At an exhibition, the figure of an authors name appears some sixty-eight times typed upon the walls you move among to find works fewer in number. Independent of the proud accompanying catalogue, printed statements figure, pointing at general characteristics of the authors persona, Their influential themes, Their relevant biographical information, lines of historical intersection, notes on noted events, political histories which have prompted and compelled the author, perpetrating struggle. A popular magazine prints lines attesting to the primary importance of this author as a producer of meaningfulness for the community of its readership < arguably our greatest symbol maker >. All these hints count among the hagiographical production of this exhibition; binding, supporting, cordoning, entwining, enlacing, multiplying the points at which the authors persona locatesin what is viewed. Whether this elaborate effort will prove able to defend against the chaotic effects of our predatory and narcissistic Fictions is the thing.
Dark Dark Dark, They all go into the Dark,
(Eliot, East Coker)
The oxygen which sustains us as we stand near this work corrodes its iron form. Thatoxygen too prompted the flames which made a bed from where the innominate Phoenix moves to greet us.
Humming currents bear the paradox of concurrent appearance and disappearance, conditions of disappearance of subject which allow subjectivity to appear. On work where the representationality has been minimalised, where the materials speak of nothing more than the integrity of their alienness, they are in a certain way emptied of meaning. Then perhapssome viewers may use these areas as a kind of tool in which to perceive the contents of our involuntary projections. Responses to the enigmatic nature of the Void of Christian Mysticism, or the Voids in between the betweens which are the cause of Pleasure or Nausea. If you wish, you may visit the restroom to wash your hands before leaving.
Nearby, near a certain centre where so many known images are housed, an author exploits the readers ability for swift memorization of simplified photographic portraits in which a complex image is condensed. A figure,also already known, of a successful species of bird. A species, many individuals lazily confused for a singularity, avoiding individuation under the sign of a certain sameness. Any flighted bird is a powerful symbol of freedom, envied of their flight. Living among the intensifying human population, they are an efficient carriage of diverse bacteria and contagions (spiritual or corroding), from balcony to balcony.
Also present in the gallery are the warmthless works of the taxidermator. Finely conservated cadavers accompany their blown portraits, their excited postures mesmerize a variety of emotional imaginations. Perhaps this show is also an authors war-like dialogue with the infidelity of images.
A series of letters are shown, being between a Jingle producer and another Author. These disclose the mechanism of the "jingle", a simple sound bite which announces and identifies any consumer product. Its basic workings are outlined, and its intentions favourably described, as well as the functions that it hopes to induce. The emotively pretentious Jingle showers from the cones mounted in the ceiling above, terminally. An interesting tension appears in the text when at one point in the development of the work work, the client wishes to have all the references to themselves removed from the face of the product, thereby diverting the message away from the point of anchorage and Reason that it obtains when in corroboration with the object of the clients persona. In some ways, this gesture allows a play to occur, pointing toward immaterial dimensions of possible relations which we may wish to have.
What provokes this Joker? In some ways, the work describes a general long-running Fate of all relations of the present, that to which its own Fate is anatomically bound. As market-place aspirations and values permeate all the delicately intercollaborating social spheres, we can all laugh about this.