The socio-political vicissitudes of the last few years largely demonstrated that a bigger amount of information, contrarily to what one would expect, not necessarily results in a more accurate ability to choose or judge. The spread of new means of communication put out so much new data that being able to orient among it is becoming more and more difficult: it dominates us like the waves of a stormy sea in which we are unwarily thrown by a careless fate and in which we are supposed to frantically swim for our survival. Grab on to something solid or at least floating is too much of a temptation; how can one resist it?
Now that everybody can claim to be an expert, a columnist or a reporter, paradoxically enough no one really is. The boundaries between true and false get thinner every day, and so do those between right and wrong, between real and digital and, sometimes, one is asking himself if soon we'll have troubles distinguishing between life and death as well. If knowing – which is, being in possess of some notion which is said to be true – has become ontologically impossible, the only thing left to do is believing. It doesn't matter in what.
Vikenti Komitski (1983, Bulgaria) presents a series of works that reflect man's desperate and unconscious need for belief, even in our secularized century. Komitski doesn't criticize and doesn't judge, even if the ironical tone of his works might let us think so, which brings up even more questions about the possibility (or not) for an artist to be neutral. The human being that comes out from his description is an explorer who got lost in the depths of a jungle and who's trying to run away from a tiger. He finds a place to hide, even if it's only temporary, inside a cave. Breathing rapidly, with his heart racing, he leans against the wall, his head back, his eyes shut; he's praying. This is the moment crystalized by the artist: a moment of relief, of rest, an instant of peace before going back to that scary run from danger.
“VIKENTI KOMITSKI. Lost but safe for the moment”, 19 April – 24 May, 2018
Curated by Yelena De Luca Mitrjushkina
OPENING THURSDAY MAY 31 AT 6 P.M.
Let's face it: postmodernism is over. Neither art nor history ever came to an end - or, better to say, they did and then just got beyond it. This "beyond" is what we call metamodernism.
Metamodernism is a pendulum that oscillates between modernism and postmodernism, reconsidering the hope of the first one but impregnated by the cynicism of the second one. Constantly trying (and failing) to find a balance between fanaticism and irony, empathy and apathy, naivety and knowledge, the metamodernist man acts as if there was a purpose, eternally in search of a truth without really expecting to find it. The horizons are endlessly receding, we know that and nonetheless we're trying to reach them anyway.
The exhibition "Receding Horizons. Vectors of Metamodernism", on show at the Narkissos Contemporary Art Gallery from the 19th of April until the 24th of May 2018, isn't an anthology of metamodernism; rather, it's a collection of possible directions - of vectors. The three presented artists - Olia Svetlanova, Edoardo Ciaralli and Sathyan Rizzo - belong to that generation that was grown breathing postmodernism, accustomed to sarcasm and the desecrating disorder of their time. Maybe, that's exactly why these artists try, in their works, to detach themselves from postmodernism, in search of some kind of order.
Olia Svetlanova digitally creates panoramas that are neither utopian as the modernist ones nor dystopian as the postmodernist ones; we could rather call them atopian, paradoxical, nostalgic and impossible at the same time. The inhabitants of these panoramas (all exclusively women) give us a strange perturbing feeling, somewhere between sexual excitement and horripilation. The perturbing feeling is a feature in the works of Sathyan Rizzo, too. He concentrates on the fetishism both of the body and of the object, exploring dynamics of gender fluidity and propaganda of a materialistic and consumerist life style. Edoardo Ciaralli, on the other hand, combines machines of all kinds (from cleaning robots to heavers) into kinetic sculptures, which are apparently independent and capable of thinking. Far from being a simple pastiche, these sculptures create new solutions to semantic problems of existence rather than simply destroy the structure of the single elements.
“RECEDING HORIZONS. Vectors of Metamodernism”, 19 April – 24 May, 2018
Curated by Yelena De Luca Mitrjushkina and Roberto Malaspina.
“With effect from the 14th of March 1992, we are annexing and occupying the following territories:
I. All border frontier areas between all countries on earth, and all areas (up to a width of 10 nautical miles) existing outside all countries' territorial waters. We designate these territories our physical territory.
II. Mental and perceptive territories such as: the Hypnagogue State (civil), the Escapistic Territory (civil) and the Virtual Room (digital).
