Exhibition views
1 of 9

11/09 2010 – 18/12 2010

Hernan Bas, Marcos Brias, Jen DeNike, Simon English, Terence Koh, Bruce LaBruce, Geórgia Sagri, Dean Sameshima, Carlos Sandoval de Leon, Christian Schoeler, Marina Perez Simão

I was thinking about you, the last time I saw you. The last time I eloped. The last time I heard you say it, and Geórgia mentioned: “Put your mouth where your money is, put your money where your money is...” And you broke your testament, made it into a rap, made it a song that juxtaposed meaning in a conflicting way, twisted it into a new form. I remember seeing her song on a wall that extended ad infinitum, varying the tempo as it became more sexual; your voice, became clear as it evolved into a myriad of signs.

Christian Schoeler’s paintings are somehow an echo of that quest or your longing... those guys, gorgeous guys, seem to belong to fashion magazines with their skin peeling in layers of thinly-applied oil... A mllion decisions colliding with one another, their desires unlimited, unbound, wandering. They are caught in that moment where libido puts you at the mercy of the world and the unfolding of texts where naming ends and you are exposed. For a minute, it seems like those guys at the bar stop at the last drink so they collapse into themselves out of neediness... are they aware of their being?

Geórgia's text exists in two versions: the first devours the next before returning to devour itself. Could this be considered cannibalism?

The words you gave me are present in these sculptures by Carlos Sandoval de Leon: a bulletproof structure with the remains of nights before. They forma place that is at once the site of sex and ritual, the place of silence and  of the unattainable. They frame taboo in a way that is both Lampedusean and Borgesian, while cryptically addressing verbal authority.

From here on out I see Hernan’s works, loaded with escapes and strategies for coping with the mutating aspects of love and solitude, as the constitutional void that forms desire, a desire so utterly fragmented that it scares me silly. Those romantic landscapes. so abstract and inconstant, belong to me (or perhaps that boy). And you, so ambivalent to that book, that brushstroke – your work and mine, corrupting you toward fear, yet still, we come close. Marina's work deals with the void-- one that expels from within through pressure: not by the works per se, but by the dynamics of the role she plays in the situation. Perhaps desire should take up a more passive, inactive role: “I was born in the desert, Been down for years, Jesus come closer... Think my time is near... ” [1]

Marco's poetry catapults a series of propositions on to the open road; the voice emigrates (Father's Desire and Desire's Father). Which reminds me: were you always there? Certainly, you have always been on the plane of discussion, speculation and tension. Terence is definitely capable of conjuring a dirty line, one that resonates with the operation of the phenomena. The question he poses come in the form of a sort of performative sketch, one that morphs into “two sick, young fruits, drastic pursuits...” [2]

Bruce seems to say: “Big thick, Black boots, Paul's trick just suits, Don't kick, Just Lick, Disputes! He Soots!” [3]. His army wanders around in a reverie while you compose the perfect structure for my nightmare: a critical look at the nature of his power. In a similiar vein, Dean's contemplative gaze is both reliable – I can't help but think about the question of availability. Jen takes this a step further, much like a 17-year-old Cybill Shepherd; seducing her Director, becoming Cybill, ritualistically exposing the path of desire where identities are stolen and the her own voice becoming the propulsive force in her quest. Simon brings a Pater, a God, some notes, a diary of the unavoidable: together they hermeneutically form a poeisis that occupies the role of Father-Desire and Father-Shadow. His men and his notes, both arranged in random proportions yet instructed in specific directions, are all, as we speak establishing a pattern in the periphery of the symbolic.

So I think that the works exhibited brings us back to that moment where Father and desire are confused and extended. I have finally realized: You are ashamed that I was a good friend of american soldiers. [4] 

[1] PJ Harvey: To Bring You My Love, To Bring You My Love, Island Records, 1995.
[2] Rimbaud, Arthur: Jeune Goinfre (Young Glutton) Traduzido por Paul Schmidt, Harper Perennial Classics, 2000.
[3] Rimbaud, Arthur: Jeune Goinfre (Young Glutton) Traduzido por Paul Schmidt, Harper Perennial Classics, 2000.
[4] Amos, Tori: Playboy Mommy, from the choirgirl hotel, Atlantic Records, 1998

– Diego Singh

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