Artist of the Week
Tommy Kearns of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, was born Tommy Kearnswhistle of Haverhill, Massachusetts in the exceptionally cold winter of 1982. Like many famous artists and actors of his day, Kearnswhistle would eventually shorten his name to distance himself from his family's North Irish whistle-making roots. In 1989, at the age of 7, Tommy left home, vowing never to follow in the footsteps of his 17 whistle-making siblings. Thus beginning his well known odyssey of fame, fortune, photography and fucking.
With nothing but a bindle over his shoulder, young Tommy headed south to the magical kingdom of New York City. He hitched a ride as far as Worcester from a girl that looked like every girl from Worcester has ever looked like. It is here, in the Greendale Mall that his dreams of becoming the worlds greatest photographer took shape.
Being a 7 year old whistle-making heir, Tommy had only $5.50 in his pocket and 4 Transformers in his sack. None of which being Optimus Prime. He needed help so he approached the only man he recognized, Santa Clause. Santa made him an elf and for the next 3 weeks Tommy took Polaroids of every whiny masshole brat in that god-forsaken shit hole. He slept next to baby Jesus in the nativity scene manger every night, waking up to the smell of horny teenagers and freshly squeezed Orange Julius.
When Christmas was over Tommy hitched a ride on the rails with a hobo named Three Leg Daniels. Tommy followed Three Leg all the way to Lincoln Park in Rhode Island, where he would teach him how to bet a greyhound race and make a ketchup sandwich. Three Leg could see in the boy's eyes that he had a very special power. He knew the boy would one day grow to have a really huge dong. Daniels told the boy, much like Yoda told Luke, "Macaroni, pepperoni and ketchup stew will give the sailer three rainbows to cottage cheese the velveeta monkey syrup. Dig?"
With a nod of total comprehension, Tommy took his trifecta winnings and bought a one-way ticket to India to begin his spiritual journey. With his Polaroid in hand he shot the countryside until he reached a secluded ashram by the sea. For the next ten years he studied under the guru Amod "The Hose" Singh. With countless training montages, he showed Tommy how to use his penis for good not evil. By the time of his 21st birthday, Tommy's penis had memorized every ancient Hindu text and had seen every "Three Men and a Baby" and "Look Who's Talking" movie. He was to dicks what Gandhi was to peace.
Tommy was ready for the Big Apple. Clothed in just a dhoti, Tommy walked down Broadway with his Polaroid and his bindle full of photos. It is here on 42nd street that he raised his hands to the sky and proclaimed, "I am going to fuck you New York like you've never been fucked before." Boy was he right. Two days later he had shows in the MoMa, the Met, and PS1. His life's work up to that point was gathered together to create the incomparable collection, "If it's going in there you better get some lube."
Not much has changed for the living legend in the past several years. He continues to document the fragility and magnificence of the human condition. His collection of post-Katrina photographs titled, "Sitting on the dock of my roof" was lauded for it's gritty realism. He became a New York Times Bestseller with his autobiography, "Slumdog Brewster's Millionaire", depicting his life as an ashram student that's left in his guru's will, only if he can spend 30 million rupee in 30 days. He is a philanthropist, he is a super hero, he is an artist. He is Tommy Kearns.