On the 27th of May 1992 at 12 noon GMT, we proclaimed the state of Elgaland-Vargaland.”
Thus begins the declaration signed by two Swedish artists, Leif Elggren and Carl Michael von Hausswolff, self-proclaimed kings of a bizarre but incredibly plausible country: the Kingdoms of Elgaland-Vargaland (or KREV). In the years, the country kept expanding, declaring – among other things – that everyone who is dead is automatically a KREV citizen. “And if any of them don’t want to be, they can file a complaint, and we will remove them from the list,” explains Elggren. “So far no one has complained,” adds von Hausswolff.
Halfway between political act and dadaism, King Leif I and King Carl Michael I play with rules, but their game is taken extremly seriously. Like when they tried to travel from Sweden to Estonia in 2001 carrying only Elgaland-Vargaland passports. The Estonian passport police didn't like that: their passports were confiscated and they were returned to Sweden the next day.
The Embassy Inauguration, held during the opening of the exhibition, will feature renditions of the KREV national anthem and a passport-making ceremony, where audience members can become citizens of KREV.
“THE KINGDOMS OF ELGALAND-VARGALAND”, 7 April – 31 May, 2017
Curated by Yelena Mitrjushkina, in collaboration with Richard Ceccanti and Caterina Galavotti.
Artists interpreting the Elgaland-Vargaland national anthem featured in the "Kings Waving" installation:
Vlad Badin / Danil Dasyatov, Olga Nane, Al Margolis, Unidentified (Caen), Unidentified (alphorn) #1, Unidentified (alphorn) #2, Unidentified (Biel - utopics), Stephen Travis Pope #5, Ditterich von Euler Donnersperg (Jürgenson Version), Ditterich von Euler Donnersperg (Klopstock version), Per Svensson, Lady Seven (Theremin), Marcus Davidson #1, Marcus Davidson #2, Mariachi Azteca Prinipal, Jugendmusik Biel, Juntaro Yamanouchi, Kabukabu, DJ Guacamole #1, DJ Guacamole #2, Carsten Nicolai, Andreas Führer, Anla Courtis, CM von Hausswolff, Jacob Kirkegaard, Klezmer Chidesch, Lary 7, Michael Esposito / Leif Elggren, Stephen Travis Pope #1, Dave Philips, Kampen Skoles Musikkorps, CM von Hausswolff / Leif Elggren, Underwater, John Duncan, Francisco Meirino.
“[…] knowledge is a network of interpretations, opinions and decisions, passed on from one to another to another. Truth is something you become aware of through your own experiences, by living them, examining and questioning them. A belief system can easily become a substitute for this, or an excuse to deny the existence of some experiences you may have that the system fails to explain.”
This guy is a legend.
Not because of his almost-half-a-century long carrier. Not because he has lived and worked in LA, Tokyo, Amsterdam and Bologna. Not because he has used an unusually large variety of media – direct action, film, painting, bookmaking, sound art, photography, dance. Not because he was one of the fathers of noise music. Not because all of that. Well, at least, not only.
He's a legend first of all because through his whole existence he pushed himself deeper and deeper into the inaccessible mystery of life. And he did so by the act of experiencing things. Things no one in their right mind would do. For his whole existence, he has pursued self-exploration through asking and answering questions that no one would dare to ask or answer. What it's like to be trapped in the darkness, completely naked, with a bunch of strangers? What it's like to point a gun loaded with blanks at a person's face and fire? What it's like to illegally broadcast adult videos on a pirate Japanese television? What feelings will I feel, and how these feelings will affect me? How they will affect the people I know? What will I discover about myself?
Duncan's not aiming to shock his audience, or provoke the easily irritable skin of society. He's like a child pressing buttons to see what happens. And like a child, he's eager to know, to learn, to discover.
Are you afraid of the unknown? Of course you are. We all are. Duncan knows that. He also knows that you won't confront yourself with it unless you're forced to. That's why he's doing it. You're welcome. No need to thank.
“John Duncan. Heavy, useless, no sense of humor”, 25 january – 15 february 2017
Curated by Yelena Mitrjushkina, in collaboration with Richard Ceccanti and Caterina Galavotti; catalogue essay by Sven Schlijper-Karssenberg