Spurts like vomit by Tony Procaccino
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avid Crunelle spurts like vomit, restless to grip your hair and shoes and anything else in proximity to the point of discharge. Whether he’s gratuitously overstepping his allotted environmental footprint with deluxe packaging on his Navalorama label, demanding more napkins to soak up the grease in his beard during a visit to a Bushwick pizzeria or tapping into a collagist delir-
ium with pencils and blades, his is a junkie’s trip. Unbeknownst to me, a United States citizen who only knows David from his periodic iron man pizza excursions, he has been conjuring visions of 21st century Johanna in his back room since who knows when. Holding a copy of Psychedelic Constructivism, Crunelle’s 201 catalog of varnished dope, I am overwhelmed with the regurgitation of fantastic collage, like Ghédalia Tazartès come to life in my eyeballs. Boomboxes, 19th century damsels, birdies, intestines… Crunelle’s fabrications are manifestations of social media feeds sculpted into mirror images of our vulgar selves making stuff, digesting stuff and leaving it to rot so we have room for the stuff we missed the last time around. His shapes always speak to the human form and its consumptive imperative: MORE, as if Crunelle’s telling us that as soon as we wash out the vomit from our hair, he’ll be ready to meet up with us for another round. I look forward to it, always. awickedcompanyrecords.bandcamp.com
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