Monday, 22 July 2013

Little poetic presentation to an art exhibition

 On the 10th of july opened the summer exhibition of the Karlsruhe ( Germany) Art Academy, and here is a text distributed for the event.

  As the exhibition is now closed, I can present it to you, and offer you to print and distribute it at every art show, as an introduction.

You are and have been here confronted to a wide range of contemporary arts. It is probably not your first time and if the world, you with, on and in it, survives reality’s dangers, it will not be your last.

  Why the literally figurative intrusion in your life when surrounded by the conceptually representative? I won’t tell you. I just hope to effectively be a symbiotic parasite to the experience. Like my analogical organic friends, I lack a sense of scale of the world, and might be from another kingdom or realm, and hope to haunt the art and its public with the truth eternally present to all exhibitions and constantly ignored.

 I would like to remind you that you will forget most of what you’ve seen, and yet will in the future be reminded of a room that you don’t remember now; will in the future forgotten rooms you will have been used to remember, and never know. And this says it all.

 It shows that beyond your appreciation of what is beautiful or intelligent, beyond your emotional consciously repressed reaction and your grin to what is ironically pathetic to you, beyond what you find is original and what expectedly follows the history of art as you know, beyond your humble restrain to add unto others art your art and your arrogance not say anything, there is an army of artists feeling like you ever do.

  They have exposed here all the insecurities that a life with an end presents. They have shouted as they could that there is a life, there was a life, and there will hopefully be a life. And all will deny it is only that, and life has never been only that. Life could have been the lack of choice, society’s usual subjugation of the physical world through work by workers subjugated by the physics of the social world.

  Instead, artists have chosen to show what we see in the opposite sex, the same-sex, anyway the object of our fantasy: what we need for life but can’t live with. The struggle to ask without words wither we deserve love or ought to take the choice we always have.

 And they will do it by immersing you in other powerlessly magic realities, by representing what they hear in the woods where once upon a time all the trees have fallen; by building the sculptures ancient Greeks were never ordered to liberate out of the marble for fear of the disorder of the mind information of a new kind creates; for all the new media you’ve seen here just hint at what we all have yet to learn.

  So be nice to them, they have searched here for guides who have proven themselves through age and recognition by chance. Guides who have mastered them or abandoned them, but will always stay guides that could not let them free, for their best or their worst. They are a community of the now, a ‘we, the people’ to whom the injunction of the artist for art sake lets only the future historians create a movement, this nostalgic solidarity of the art. They search now for a wider public, a public that won’t doubt that talking to them, telling them they have to continue, for everybody’s sake and for themselves, is the thing to do. 

 A public that will remember them; so all can one day be reminded they have forgotten.  ¨                                                         

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