ARTISTS:
Maggie Lee, John Armleder, Robert Bittenbender,
Valentina Liernur, Marie Karlberg, Sophie Mörner,
Lena Henke, Jessie Reaves, Joseph Geagan, Amy Yao,
Wolfgang Tillmans, Bradford Kessler, Cyril Duval
FILM SCREENING by
Danji Buck-Moore, Henning Fehr and Philipp Rühr
PERFORMANCE by Jacolby Satterwhite
I LOVED THEIR WORK BECAUSE IT MADE ME WANT TO MOVE (OUT OF THE SCREENING ROOM AND INTO THE VOID). I WAS LUCKY ENOUGH TO ONLY SEE THEIR VIDEOS IN MUSEUMS OR GALLERIES WHERE THEY WERE AT LEAST COGNIZANT ENOUGH TO TURN OFF THE HARSH FLOURESCENT TUBE LIGHTS KILLING ANY HOPE OF A CASUAL OR INTIMATE RELATIONSHIP TO THE WORKS AROUND US. THEIR WORK FELT SO MUCH MORE APPROPRIATE FOR AN EXPERIENCE WITH, LIGHTS, SETS, COSTUMES, LESS IN THE THEATRICAL SENSE THAN IN THE CLUB SENSE. WHEN THE LIGHTS WERE OFF I WATCHED IN AWE, PARTIALLY TRANSPORTED AND PARTIALLY VERY VERY AWARE OF THE LIMITS OF THE SITUATION. REALLY HOPING THE PUNCH IS SPIKED WITH MOLLY… AFTER THE SCREENING ENDED THE LIGHTS RETURNED AND THE SPACE I WAS TRANSPORTED TO ABRUBPTLY ENDED. WE ALL WENT OUT AFTER TO ONE OF THE 10 KITCH OR DIVE BARS THAT ONE EXPECTS TO GO TO AFTER AN EVENT SUCH AS THIS.
FROM WHITE WALLS WITH WHITE LIGHTS TO BRICK WALLS WITH TUNGSTEN YELLOWS AND NEON PINKS UNIMAGINITELY REPLICATED FROM THE CATALOGUE OF AVAILABLE ‘BAR’ AESTHETICS.
I MET NEARLY EVERY ONE I KNOW AT NIGHT. A TIME/PLACE AMONG THOSE WHO SIMULTANEOUSLY LIVED WITH AND IDOLIZED EACH OTHER WITHOUT MOURNING DECADES PAST. A PLAYGROUND OF CAREER AESTHETES, QUEENS (OF ALL VARIETY), INTERNET PERSONALITIES, AND ARTISTS WHOSE WORKS I ONLY WITNESSED IN STERILE ROOMS IF AT ALL – YOUNG AT HEART IF NOT IN SPITE OF YEARS ACCRUED.
I OFTEN FOUND MYSELF WANTING TO RE-VISIT A FIRST ENCOUNTER [NICE TO MEET YOU *KISS, KISS*] – TO FIND THEM IN THE SPACES THAT MOST EMBODY THEIR IMAGINATIVE TOPOS.
I LOVED THEIR WORK BECAUSE THEIR INSTALLATIONS INVITED ME TO PLAY IN THEM – TO DRESS FOR THEM AND GIFT THEM THE POTENCY OF MY INTOXICATION. TO PLAY IN THEIR WORLD AS PART OF IT. REALLY TO PARTY, BUT NOT JUST TO PARTY.
WHAT HAPPENS TO THE WORK WHEN WE COMMUNE AT 1AM? HAS IT ALL DISAPPEARED INTO THE HANDS OF BUYERS OR BEEN RETURNED TO STUDIOS TO BE LOCKED AWAY?
I LIKE THEIR WORK BECAUSE IT ARTICULATES A POSSIBILITY I HAVE YET TO SEE IN THE SOCIAL EXPERIMENT WE INDULGE SO MANY NIGHTS IN AND OUT. THE TEXT ELUCIDATES A REFERENTIAL MATRIX THAT TICKLES MY LUNGS AND UNLEASHES JUST ENOUGH ADRENALINE TO WANT TO CREATE A SPACE THAT I MIGHT EXPERIENCE ALL THE FIRST ENCOUNTERS AGAIN. AS IF THEY WROTE WITH A STAGED WORLD IN MIND. BEYOND GOLDEN OR GILDED ERAS…
THE SPACES I GREW UP DREAMING OF INHABITING WERE DIGITAL – SIMS CLUBS, LABRYNTH AND UNDERWATER WORLD SCREEN SAVERS, PLAY-PLACE STRUCTURES IN FLASH ANIMATED SITES WHOSE CONTENTS TOOK UP TO 20 MINUTES TO LOAD, GEO-CITIES WITH HIDDEN SPACES AND JOURNEYS TO NEW A/V EXPERIENCES IN IMAGE MAPPED COORDINATE LINKS. THE VISUAL, SONIC AND SCULPTURAL POTENTIALS OF A SPACE WERE ALL IN SPITE OF THE CORPORATE EARMARKING OF THE REAL SPACES AROUND ME AND NOW THE SAME IS TRUE OF BOTH.
WHEN I FIRST MOVED TO NEW YORK IT SEEMED LIKE EVERYONE HAD GIVEN UP ON THE ENDEAVOR ALTOGETHER, WITH THE EXCEPTION OF THE NIGHT. YET EVEN HERE, THE FLYER WAS THE AESTHETIC, PRE-LOADED WITH REFERENCES, COORDINATES FOR GOOGLE SEARCHES AND TUMBLR TAGS. YET THE SPACES WERE BARREN, EPHEMERAL: A LASY LASER AND FOG MACHINE.
WHAT WOULD THEIR WORK BE IN NOCTURNAL SPACES WITH DILUTED EYES FIXATED ON IT SURROUNDED BY CIGARETTE SMOKE ON A SWEATING WALL WITH SWEATING BODIES GRIPPED BY OUTFITS THAT GIVE GIFTS TO THE SPACE AROUND IT?
I’VE ALWAYS FELT IT AN EXPERIMENT IN POSTURING ALTERNATE WAYS OF IMAGINING MYSELF. FEELING PUSSY, PERCHED, BUT NEVER PARCHED, DRINK IN HAND I STRETCH INTO AND THROUGH STAR SCATTERED SPACES, WETHER IN BED-STUY, AT HOME SWEET HOME, OR THE SHIFTING STRING OF VAGUELY RECEPTIVE VNUES, PUSHING THE WEIGHT OF MY HIPS, LIMBS AND EXTREMITIES IN SYNCHRONIZED AND ELASTIC MOTIONS, I PRANCE AND LEAPED MY WAY THROUGH A SUPERNOVA REMNANT MADE OF LINGERING BURSTS OF LIGHTWAVES FROM CAMERA FLASHES PAST, REFRACTED THROUGH SHATTERED HANDLES OF WELL VODKA ILLUMINATING AN EXPANDING MASS OF DUANE READE MAKE-UP AND CIGARETTE ASH PUSHED FORWARD BY THE PULSE OF CELESTIAL SUBWOOFERS AND FOREGROUNDED BY A FLOATING MASS OF SHADE FROM SHITTY FAGGOTS, ANGRY BIDDES AND DISENFRANCHISED BROS.
-JULIANA HUXTABLE
All photos by Topical Cream
