Showing posts with label Julia Scher. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Julia Scher. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 26, 2022

Julia Scher at Kunsthalle Gießen

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As art has begun to look ever more sci-fi without acknowledging sci-fi, it's nice here to have overt admittance. Appreciate Scher for finding metaphor in the obvious, explicit. The security camera, the space port. Items that are overdetermined to point of banality, yet the obviousness of the operation does not lessen it. This cardboard spaceport is no more inane than regular airports. The TSA is mostly cardboard. And CGI flights to Corsucant have become as regular as Indiana. Gary Indiana is probably weirder than Corscucant. I've been on a Greyhound bus and it was far more interstellar than any Star Wars movie. 

see too: Julia Scher

Saturday, August 18, 2018

3 Shows, Julia Scher at DREI, Lin May Saeed at Studio Voltaire, Fernando Palma Rodriguez at House of Gaga


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The security camera, early exemplar of the our proprioception lost to digital realms as your body could be distended in mirrors sent through ethers appearing before you, behind you, and Magritte's Not to be Reproduced no longer surreal but our reality, walking into department stores. On facebook you reach out to poke, instagram click to like, your body a ghost appearing in other's mirrors. You appear everywhere. Like deafferented monkeys in lab experiments we lose control of limbs at the researcher doing studies on our psyche attempting to maximize engagement, a word which now means clicks, their hands in our gloves. Animals living with open brains.

Animals in environments degraded by plastics, EPS, Styrofoam. We with some idea rolling around in our heads about how long these foams last, largely abstract, largely uncertain, a million or a mere ten thousand, years, the foam will persist longer than paintings. In the presence of light it very quickly experiences photodegradation breaking down into a powdery substance that will chemically persist in the lungs and bloodstream of animals moving up the food chain. A fragile body, naive, that requires our protection. Sculptures which if improperly cared for become time bombs of their environmental toxicity, careful with them, leaching chemical into the fish they depict carefully, a preciousness we must protect.

The deranged mechanicals. Robots acting stupidly, uncaringly. A world we've designed as such. See the video here. Motors are dangerous, they are inhuman, lose track of where your body is, get your hand caught, its inability to discern the softness of flesh air you experience a rapid what is called degloving.

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Julia Scher at Natalia Hug


What in the real is frightening, threat, in art becomes sexy. Mass Surveillance becomes quaint voyeurism, a bucolic kink. Like the panopticon becoming a sex-club accoutrement featuring one-way mirrors reversing Foucault's hypothesized societal metaphor in the same years he was made it, the metaphor. Dirty Words: Mass incarcerate me. If one without anything to hide should fear nothing about mass surveillance then hide nothing, give them a mass to survey.


See too: Torbjørn Rødland at Henie-Onstad Kunstsenter