In the country, he thought, the gods still come to people. A man matters, his experiences matter, but in the city, where experiences come by the thousands, we can no longer relate them to ourselves; and this is of course the beginning of life’s notorious turning into abstraction.
But even as he thought all this, he was also aware of how this abstraction extended a man’s power a thousandfold and how, even if from the point of view of any given detail it diluted him tenfold, as a whole it expanded him a hundredfold, and there could be no question of turning the wheel backward.
Alright, this time I will be serious and write something that may be another step in explaining why this blog works the way it does. My goal is to argue if and why my doings might be consider a voice, one of many, in the much fragmeted chorus of contemporary art. In other words, I will focus on the question what kind of people with bigger names are doing something that resembes to some extend our quotes and pictures and those illustrated essays. But first, feel invited to listen to this hit by The Cure and keep it in the background.
It’s been same years since art began. Thousands even. Time flies by so fast. One day you have those awsome cave-wall paintings, next day someone writes about Ulysses who’s lost in Dublin. Also, every now and then there is someone talking about the end of art, claiming that nothing new is possible and that all our creative possibilties are exhausted. Supposedly all is said and done we can go home. Right? Only, there are a few artists lingering on, lonely and jobless. Sitting hopelessly for our viewing instead of their art.
#Marina Abramovic: The Artist Is Present
read on ->
Power to the people, we don’t want it, we want pleasure
And the TV’s try to rape us and I guess that they’re succeeding
And we’re going to these meetings but we’re not doing any meeting
And we’re trying to be faithful but we’re cheating, cheating, cheating