The man that had no job filled his nights with work, building something of immense value. It was one of the greatest sculptures that had ever been created in the history of art, cast in iron and standing high above him as he laboured beneath, working the form real with his hands, his thoughts obsessed onto the subject. It seemed to have grown inside him, it's vines clawing behind his eyes and lying heavy in his belly, spearing his heart, lacerating his insides, killing him. And still he worked. The nights would turn into mornings and this would continue before he slept on a broken mattress by the window, his biorhythms and instincts replaced with working on the thing. He had become a slave to the idea. Even in his dreams he would continue sculpting, cursing himself on waking. He looked as if he had drowned, skin almost translucent white beneath the stained, filthy clothes that hung to his weakening body like dark flags. Hour after hour he worked, getting closer and closer to perfection. But as it neared completion the man choked on a famous brand of butter candy and died, alone except for the sculpture.
Decomposition had set in and the man was slowly melting. The cells that made up his body had began to rot, membranes disintegrated against a sea of cold enzymes and putrid blood. His landlord let himself in after a few weeks of unpaid rent. At the back of his mind he was aware that there was a corpse on the floor, though all of his attention had been drawn to the iron sculpture in the centre of the room, surrounded by various tools and materials. The sculpture set him into a trance that last for the next two hours and when asked about the experience later he said that it was 'the most beautiful moment in his life'. The sculpture was taken away by tree cops and melted down, though it's after image remains burned into their retinas like sun spots. The public doubts the sculpture had ever existed, though some of them do and they like the idea so why not let them think that as it's more interesting than if it didn't actually happen.
Showing posts with label angels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angels. Show all posts
18.1.13
22.6.11
16.6.11
All Said And Done
One of the things I miss the most about alternative realities is that this one doesn't care much for the exploration and colonization of space, instead spending millions on a 3D film of Yogi Bear or soap that smells like Marmite. In some faraway place in space and time others will look back with eyes made from ectoplasm and wonder, what happened.
6.6.11
30.5.11
28.5.11
2.5.11
The Kingdom, The Power And The Glory
Scientists have recently discovered that through the act of meditation one can learn to direct ions from where the hemispheres of the brain meet in order to move small pieces of iron through telemagnetism. It is thought that although this wouldn't have much application in building large commercial and industrial buildings it would come in handy for fiddling about with little ibbly bits inside the smallest machines. Scientists are also questioning as to what effect machines have on pushing negatively charged ions into our cortex holes.
18.3.11
Complex Hypershapes And Others
Columns swing overhead as if some giant pendulus, a sculpture part of the Revgerfev exhibition at Towneley Garden Centre. Every piece of ceramic lawn decoration has had it's face caved in by artist Johnny Gloves, the savage. The mystic.
The gates of Midian.
The great gates of Midian, home of the Queen of Heaven. Hounds made from platinum carry things in their maws as ridiculous brass squelches out some kind of melody. Maybe. Midian. Mesozoic. Meta.
The gates of Midian.
The great gates of Midian, home of the Queen of Heaven. Hounds made from platinum carry things in their maws as ridiculous brass squelches out some kind of melody. Maybe. Midian. Mesozoic. Meta.
26.2.11
10.2.11
Late In The Evening, Giant Bat Attack
6.2.11
4.1.11
R'n'R
Due to the 2004 film 'Crash' sharing the same name as the 1996 film 'Crash', many couples expecting 2 hours of social commentary were instead treated to a 90 minute exploration of erotica and automobiles. Many couples would then incorporate sexual acts inside the car, often when looking for a first house or waiting in line at a drive-thru. It is unknown how many of these couples then went further to simulate crashes to coincide with orgasm although recent trend of dogging and the advent of streaming pornography sites hasn't hindered this fetish. Those couples who wanted to watch the 96 Crash and mistakenly got the 04 version realized racism was wrong.
Please touch the screen where you feel most comfortable, the left most quads reflecting a 'left handed brain' whilst the right quads obviously represent fucking. Move your finger across the monitor to try and see how the different areas make you feel, preferably speaking out loud as you do so.
Please touch the screen where you feel most comfortable, the left most quads reflecting a 'left handed brain' whilst the right quads obviously represent fucking. Move your finger across the monitor to try and see how the different areas make you feel, preferably speaking out loud as you do so.
11.12.10
Mysteries Of The Human Brain
James Franklin MP of Cumberdale, 46 was recently the victim of an ordeal currently unsolved by detectives. Taken hostage at 1330GMT the abducted politician was then given a lobotomy in the back of a van by unknown assailants and at 1620 he was found wandering around a local Walkabout bar with his trousers around his ankles as he drank from a broken bottle containing alcopop liquid material. When attempted to be interviewed he could only reply with his name. It is thought this attack was a vindication based on the recent mesmochain of the great human condition.
