Abercrombie & Fitch shirt he’d been given, which seemed to prompt people to open their wallets).

“Somebody commented that the vomit looked striking,” Shove-It said. “I didn’t see it as more than a chewed up meal splattered against the sidewalk.” When the LAPD arrived, they too didn’t see it as art, as Moire might have, but rather they made Swampy clean it up, and stood there as he mopped it with a few brown napkins handed to him by a loving coffee shop owner a few stores down.

You could have called it the creative power of homelessness, I told Shove-It, to which he did not respond. Call it WhentheStomachChurns Painting.


Exiled, infamous, and long forgotten cultural philosopher Hubert Humdinger was reminded of a similar situation decades ago in the remote village he lives in, in Northern Europe. As he tells it, “I ran over to a neighbor’s house in the dead of winter because the husband was out of the country on a family emergency, so he’d hired a midwife to handle the birth of his first child, should his wife expunge the little creature while he was away.”

Humdinger wiped his nose on his sleeve as he continued the story to me over Skype. “Sadly, the midwife was more of a quack than aHubert_Humdinger helping hand, and the wife, sure enough, went into labor around midnight. I am a close family friend, so I hurried over there in my nightgown and stockings to attempt to deliver my first.”

When Humdinger arrived, the midwife had already passed out. The wife had a colorful vocabulary that dropped the midwife into a comatose state.

“I laid a sheet below the pregnant woman and told her to squat over it and push so hard she would risk blowing a blood vessel.” Humdinger admitted it wasn’t the gentlest approach, but he wanted to get it over with. This seemed to work, and the head of the child appeared between her legs just as Humdinger held his hands below to make the catch.

The old philosopher recalled a primal urge sweep over him. “I thought she was the most beautiful woman at that moment, despite the ugly circumstances. She was completely naked, and the birth fluids dripped into my hands and then stained the bed sheet beneath. I thought, ‘What is a man if he can’t take pleasure in the birth experience?’ The baby fell and I caught the slippery urchin swiftly.”

Humdinger said he folded up the filthy sheet. “This was around 1976, and there was a sense of freedom and adventure in those days, at least in my mind, so I asked my friend’s wife, ‘Is this art?'” He’d held up the smelly sheet, which contained a dashing set of vibrant, violent colors that “could have exemplified the tenuous situation of humanity howling in the vacuum of extended consciousness during both conception and unmedicated birth,” as the philosopher put it slyly.

“‘Is this art?'” he’d asked again and waved the sheet. The wife, who’d collapsed, bare butt and all on the antique sofa next to the bed, croaked, “Throw the damn thing away you louse turd!”

To which the midwife, who’d just gained a sliver of consciousness, said, “Wait, I’ll take it.”

“If I’d had known we’d just created art,” Humdinger told me, “I’d have been more firm in my conviction and unfolded it and hung it out in the town square.”


Her digital fallout PTSD is not better than your jangled war nerves; a new generation emerges

[Milo Moire egg-dropping in header photo, taken from YouTube video of her performance “PlopEgg Painting”]

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  1. Dude1883
    Dude1883 April 23, 09:54

    Give me a glass of Ex-Lax, and I’ll make some “art” for you!

    Reply to this comment
  2. Ender
    Ender April 24, 17:03

    Let me tell you a story, a story about art.

    Well kids once upon a time art was a thin of majestic beauty, a lot of it inspired by religion, nature, people, and objects then some crack headed nut job pushed eggs out of her twat and ruined art forever the end.

    Honestly this isnt art this…. this is nothing but a gimmick and way to be naked in front of a mass. At the art museum in ottawa theres a shit on a stick… im not joking actual shit on a stick thats sold for 3.5 million dollars.

    A painting of a giant red dot which looks just like the Japanese flag sold for 14 million dollars. How is that even art.

    Fuck i drew a big red dot on a white sheet of paper wheres my 14 million dollars. Guess i need to shit on a stick first and call it art.

    Reply to this comment
  3. A Clothed Post-Modern
    A Clothed Post-Modern April 24, 22:12

    In Thailand I think they call this a Ping Pong Show. Moire charges for uncensored views of her work, so at least she’s covering her bases.

    Reply to this comment
  4. Will bengtson
    Will bengtson May 08, 16:36

    I wonder if those eggs came from free range chickens?

    Reply to this comment
    • DDA
      DDA Author May 10, 16:44

      I think after considerable research it was concluded the eggs came from one de-ranged chicken.

      Reply to this comment

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