Essays of soft bubbles Garbage with dignity
You must to know how to wait for things to take dignity.
There are famous and other disgusting examples that time has healed and made dignified.
Now it often happens that the signs of aging, the traces, the embezzlement become something acute or even soft.
In our case soft.
Industrial Archeology, engines, 2011 82cmx104cm
If we were to decipher the signs of this intemperate time, immodity would certainly be one of them.
Perhaps among the most significant. To make garbage dignified are men because they pass away and, leaving, leave very little. In a little their bulky dejections can reasonably be declared a tangible sign of their passage.
Tangible, touchable and then, about their deformity, the forms that become virtuous.
A beautiful representation of how much to destroy, bend, refer to another sense or hide them, subtracting them, can become a kind of algorithm of the time.
You don’t need the input of the great thinkers to realize that we are close to a macroscopic and announced event. Garbage takes on the dignity of man, transforming it, but also tracing its passage.
Now why sheath them?
The answer is an art gesture, of course, not a thought of the time. Garbage grants meaning even in the absence of thought, stings without moving and above all incarnates without ever being born.
I wish that we didn’t lose the central point of view.
It is not a question of observing its shape or even its material.
It is not a question of overloading with weight that which by its nature is heavy and bulky.
Rather, it is a matter of accepting their existence not as something different from us, not their unbearable presence but, so to speak, dwelling next to them.
The soft sheaths that have as their object unclean objects tell us that we passed through there, with the load of scraps and slag but also with our often often cumbersome present.
There is, and is known, a will in man to leave marks and traces. Even these times leave inescapable, stinking and unclean signs. It would not seem strange to me to consider that the signs of our time are well expressed there by the garbage without dignity that appropriates a dignified existence.
We can say more and perhaps exaggerate. We give garbage the task of reminding us that we are living beings.
Never before has the world expressed itself in forms like this. Transcendence was the dream of something, but we assimilated it, spilled it and eventually incinerated it so that we had no testimony of its past. Now it becomes subtle and intelligent.
Never before in the world had such an intense and problematic relationship about what is left behind as useless, insufficient and perhaps even deficient.
Not projections but dejections.
Here’s what we’re talking!
We are talking about an art that decides what you want to wrap is a present layered in overlapping and overexposed deformities.
We are not deciding a hierarchy of things but simply transfiguring them and doing so, we inform the world of their existence.
Thrown things return without an order that previously gave them another meaning.
The leap is quick and immediate.
What makes sense now a moment later no longer possesses it.
It is perhaps not a good saying of our world. Let’s think about the chatter that governs it.
Don’t they seem to have a sense that responds to an order? Except for a few moments after losing it?
In their presence, does not it happen that they are deprived of them as things to be thrown into landfills?
Is this not the time of the predicates of return, those that are built on the sense that was born as another sense?
Pour spill, build, deconstruct, structure, deconstruct, etc.?
And this is not the time of a death postponed to the bitter end, until the moment when only a stupid expression remains on our face to signify our amazement for an event that resembles the thousand times in which we threw something without recognizing any dignity.
Now, there are the SOFT BUBBLES sheaths that establish the need for reflection about our present and our encumbrance in the world.
Otherwise, everything will remain eternally as stupid as death.
Garbage with dignity.Pilot of bottle, 2009, 104cmX104cm