Roger Hiorns at Faena Arts Center

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I'm tired of our body mocked. Not as cruel as women compared to meat, setting men next to machines bears a similar titillation in objectification. You, a machine, a corruption of the sublime, in repetition awe becomes bullying mocking the human for its meat. Stop this. We are but flesh objects, barely cognizant stupid creatures, morons in search of hope, and nailing us to crosses of our trash seems a brave act but it is impish, pornographic, unneeded. Are we not aware enough of our mortality? Young boys who will rust as any other. You oxidize, we take antioxidants. I rust. This isn't forcing hamlet to consider his skull but forcing him to consider his waste, hulking, of his culture. A brain at room temperature, horsepower.


see too: Erwin Wurm at Kunstmuseum Wolfsburg, Geumhyung Jeong at KLEMM’S, Venice: Anne Imhof at German Pavilion

J. Parker Valentine at Juan and Patricia Vergez Collection

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The artifact provides imaginative potential. It's why we love them. Fragments implying a world we can only imagine, possibility outshines concrete reality, it never relinquishes its breadth of eventualities to actually becoming-something, thus delimit potential, of which both Stephen King and Ben Lerner describing power of the fragmentary always far outshining its limiting through description, poems or monsters. Art functions this way too, as artworks exists as fragments inferring the world of their subject, the artist, and these in their glyphic schematics like all the Surrealist automatism that dredged slides of their subconscious we see here too pieces of an artist, works "only partially provided in terms of sight occludes or interrupts any complete understanding."