29.11.10
Gravitation
21.10.10
Side order
Hip new artist Johnny Gloves pulls no punches with his new piece “Statue of Liberty” at the new exhibition held at the National Institute. Upon first entering the building your first impressions might be what a good space it is. This building is six thousand square feet of white walls, art and not much else! Unfazed by the local public outcry, the “Arpeggiator” exhibition has caused controversy yet persevered in the face of sabotage, protests and political pressure. None the less I would have to say the exhibition is a breath of fresh air in the otherwise stale art world.
The hubbub has arisen due to the performance piece performed by Johnny Gloves in which he hanged himself in the centre of the gallery, using several loopholes in the law to go through with it. The much hyped piece had taken months to organize, though after seeing it you can definitely say it has been worth it. The musician, author and performance artist demanded his body to be left to decompose throughout the exhibition, the smell itself would have been a sculpture in any other exhibition. Though seeing it in the flesh, if you excuse the pun, one is overwhelmed with the feeling that this is the future of art.
Not that 'Statue' is the only piece of artwork here. A stencilled portrait of Barack Obama smoking a joint with Bob Marley greets you in the foyer, something cooked up from the three minds of the elusive Carling brothers. A series of black and white photographs of Rebecca Frost's grandma are hung in golden frames around the entire space, memories of days gone by adding a nice balance of reality amongst the detritus of art classes, post-recession, post-9/11, post-misanthropy. This new movement is making big waves across the pond already.
The visitor, over the smell of the rotting artist in the centre of the gallery, may also notice another foul smell weaving in the ether. In the far corner the sculptures of Scottish artist Bruce Clay are responsible. His series of hidden camera videos recording him purposefully stepping into dogshit are displayed on a dozen or so monitors around the central dog shit sculpture, “The Unattainable Bond”, two large panes of glass with a piece of shit squashed between them. Fascinating.
All routes throughout the labyrinth like Arpeggiator exhibition lead back into the central sculpture, 'Statue of Liberty'.The skinny grey body of Gloves is the icon of the end of an era. Or perhaps the start of another? Johnny Gloves had experimented before in corpse play, the video footage of him running across the M6 had gotten him a hefty fine. For Gloves though, this was no worry. The money his body will eventually be sold for will be used to upkeep a new art school he had unveiled at the start of the year to encourage new talent in the new practise of dying.
The hubbub has arisen due to the performance piece performed by Johnny Gloves in which he hanged himself in the centre of the gallery, using several loopholes in the law to go through with it. The much hyped piece had taken months to organize, though after seeing it you can definitely say it has been worth it. The musician, author and performance artist demanded his body to be left to decompose throughout the exhibition, the smell itself would have been a sculpture in any other exhibition. Though seeing it in the flesh, if you excuse the pun, one is overwhelmed with the feeling that this is the future of art.
Not that 'Statue' is the only piece of artwork here. A stencilled portrait of Barack Obama smoking a joint with Bob Marley greets you in the foyer, something cooked up from the three minds of the elusive Carling brothers. A series of black and white photographs of Rebecca Frost's grandma are hung in golden frames around the entire space, memories of days gone by adding a nice balance of reality amongst the detritus of art classes, post-recession, post-9/11, post-misanthropy. This new movement is making big waves across the pond already.
The visitor, over the smell of the rotting artist in the centre of the gallery, may also notice another foul smell weaving in the ether. In the far corner the sculptures of Scottish artist Bruce Clay are responsible. His series of hidden camera videos recording him purposefully stepping into dogshit are displayed on a dozen or so monitors around the central dog shit sculpture, “The Unattainable Bond”, two large panes of glass with a piece of shit squashed between them. Fascinating.
All routes throughout the labyrinth like Arpeggiator exhibition lead back into the central sculpture, 'Statue of Liberty'.The skinny grey body of Gloves is the icon of the end of an era. Or perhaps the start of another? Johnny Gloves had experimented before in corpse play, the video footage of him running across the M6 had gotten him a hefty fine. For Gloves though, this was no worry. The money his body will eventually be sold for will be used to upkeep a new art school he had unveiled at the start of the year to encourage new talent in the new practise of dying.
21.8.10
Life in The Upper Atmosphere
There are many insects and other small animals that exist high above the planet but below space. They get caught in winds that take them higher and higher, surfing the global geothermal air currents like bizarre bouncing balls. Pilots familiar with these small creatures call them 'Angels', a personal joke as they enjoy crashing their supersonic jet fighters into them as revenge for denying evolution. Whoever gets the most crystalline things etched on the glass of their plane gets a double yoghurt.
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