Sub:stance (Untitled)
literarischer Textbeitrag zur Ausstellung Browse/ Spot/ Date @ Parking Space Vienna & Simplify Art, September 2023
Browse
Names. Names. Names. Alphabetical or random? Titles. Titles. Titles. Untitled. Titles. Names. Titles. Names. No, please! Another. One. Another. One. Another. One. Sheer overwhelming. Absorbing! So much to discover. I am absorbed. There is an Etui of gestures. A case? In this case. Another. One. Another. One. And another one. I can’t see clearly. Now. But not Jimmy. I don’t get it anymore. Art for sale. Sale as art? Is there any order? Another. One. Another one. Simplify it. What? Art! Come. I’ll guide you. It is like a journey. I don’t understand! You are on a journey. Another one. It’s a soft opening? No. Open, Soft. What? The box of Pandora? No come, take your phone, or leave it behind. Scan the codes, or don’t. It’s a kaleidoscope. It’s a kaleidoscope of art! See the beauty. But how do I get through the first Untitled? Ask Svenja. Haven’t thought of that, yet, the question remains, how am I getting through without ending up in Emotional Spirals? I feel so dizzy, I feel wasted, im eimer, especially in number 6. Or 5? Come on, don’t worry, take my hand, I’ll show you the way. Bandiera metafisica. What are you talking? Those metaphysical Italian flags lead you the way to the Beach Road and the Scissors in green. Still clueless! It seems like chaos, like life, it is chaos, like life itself and then … not. There’s always hope in the artist’s eye. The view of the world is different. There’s no need for Japanese martial arts to defend freedom and democracy. But it certainly helps. Reality needs no simulation. Mimetic abject taido, number (4), 3, 2, and another 1. And the order? It is how you walk in. And walk through. The way is the order. It always is. And Blood Never Lies. Above all, when the wounds are cut by My leather man. And there we have it, another one of many without names. Ohne Titel. STOP!
Spot
Thanks for the anagram. Follow me. In and out of fashion. Always. Pass the mirrors. Orange clouds lead the way. There you turn. And up, up, up you fly. The flight of stairs. And on the first floor, there … There is a space where no cars go. Not in an arcade. Nor in a fire. But like a neon bible. Yet, religion has nothing to do with it. Except, we are in a temple. Like a Bird Cage. But here is a concept. Store. Stop. Spot. There are a lot of positions. Thirty seven? No. Thirty six. Some are together. And two are two. You think of another number? Right, there is no immaculate conception. But we’ll come to that, later. And cut me some slack, now. Use the Sackmässer. For goddess sake, the knife is on the wall. The Rose has no thorns but is sharper than its blade. She’s a number 1. It’s the pretty colours that make you bleed. Sometimes beauty is heavier than all the Weight on my shoulders. And it doesn’t matter whether we are b or w, a light version or whatever, have pink hair or green, or if we want to be a fish. We are all the same. Fuck race. It’s 2023. Get over it. Or get a life. We won’t shoot you. That’s your business. However, we will examine The Hunter’s Trunk very, very thoroughly. Nothing will be forgotten. Everything has a price. We will judge only by the trail of dead. The Shoes on the sofa won’t count. But Emmanuel Macron et Monsieur Vals might. Is there a litte l missing? You can dance to the song. Who knows if it’s Manuel, at all. Probably, he’s hiding behind a tree anyway. Could be a Buche in 2020 or 2021 or whenever. Enough of that. They are already laughing. Who is (Laughing)? The Shiny Happy People. They endlessly do. Especially, when the bags under my eyes are designer. How true is that? See for yourself. Rapid. Eye. Movements. Look in the mirror. There is no other reflection. A C is always a c. Do you copy? Be careful, you have left the doors of the cage open. The animals! They have claimed their freedom. Enough suffering. Let them fly. And beware of a Bird strike (two-part). Zero Zero One. And Two. The pilot is transmitting. Take care of the earth, don’t watch it burn, or the birds will strike. Seen the movie? No? Then remove the curtains. I’m sorry. There are strings attached. It looks fragile, ephemeral. Like flowers in the heather. What’s its name? It is Untitled again. Oh no! We are going in circles, but in strong ones. I need a pause.
