The only thing more pretentious than live art... are people that critique live art.
Someone drew my attention to this art critic website and in particular to this article.
Oh My GOD! First of all.. it's just a couch... secondly... it is hard to tell which is a greater piece of work.. the couch or the crtic...
So I've decided to become an art critic myself.
Here is my first article. I didn't have any absurd art handy... so I went and took a picture of the cardboard box I use to collect recyclables. Had a party with my friends soem time back, we ordered in some buotique cider and had it with chips. And that's what my bin looked like the next morning. It could be art.. let's say it is... my critique for it is below that... (if you have any art, music, cinema, or even a blog that you want me to expertly critique... send it over)
The person known only as Erebus is an artist of Magellian depth and honesty. His several ambitious installations deal with the recurring themes, although may seem to deal with chaos and Machiavellian cruelty also deeply reflect a sense of control and deliberation. The classic battle of the Dyonysian and the Apollonian. The two themes branching out like two legs, only to be united in a common origin of darkness, mystery and the sensuality that underly everything - the machinistic and the materialistic.
The latest installation from this artist embodies the same feeling of adolescent urgency and nonchalance. The feeling of emptiness overcrowds this exquisitely assembled installation, making its presence felt by its absence. He doesn’t disassemble the the absence and segregate it contemplating on the significance of the what’s not seen or heard but has taken place nonetheless – in this case a cider party.
Parallels are immediately drawn internally between this installation and Degas’ series of ballerinas. Degas always postulated the omnipresent sense of a ultra-potent ballet recital but only ever presented the ballerinas prior to or after the unseen performance, thereby instigating in us the need to fill the void of the event itself by our own imagination. Where Degas used spent ballerinas, Erebus uses empty cider bottles that obligate, and stimulate simply by lying in a bizarre yet delicate cacophony of the obtuse and isosceles.
Although it first it may appear as a phantasmogoric cerebral overload of the visceral, it is not quite as epidural as it proclaims to be. It is in fact a jarring juxtaposition of the optimistic and beautiful night before on the grimy, pale morning after. It is the Shakesperean destruction of the dreams to copulate, undulate and ululate on the Newtonian realities of being late.
It is human nature to gulp, to gargle and to sometimes regurgitate. Erebus reminds us of that Numidian universal truth through his installations – our fascination with the fantastic – through guarded humor and measured subtlety. Cider bottles harbour our dreams, replenish our hopes and devastate our memories, allowing us to be remorseless in our admission of appreciation for our addiction and transgenderfixation. We had plenty of cider, but no cider is plenty for us.
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