![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaHv6TI_SwP9oSWl0ZCcGq4zaogG2i2wKhqWdkA6PQadv876Mail3pGS5ojc9SoCr16QV3BIirUOvTtLjEoKsE7za4mPlP47XVZE3_UvSbZv7hW3Ji9rJbRXVT9Fb5isRXKgoqQKIwuPfK/s640/%25E2%2580%259C2021%25E2%2580%259D+at+Sydney.jpg)
“2021” at Sydney
The decrepit and artifactual, pieces, there's something lovely forlorn about a single butt of trash like a rose. Good trash will bloom in the sun, wilt in the rain. We aspire to be like its emptiness, it vindicates our cities, we can see the whole world like a lens through the one discarded in the gutter. Trash reflects us, because we're better at deciphering ruins than cultures.
See too: Michael E. Smith at Sculpture Center, Nancy Lupo at Kristina Kite & Yuji Agematsu at Miguel Abreu, “May the Bridges I Burn Light the Way” at STANDARD (OSLO)