Archive for August, 2018

01
Aug
18

A Shell Fish Place

 
Recently, in my not too distant past, I went to a museum to visit that old coffee shop. You know the one with its slightly tarnished furnishings and slow <<< s l o w >>> service – the real art experience kind of place. The place that is filled with ‘he art’. >> A place to stuff your face and empty your mind.

Well, to my surprise the curator had taken down all the ART! The walls were as BARE as the unwashed backside of a third rate movie star. The guard’s were guarding an empty gallery. I began to ponder on the importance of space in a world where the earth is treated like some kind of bottom/less garb\age can. >> Are we guarding an empty space???

The age old turdified question of “is it art?” was not even a question, I mean, even the toilets were locked. I suppose the ‘artists’ saw the public act of peeing as too participative. Too ooooOOOOOOOooo much of a work of Art. Confusing the art works intent with the activities of the selfish third-rate gallery goers Art activity.

So when I visit the toilet these days in a gallery, at least I know I am making a formal Art statement. I suppose this is why the Coffee Shop in the gallery is always open, stocked, and frequented. It is the Directors contribution to the participatory ongoing artwork. An art gallery without a Coffee Shop is…

On the other hand, this empty gallery stuff is also the way a society/curator/artist/s confiscate/s Art making it political. The problem is, it’s mainly the curator-artist/s who are doing this emptification. In the 1980’s, the South African artist’s greatest fear was detention – detention for thought and freedom of expression, for presenting ideas contra to the popular public view, for presenting a message of truth as believable. Now it is the curator-artist/s detaining the artists by surrounding them in a quagmire of ‘spacelessness’. >> Yes, a quagmire of spacelessness, a place that is the sewage pipe of oxymoronic systems.

The other day I went to the gallery and f**ked leisurely in the gallery antechamber – the South African and Contemporary rooms. >> It is the safest place, because no one ever visits this space anyway. The thing is, I went to the gallery to make love and ended up in turning love into art. The gallery is a place that functions as the Modern Alchemists pharmacy – a place where used materials are remastered into new materials. The material of ART, and yet it is a place that is being continually emptied of meaning. It is a space that is lost in the gap between the oxy-and-the-moron, locked between the thighs of a yellow concept.

We get down on our knees to make life and the patriarchal curator/s stand over us swing>>ing a giant dildo, and … >>no they don’t present us with the porno-videos of the 1990’s, rather a porno-emptiness and we love the vacated spaces and the Euro-centricity of it all.

So the other day my artwork went to the gallery and the antechambers were still empty I was not there anymore…