THE CITYBANK BOOTH
AT THE REVOLUTIONARY ART FACTORY
(SOCIALIST SALON / ART FAIR)
WINTER SOLSTICE, 1997

Nobody knows what to make of this. Some people think its a "real" bank. I saw a guy walking around with a couple of my small posters -- he obviously thought they were advertising hand-outs. Somebody said (in all seriousness) they had enough accounts at the moment, thank you very much.

I feel like a big freak in my corporate double-breasted suit and old school tie. The irony is that most people here would normally be considered freaks and I would be considered normal. White cooperate man in alterno-lesbian nightmare. I'm feeling paranoid, beginning to feel that people really think I'm a corporate type (but, isn't that the point?). My slick booth isn't helping. I'm starting to sweat.

I've now been here a couple of hours and customers are few. I gave the sales pitch to Randy. He took away an account application form and says he may send it back later. I think he's just trying to be nice. Now, the "Baraka" video is playing on the TV at the other end of the hall and this whole thing is beginning to feel like a big mistake. I wish I'd worn black. Everyone else seems to be buddies.

Some browsers walk by and I notice a sneer, as if they're saying what the fuck is Citibank doing here? Nobody is interested. I doubt I'll open one account. I want to go home. An hour later and things are going better. The first revolutionary bank account is opened with a balance of $2 for two posters. People gather round, I reduce the minimum balance to $5 and open more accounts.

People seem to think its cool once its been explained to them: using the power of the corporation against itself -- the détournement strategy of the Situationists. Someone tells me this is the wrong place for this type of "conceptual" art because this is more the "arts and crafts" crowd. Since when has "arts and crafts" not been a concept?

Is revolution possible from behind a corporate veil?
Was revolution murdered when the ice pick fell?