Eric Pohlman is an artist and writer. His homemade books are full of dark humor, creepy yet compelling. Most recently, the psychologically-layered collages he creates were a highlight of the Allotropy show in Noblesville. Q: What are you reading now?

A:Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch: Henry Miller.

Q: What do you like about the Indianapolis art scene?

A:Often more than not, free booze at openings. Of course, there is nothing I love more than the trench in distance between galleries or artistic points of view. Or the tawdry petty cliques that support themselves with redundant, childishly-drunken territorialism. I have seen some good work, but not much. It seems foolish sometimes to care, so I try not to.

Q: What don’t you like?

A:Everything else. I would like to see a co-mingling of written work and visual.

Q: What inspires you?

A:Decadence. Entropy.

Q: Drug of choice?

A:Prozac and Imipramine right now. It changes often. Oh, and booze.

Q: What’s the hardest thing about what you do?

A:Everything. Everything is difficult. Especially when you have diminished your life to bare essential, a utilitarian sort of existence, simple things like getting a job is harder than hell.

Q: What’s your favorite cartoon?

A:I don’t know … something cool and obscure. Wait … Monsters Inc., but more recently, The Incredibles.

Q: Can love be pornographic?

A:What isn’t pornographic? What doesn’t construct itself via a power struggle or molestation of one’s beliefs or ideals? What isn’t driven by money or conquest? What doesn’t breed fear or controversy? But, I’m a big fan of pornography so it doesn’t bother me. I get off on it.


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