These words down here are not about art, but about language. The words accompany an exhibition to make the visual part more comprehensible. I have the feeling that it sooner hides a vacuum of meaning.(also noticable in other professions)
In this last compendium there is a contribution of a man who asked Anu not to "dumb down" the words in his offerings and I think that was a good request.
On the other hand, what to say of the usage of 'quality' words that under the flag of brightening the understanding of the public, just seem to have the opposite effect: they obscure the real contents of what is offered or said.
Quote the artist:
[Black absorbs all color, but where does it go? / The floor mirrors our private pressure. / Light is full of long knives that slowly scratches the floor, I just can't hear it. / Try to realize the inception of tomorrow's new and mint condition. / Some parts of the city overflow due to the fall of the night outside. / Please recolour my direction. / What I had lost in my studio was found by my studio. / Awareness is the ability of an entity to flow (more) meaningful. / I am never here, only there] (tsja...)
Quote text about the artist:
The artist researches and changes the way we look at and experience a specific space; he is interested in the things we notice subconsciously, or the things we fail to notice because we are focussing on something else. The artist uses concepts which deal with a temporary state. This approach places his work between the viewer and a usually abstract phenomenon like light, energy, air or ‘risidual space'. The results are mainly of a conceptual and cognitive nature. His installations, drawings and objects are best described as modules of thought. He himself prefers to call them ‘interimodules'. A module for a way of thinking/concept, a temporary ‘in between'.
Language should not be 'dumbed down', but what of less and less understandable, complicated jargons?
I disagree, BranShea, the opening words you cite about Art are, of course, about Art, because in an organic sense, Art and language are one in the same, i.e. both are forms of social communication between sapient beings and neither form is sacred.
Come, let us go antelope hunting together in the Pleistocene woods.
At early sunrise two pre-Cro-magnon teenagers slip away from the clan and skip and hop and giggle into the woodlands to court and hunt. You are the boy and I am the girl. Showing off a bit you bound ahead, eager to reach the green meadows where antelopes are known to feed. Suddenly you stop and look back and find that you are alone. You retrace your steps until you find me in a stand of wildflowers wearing nothing but a smile.
You wish. I had on a full ensemble of the latest thing in hunting outfits, but yes, I was smiling. You stood there stupidly like you had never seen a flower before, and then slowly I began to realize that you hadn't. And so, although we pre-Cro-magnons have only a hundred or so words, grunts, and gestures in our vocabulary, we girls have a vocabulary all of our own and soon I had you thinking that flowers are the best thing on Earth since sliced bread.
Later we left the bed of flowers with you secretly deciding that you loved flowers so much and that in the future you would bring home some nice flowers after each unsucessful hunt. Men are so easy.
Holding hands we continued walking through the woodlands until we came to a thick stand of white birch trees and you began to jump up and down and whistle and babble on about human depth perception and balance and risidual space and contrasting but complimentary shapes and colors. It was
ron obvious that you loved this place.
"Ain't it the truth" I said, while thinking
"What the hell? All I see is a bunch of damn white trees!" Overlooking a clearing at the edge of the birch grove we waited. In time a single antelope moved into the clearing to feed upon the grasses. I looked at you and you looked at me; no words were spoken. I circled left to close the neck of the elongated clearing and without cue I jumped out from the trees screaming. The frightened but beautiful deer bounded directly into the trajectory of your swift spear and died.
The End.
In other words we select from the external world that which we think (or perceive) to be useful to the survial of ourselves
cum our clan
cum our culture
cum our DNA.
As we walk through life a billion pictures pass our eyes, many of which surpass the greatest visual art ever frozen by the nimble hands of man. But social Art is of a different color. Frozen by high blown words, social status is its goal and it seems that social status at this venue of social evolution has a function. And one such
ron obvious function of Art today is to make the artsy in-grouper a part of a phoney in-group.
It is all a waxing or waning part of a clockwork orange.
Quality language?