For a Lack of Therapy?

As part of Toronto's Nuit Blanche, last evening, a young woman, dressed in white bride's attire, was dragging or slinging over her shoulder, a real, partially skinned, not eviscerated, goat or lamb carcass up and down Church St.

The dragging/slinging was, apparently (as I witnessed her parking with the meat a couple of times), stopped in favour of, on one occasion, highly attentive massaging of the dead beast's liver, drawn from its visceral cavity, but still attached by whatever tissue keep's one' liver attached, and a sensuous arm insertion into the corpse via a butcher's incision in the region once dedicated not to invasion but for the beast's waste evacuation.

My art snobbery kicks into high gear for most all "contemporary" or "experimental" art but I am vigorous in ensuring I don't suggest it should not be explored and pursued. In the example of the dead goat with bride installation it didn't occur to me to want to have the "performance" stopped -- I just moved on (that she wandered ahead of me resulted in my second sighting). What did occur to me is that while it could have been or not have been art, it was just disturbing but in a way that as far as I experienced (because I have nothing at all against disturbing art--indeed He Who is Here Now would suggest I'm drawn to the disturbing in art) was utterly devoid of any hint of the (healthy) human experience.