Darren Bader at Greenspon

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Bader's reduction of things to names, names converted to songs which share them, (Do you get it this makes them equitable in Bader's world) which songs all played at once orchestrate the cacophony of the world. The noise of things. Eyes delineate what ears cannot: if you converted the world to song, it would be just noise. How sad.  Like Creed's All the Bells, aesthetic considerations are subordinate to the rule of name, category: bells, all. Language becomes code allowing for slippage, treating things as their categories, there is no difference between burritos only the category, burrito, which makes the Kickstarter to help Darren Bader become Martin Creed doubly funny for both's categorical tomfoolery, under which two of the same thing can be one.


See too: Willem de Rooij at Arnolfini

Rick Potts at Greenspon

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Ull Hohn or Asger Jorn, the brashness in the soft decorum, monster in the Bob Ross, a fantasy that turns up frequently, of our world but - you know - different. The desire is pervasive, billions spent yearly on computer generating such for our darkened room fantasy machines. Potts are bit more drugged out than the average mainstream film producer would find acceptable, and the distinction of mass-market allowability might be an interesting one, but the most interesting painting might be that without monsters at all, instead the scene's subtle fissures of its reality cracking, painted already the world as its own caricature, the allure of every Bob Ross, difficult to ascertain what's fantasy at all, no need for monsters at all, orange creatures already erupted, go look.


See too: Ull Hohn at MD 72