A week of friendship and statements

Past week:
Friends that are not on friendly terms which makes me feel like a child caught between divorcing parents again, one friend I’m slightly pissed off at, one woman who made my heart go ouch and one woman who might be un-ouching it, while other people have privacy issues with the blog, and I’m slowly but surely running out of money.

Seen in relative terms, I really have no cause for complaints. I’m even coming to grips with some sort of life artistique, in that I might be able to put together one of those hated artist statements.

Artist statement in short: The process is the interesting bit. Learning lockpicking and reading about the esthetic of hate and global social movements seen from a non-west point of view, and fixing our leaking faucet using wax instead of a bought plastic drainpipe.

On the project description of guiltyguiltyguilty.org I wrote that I’d like to be a superhero known as the facilitator, and the image has stuck in my mind. It’s not that I’m only passing on information or helping people find stuff, I like to scrutinize ideas and debate things and even though I often end up going for the lowest common denominator (e.g. ending up in existentialism territory, what with personal morals and relativity) I’m good. Seriously.

It’s not the facilitating itself that I’m into. It’s seeing my behaviour as a valid approach to art practice: It’s not the end product, it’s not the documentation or anything tangible (necessarly) that is the art, it’s the combination of seeking things out and manifesting the combination of those as new queries – occasionly producing a work of art, but not striving towards it.

Actually, this is the closest thing to an artist statement that I’ve gotten.

Of course I could write that i’m fascinated by all the things that make up human existence. But that’s just so lame and filler. There needs to be a boundry of my interests. How about I’m interested in people as a phenomena, but not interested in the people themselves. Is that good enough? That would mirror my approach to an artistic practice, even though it’s still somewhat fuzzy around the edges (and slightly sociapathic).

I’m working on a poster entitled “twenty things i’ve learned from women i’ve been together with in a more or less chronological order & in a horribly simplified fashion”. I’m thinking about going about this thing much the same way i did the relationship evaluation form a couple of years ago: I sat down with different friends at different times and jotted down their suggestions, ending up with a two page questionĂ©re.

Obviously, if I’m soliciting suggestions from others, then the whole biographical overtone might seem diluted. I’d argue that it’s more or less stilistic help – most people have had a couple of relationships, and been both the asshole and the one being assholed and all shades of shit in between, and I’m quite certain that barring extreme gender role experiences men and women have similar experiences.

So see this as an invitation to post comments with sentences or sentiments pertaining to what you’ve learned from relationships. Bitter, honest and funny are key words here.

As a sidenote, of course this project was born out of bitterness and an emotional trainwreck, but it’s flexing it’s legs and moving about on it’s own by now, and I’ll want to have this as a finished poster in two weeks time or so. I’m thinking like one of those cabare type posters: Different typefaces, all scribbly and crap, and some hand lettering and my horrendous drawings as well.

The above idea has an imposed time limit because I’d like to finish it before a sell-your-soul art fair in a couple of weeks. The second thing I’d like to do is to finally use those 9GB of xmas songs i downloaded last year. A one hour horrendous mix containing all the songs, running simultaniously but within different freaquency ranges. I did a small scale version of this a while back, and it’s just as nauseating as it sounds – nightmarish low AM-radio type ambient. Just the thing to set the correct christmas spirit, I’d say.

Jolly fuck. Just had another uplifting msn chat. MSN is turning into this goddam minefield. About the only person left in my 40-something list that I’m actually talking to is my dad. And that’s mostly business. I’m gonna bloody print all the chat-logs and use those as a diary. Maybe i should take a hint and fake my own death and start over: Too many things on my to-do list regarding people.

Fun with your body:
I think I’ve lost almost all the subcutanious fat on my legs. As a result, my legs look like they’re bending inwards. Hum. All pain, no gain?


I tried to distill the motivation I have for The Boy with Half a Pinky, and arrived at these three paragraphs:

A project to measure the load-carrying capacity of text, an attempt at outright lying without speaking falsely and an illustration of automatic, biological narrative.

How far can one stretch the imagination to accomodate for ones beliefs in the face of contradictory (or inconclusive) evidence, and what is the quality of succesful propaganda (both the quality of the propaganda and the quality of our reaction to it, as well as the mechanisms that bridge the gap between what is presented and our internalisation of a message)?

Where exactly are you lost in the transition between presupposed understanding (unselfreflecting knowledge) and the rest of the world?

The galleries webpage is located here, where you’ll find more info about the exhibition.