"the surface veneer of this illusion has cracked as it runs up against climate catastrophe, confronting humanity" - great we've cracked the symbolic hieroglyphs. What the PR doesn't answer is why this doomsday is so fucking sexy - there's even a bench to tell you how hot your ass is. But hadn't we just realized global cataclysm was actually pretty fucking banal, refrigerated semis full of corpses just another byline in the inexorable spread of stupidity. This is like the hotrod version, the hollywood version. Lesson: There is money in making the interior of our doom fun.
Death Drive Designer: Cooper Jacoby
Nice to see these things in a crust of a space. Not the ethereal nowhere of white walls but within the detritus of life, your cluttered lived in home. Objects which remind you of your animal-strapped body in your already bodied halls, your keys in dish and a nasty lamp to echo it. Your life isn't perfect and your artwork won't try and disprove that. The opposite of Muji, Ikea trying to sell you an commodified idea of order, and nor the white walls to aura your disarray as totem, just crust all the way down.
"like all that stolen Ikea elegance whose eventual blown out corners reveal its making of all but compressed trash, underneath everything we desire to be is an intestinal makeup of sponge replacing its weight with rumors of dead-skin and dust-mites of a body threatening to turn fungal"
See too: Jessi Reaves at Bridget Donahue