As for potty art, you should check out the original Nester story on Rakemag.com, in particular the comments section where I and some others have been riffing about recent such art. Here’s a sample from me (sans links):

It’s not an original point, but shit has often been employed in postmodernist art, which would almost seem logical to expect from a “movement” that levels all traditions and referents. What’s interesting, though, is that shit has represented so many different things in art, depending on the particular artist. For instance, there’s the socio-economic investigations of Santiago Sierra, the social ciriticism and socio-ethnic references of Chris Ofili, and the cynical self-infatuation of Piero Manzoni…

He becomes the quintessential art lover with no knowledge of the subject. I get the feeling that this kind of dedication to our (American) culture can never be recovered.

Labiche becomes the monastic scribe saving remnants of civilization in times filled with lunacy. Potty art comes to mind. And unknown art lovers, amateurs, dabble and dribble away and continue making things as art stars pilot yellow Cadilac convertibles across the country to their next smash hit opening. The amateurs may be Labiche.

And all this happens outside the notice, promotion or blessings of any usual keepers of the gate. Under the radar of apparent cultural frenzy, in garages and basements, up in attics, across the country, humans can be found quietly confronting their id, their nemesis, can I paint?, am I an artist?, dare I continue? and, what the hell am I doing? This happens in spite of the greater world of art. Stealth art making.