Plato’s Cave
Withdrawal
Withdrawal, an air pocket inside a collapsed society.
Breathe your last breath as a surviving limb of a past and defunct body.
Is there a denouncing task to fulfil, bear witness to the destruction of a world?
To whom should one gather the elements to bear witness?
If it’s all lost, depreciated and perverted why should one bother to invest energy into trying to understand the process?
If the hierarchy is collapsing and about to be replaced, new rules, new flavours will apply.
Will there be room for joy? Will there be room for purity of intentions?
There is no joy in the bourgeois fibre.
There is no mass society. There is no mass culture.
There is only a bourgeois society. A bourgeois culture.
Bourgeois culture and society are evil. But they are evil not because of the cult of appearances, status, privileges, possessions. They are evil because they tread with death. Oppression. Falsehood. Abductions. Illegitimate appropriations. Usurpation. Because they are totally alien to joy. To the purity of intentions.
L’estate il mare.
La cultura della spiaggia del mare è nata dal bisogno di gioia, libertà ma presto il teatro della gioia viene invaso dalle cavallette borghesi. Dai culti oppressivi della siluhette fisica-status. Dall’avidità. Dalle estensioni urbane di comportamenti codici e sottocodici del culto borghese.
È bello il mare. Ristora l’anima l’azzurro. Da gioia giocare con la spuma delle onde. La fanciullezza accoglie alla perfezione la gioia del mare
La borghesia uccide sistematicamente la gioia. Non per disegno. Per necessità.
Da dove viene questa necessità?
La strada è lunga. Che direste se dicessi che il proletariato è borghese? Che la borghesia è proletaria? E che per allontanarsi da questa angosciante confusione si creano le necessità borghesi?
Chi rinuncia alle necessità borghesi è pazzo.
Non esiste nessuna possibilità di uscire dalla morsa delle necessità borghesi senza cadere nella pazzia.
Cioè l’inconciliabile relazione tra dimensione di pensiero indipendente, per necessità. E la realtà borghese, per necessità.
L’arte è una necessità borghese.
Romantic Face ne è consapevole.
Romantic Face è pensiero.
Romantic Face è pittura ancestrale.
La realtà borghese è la realtà efficace. La realtà attuale. La realtà unica e riconoscibile del mondo.
Non perché la borghesia è un’entità cosciente. Tesa a realizzare un progetto alto. Il proprio progetto. No non proprio.
La borghesia non agisce. È agita.
Ma
Il termine ‘borghesia’ sucks E
restando necessariamente in uso si consuma
Psychic Apparatus
Psychic Apparatus
Ego Super-Ego Es
And then you can measure a
Taboo in the Subconscious / what else?
Your make up? My hair style?
Our smartphones / maybe
No need to know. Life will run through us with a ring tone
What do you need? I ask.
Do not answer. Once upon a time beauty came at a dear price
Now. Can you see Super-ego looking at you? Ha ha
No you don’t. That’s good!!
The mighty Es laughs. Es yes Es
Sibilla Cumana
Il potere dell’abbaglio
Le schiere delle Celebrità
Celebrity trappings
Does all of that still hold an ascendant on you ?
Would it make you proud if you happen to access that world, become associated, with that world?
Don’t you see the worms creeping out of their mouths? The ugly smiles painted as if on corpses
which will never think they are dead.
Don’t you see it’s all gone. All the glamour, the sparkle, the respect
All you see its a coat of paint and a row of sharp teeth waiting to jump and tear your flesh
Are you still proud of that sort of association? Don’t you know that
there is no association? That you are going to be screened and marked from the outset as one who could be useful; to perpetuate their act; or as one of no consequence. A disposable item. Unattractive.
And you are so blinded that you think you made it.
You may still be an educated member of the middle class, even well off perhaps. But not educated enough, not well off enough if you are still proud of this mundane cheap hierarchy of usurpers of beauty
When the bubble bursts …. All the evil unleashed will pour into our consciousness. Many will be taken by it. Dead or alive,and will keep smiling with it.
Others will smear their heads with ashes and run to join the shrine before it becomes too late
Do you still think the boost and glamour of an art fair will mend the abyss?
No one understands a thing about art. Not one of those sleek personages, who live in a kind of Oppenheimer cage . No one gives a damn
I don’t give a damn !!
Am I people? Am I elite ? I don't give a damn!! That’s the wrong narrative for me. The dummies whether packed with billions or devoured by debts should well understand that. I was born in a country where art lived and flourished in ways that have yet to be fully understood! The real meaning, the value, the piety, the beauty. The secrets. The greatness.
I don't need the allure of the art fairs’ form or content, their modes,
their style. Their zombie workers, the boot sales assistants. Slick and void. Fashionable like rats made to believe they are swans. And there is no need to go up the hierarchy for once one ascertains the clay feet of a colossus, who wants to climb up to the shoulders or the top of the head? As for “women”art a thousand of those ego trips, she-freaks, are not worth one hair of Artemisia Gentileschi
At this stage I don't need to paint like Guercino or Raphael. They are already there! And if I did paint like that of course you would come and lick my boots. Or perhaps you would not. Surprisingly.
So I speak of the same things as Raphael. but I will say things in an impromptu language where beauty glows in your mind once you’ve captured the thread, regained the sense
Greatness is not the target these days. In truth the target ought to stay concealed.Secret.