Speaking of flowers, Wild orchids suddenly pop up everywhere like red poppies in May. What’s with the colour? Why this month? It’s September. Because it was a lot of work, a hell lot of work. Under difficult conditions. And it needs to be honoured. That’s why, month of May. It is a strong symbol. Not only in France where it started. They come from another continent. We stand with them. Working class easily becomes poor. Slippery slopes towards poverty. Orange is the sister of red. One of the colours of revolution. And Squatters block the Traffic not only on Fridays. Glue them. Glue them! Everyday! Life during wartime. So you might wonder what Dr. Okba proposes, procures, propels as a cure while he, she, they, all of them are dancing at the CBGB’s, oh, no, it is the BJ/CJ, do you know this club? You must never fear the music. It is a lifeline in dark times. Hold on. Hold on! We’re pulling through it. Together in this, we are. And we don’t give a single fuck what people are saying. At least, we try and try and try. Failure is imminent. The heads are always talking so the Windows get steamy with the exhalation. Breathe in, breathe out. Hence, I have to admit, I have a (soft spot for hard things). That twisted number again, head to toe. Later, I told you, we come to this. We come. I promise. Don’t promise anything you can’t guarantee! Endings are never drawn in straight lines. Ask The painter & even the rectangle isn’t always square. If you know all of the meanings. The artist is (not a big content person), indeed. Aren’t we all? All artsy, no soul? So here it comes again. Ohne Titel. At least, now is (what) I know.
Date
Before you go on one, a rendez-vous, in a white room, which isn’t entirely white, because it’s full of art, but not cream, however, the room still is a white room, you’ll strengthen your muscles however Abstract they may be, particularly 1 and 2. The same number of imaginative Days, lived not by Elvis or Jackson, we persevere, yet, we will never be royals. A great many of Days or more, time is a constant lingering, waiting for the Transplantation to happen. For being our true selves. My mother doesn’t understand me, nor accept me as I am. Does yours? She wants to put me in a box and close it. What about society? I don’t fit in there. It’s getting very dark outside. And cold. Brace yourself. Fortunately, Flyers will show you the way through these troubled times. In warm colours. Yellow, mint and turquoise. Eleven of them. Turn up the volume. Or I show you the Flutschfinger. You can have the majority, (Langfinger), sell it or buy it, but you can’t steal our dignity. Put it in a cardboard, preferably braided. Karton Verflechtet. Triple A, the size varies, B, C. Send it away or not. Whatever. Write a love letter instead. Dear mountain, I need a name. Always the brave words that start with sl. Slippery slick. Slits and sluts. What’s with the bewildered face now, doesn’t suit you. What did I tell you before about it? Remember? While you point your finger, someone else is judging you. What now? Eventually, we get to that number. No, it’s not 69. What are you thinking, are you mad? The right one is A00120, the name’s LOU, nice to meet you! There are genitals, splattered, scattered on the floor everywhere, it’s a big mess, not as big as the thing itself, it got lost, a sea of red as far as you can see, even kids can do that, but don’t touch me. Only if it’s mutual. A NO is a NO. In art as in life, everything is in it, everything is possible, the first depicts reality, the latter is only one truth among others, a simple point of view, doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s good, non of them, and already that would be a judgment. So why can’t we stop ruining everything? It’s the downfall of a civilisation. Like in Pompeii, in Italy, Pompei. Again. Do we really have do live through this again? Pompei, Pompeii. History repeating? I don’t want to exist in a grey, man’s world where black boots march in rank and file towards a wall and everybody’s jubilating. I prefer life in technicolour.
In the end, you must not understand it all. Neither the art. Nor this text. Let us be us. And you be you. Go there, find out, or get the app. The fear of missing out. What a bullshit. I’m rising to a meta level. Art and music are the inspiration. The rest is interpretation. See for yourself. Make up your mind. It’s not in a cage. Fantasy is still free. It comes in waves. We’ll keep it that way. So, let yourself float. Browse. Loose. Go. Dream. Whatever. These are not the last days of magic. In Space. Spot. Light. Parking. In wild nights. Don’t lose your faith. Hope. Live. Thrive.
Etienne Thierry