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For the thesis paper for my University of Lithuania correspondence course degree I decided to illuminate perhaps the most misunderstood performance artists of all time, Mike Tyson. I will share with you some of my shocking revelations that will surely shake the foundations of intellectual history.

misunderstood

Exhibit A: Mike Tyson’s perplexing vow in a post fight interview, “I want to eat his children”

Tyson is of course referring to ancient Roman mythology and the story of Saturn, the god of crappy cars, and his act of infanticide. This ancient tale was immortalized by Goya’s chillingly dark painting "Saturn Devouring His Children"(1821-23) and then again by Tyson’s eloquent speech almost 50 years later. A truly brilliant homage to both classical myth and late baroque art.

Exhibit B: The Evander Holyfield ear biting thing

Obviously a reference to Vincent Van Gough’s heartfelt expression of adoration for an unappreciative love interest. If they hadn’t been so hell bent on sewing the thing back on, it would have been mailed to Holyfield in a shoe box, on a bed of lilac pedals. What else would a true artist do in a moment of emotional duress during a heavyweight title fight?

Exhibit C: The Lewis-Tyson press conference

For this Tyson harkens back to the days of America’s founding fathers. In a time when the world’s biggest superpower was the giant and intimidating British war machine and the Continental Army was a much smaller militia that had to often resort to unconventional means of warfare to gain the advantage. For a time the symbol of the American revolution was a coiled black snake that threatened to bite the leg of anyone that dared attack the young and proud country. “Don’t tread on me!” one witness reportedly heard Tyson exclaim before he sunk his fangs into Lewis’ leg. Tyson was clad in all black like the coiled black snake on a yellow background that once struck fear into the hearts of Red coats everywhere. Tyson’s actions were an artistic expression of patriotism that is much needed in these trying times.

I was moved to write a completely original poem in honor of Iron Mike: Starry, starry Mike. Now I think I know what you tried to say to me. How you suffered for your sanity – how you tried to set them free. They did not listen. They’re not listening still. Perhaps they never will…

-Clark Brandon