I went to grad school with Jason Rhoades at UCLA in the early ’90s. He was a ferociously ambitious and competitive artist — in both his art making and his careerism — and he enjoyed pissing people off. For one quarterly review, he offered to jackhammer anyone’s initials into the floor of the Warner grad studios for $5 a letter — the resulting cacophony virtually nullified the possibility of civil critical discourse anywhere in the building. Perhaps anticipating the complaints, Jason also provided an endless flow of delicious, freshly pulped carrot juice from a blow-up sex doll equipped with a spigot. For his thesis show — scheduled to open on the same day the Indy 500 was running — he staged the “Young Wight Grand Prix,” in which he drove a miniature race car 200 times around the UCLA Wight Gallery courtyard before jubilantly declaring he had beaten the time of anyone driving in the higher-profile contest.... More >>>