It has not
been easy for me lately. Not so much in the existential or emotional part of my
life as it was in the artistic expression. I found myself in a position where I
literally generated compositional clothing not being allowed to squeeze in the
conceptual thought into them, which I like to do. People want to look great, they
want to show what makes them appealing and hide that which makes them less of
that. They want to look beautiful. Do not get me wrong, I would stand in front
of an armored artillery squad defending fashion for being functional and in
humble service to people. I still believe fashion is not an art form. Rather I
see it as a skillful Kraftwerk, a mastery which can reach to the realms of
being so well executed it looks almost divine, humanly impossible to make. The
way Caravaggio’s masterpieces do. The way Michelangelo´s statues do. It is
completely different story when fashion meets artistic expression, however.
Then it becomes something different. Something like “Modart”, I should say. Of
course, there can be intellectual stimuli to a garment, an idea that pervades
it, a symbol that makes it somehow embedded in a deeper and complex subject.
This is where I like to think I stand with my designs. But in the end, for the
sake of being artistic, fashion cannot submit to the self proclaimed artwork
dipped in nonfunctional conceptualization. To me, fashion still, in the first
place, looks for an aesthetic solution to a given composition of a human body
and the relations of volume between body and clothes. Thought behind it is an
entity of second grade. So I found myself in situations where I was challenged
only on the surface, asked to find an aesthetic solution to a given body, type
of venue and event that body has planned to go to. (I see a concept developing
here). In general, I love to do it, but when one ends up doing ONLY that for a
longer time, one starts to look for a stimulation that is not skin-deep. And
when town one lives in does not offer anything but morning rituals and
afternoon obligations, with no excitement for the eye or the brain, one reaches
out. What my sister likes to call an escape, I like to call exploration. And it
is that what I did this week. And it is that I would like to write about. I
went to Graz, thus the one day delay on this post. I am sorry for that
(déjà-vu?). But here it is what excited me.
I´m in Graz
now. Visiting. Escaping. Sheltering. I am running away from that dull and
uneventful town of mine. Lately I have started to miss the cultural stimulation
in every sense imaginable. In my town the highlight of the year has just
passed, that being town fair that was misfortunate event itself. Rain has
pushed away the visitors that would have been few as it was. Fair usually means
crowded streets and fun seeking inhibitors, this time however, the curse
has strike hard and the void seemed even
greater because expectations have been higher, Life in Kobarid just got
banished and I got lucky enough to escape its sweeping hand in the moment it
drew closer to me. I jumped into my friend´s car and set off to conquer a city
I have never visited before.
On that day
prospects have not been great. It rained in Graz as well, but at least the
imagery was different. Language and people felt strange although there is not a
big difference to lay a border between us and them. We, Slovenes, have always
felt the influence of German culture. We owe it to their occupation, that we at
least have some decent level of cultural development and its appreciation. So,
in the end this visit does not seem so great, but it is still better than
nothing at all. Well, I am doing it injustice here. This visit has proven to be
anything but not-great. In three days I have been witness to eclectic
architecture of the old town, the best interpretation of Dvorak´s ninth
symphony “From the new world” and three amazing exhibitions that rocked my
world. What is more, tonight I have yet another event to visit, opera Carmen.
I would like to expose three objects to each
of those artists that stimulated my mind and gave me many mental orgasms I
missed so much. I will not waste many words on them, for what has been seen is
still resonating in my head, teasing me to get the fuck up and do these
projects of mine I keep close to my heart. They empowered me with the will, for
need to do them has been a constant in my life. Here are three names that are
the cause of this rebirth, three names to get me out of bed tomorrow and start
working.
1. Liu Xiadong
is Chinese artist that likes for his artwork to include the process of its
making. Subjects is always a portrayal of real
people in their usual surroundings doing what they do. There is certain
sincerity, honesty to his work. Poetic existentialism I could call it. He
reaches beyond the kraftwerk addressing social phenomena that we all can relate
to. I have seen his video and paintings when he visited Cuba and reproduced
famous paintings in new social, more real, environment, which was genius idea in
my opinion. You can see his work here: http://www.xiaodongstudio.com/
2. Sofia
Goscinski. I have entered the gallery by accident, or did I? in an empty room
there was a black box, which you see on the photo. It served as a podium on
which art objects are usually placed. Only this time object is human body, with
only one difference, head is placed inside the box. On the wall opposite to the
box there was a series of 20 pictures that showed male nude in different positions,
thus making it an object rather than a subject. However, what stroke me as
brilliant was, how little it took for a human body to become a piece of flesh.
With head gone, all that makes human body appealing or even slightly erotic has
vanished. Life still running through his
veins could not overcome the fact it lost its personality, its soul, its
essence. Body has become nothing different
than the piece of meat you buy on a meat market. Brilliant. You can see
more here: http://www.sofiagoscinski.org/
3. Michelangelo
Pistoletto. I shall not use words on. He is a legend. The exhibition was a
thought provoking experience. I will expose two works. One mirror painting which
you see underneath. In this work an observer becomes part of his artwork, which
he likes to do. I loved it. Especially the usage of print of people
looking into the painting, meaning, watching my image inside, who watches the
painting from the outside. Loved it. However, the one work that stuck me deeply
was the infinity box. It has something to do with my obsession with mathematics
and topological sense of perceiving space. The artwork is composed of six
mirrors placed so that they made a cube with mirroring sides on the
inside. This was the first artwork that
excluded me from perceiving what it represents. The infinity happened on the
inside. We all know the image of infinity when we place two mirrors opposed to
each other, now here were six making an infinite space of self repetition. And
one can only imagine that what is going on inside. Fucking hate him
brilliant! You can see more here: http://www.pistoletto.it/
And here is that!! Dammit!
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