The Party Sequel (Berlin) follows a series of pictures of the smeared puréed lentils evoking shit and concrete in shapes inspired by Morris Louis ' 1950s Veils series, merely transformed into portrait format, and pictures of sticky white sugar icing in similar shapes. Kari Rittenbach referred to them as paintings.
The Party Sequel (Berlin) are pictures of puréed potatoes and peas and pictures of differently colored sugar icing in whose sticky, I am sometimes mirrored. You. I am in the middle of your picture 3 . A somehow crooked narcissus-idea plays here as well. The pictures are pigment prints on cotton paper framed in exclusive white varnished frames in the size of torsos-plus-aura. Both mashed potatoes pictures are a little too pale.
The shapes of the puréed potatoes, peas, and the colored sugar icing are freer interpretations of the veil shapes and / or inspired by two watercolours by my little son.
That process, sounds and all, of puréeing, spreading and smearing and photographing these carefully overcooked lumpy potatoes and peas, which - instead of shit and concrete - evoke or should evoke only shitty-sweet regression, is very satisfying. As is the whisper of icing, colored or not.
Food has to do with the body, and desire, and destruction, and painting as well.
What do I tell you? Are they weak enough? Vulgar? And how frustrated, resentful, aggressive, how passive-aggressive is I come in, if at all? Would these images fail as abstract expressive or be taken in the abstract expressionism of its hangovers? Are these pictures paintings or how much paintings? Are they beautiful?
What kind of echo is this? What a party !? Does this second part answer the first?
Apparently Louis was a loner, they say.
And the other bodies? Do the pictures transport my dark or at least rather ambivalent view on parties? I have difficulties with / at parties. I have difficulties with a certain way of happiness or lightness. What is the common ground thing? What do parties have to do with regression? It 's still possible. As teenager I would like to have a lot of fun.
Emily Sundblad said: "But I think so people drink too much to really cause a revolution. They get too drunk, And They can not do anything. " 4
And who gets invited? Together with Trevor Lee Larson I've been invited for a special program of this years' Art Berlin for VIPs, at least they got invited first. This is a VIP dream. And other border / edge / verge (margin) of this exhibition, of me.
Morris Louis is dead. Others die too. Photography as painting has a connection to death. Language anyway.
Édouard Louis writes: "Years later, while reading the biography of Marie-Antoinette by Stefan Zweig, I will remember the people who lived in the village where I grew up, my mother in particular, when Zweig speaks of all the furious women, worn Out of hunger and poverty, who, in 1789, descended upon Versailles to protest and who, at the sight of the monarch, spontaneously cried out Long live the King! : Their bodies - which had spoken for them - torn between absolute submission to power and an enduring sense of revolt. " 5
I am looking for a picture. Its instability, elasticity or permeability and silence. Its borders / verges (margins) and mine. The pictures cry. Sometimes color passes, permeates the glass, comes out of the picture. Do they puke a little? I do not know (exactly) why they puke, or cry. All is leaky and leaks through. Crying as readymade and puking as well. And the not coated glass of the frames mirrors everything. You?
My mascara is smeared or theirs. Runs, literally.
The gallery's toilet's body sweats / cries in a permanent installation. Look what I did!
Intensities visualize in more or less. What is it with tears? How transformative is crying? I am interested in crying as bodily expression, action, as means of transition, communication, as a border / edge / verge (edge) of me, my face, my work, as leakage or readymade, crutch, ..
We'll cry, maybe. I am currently thinking about it. I am currently thinking about it, but I am not sure what is going on. I want to touch something. My pictures cry, after they sweat for some time now. How do they, I act on the world?
Sometimes there is no border / edge / verge.
I feel cheesy, moody, needy, ashamed as an artist. Porous like a door. A hustler. How regressive are things? How porous am I? How involved? What comes with tears, matters? And what do I do not say / see, avoid, again, in order to go on, forward? As artist ?? What recurs? Hesitation? I used to cry a lot at parties.
Anger and sadness live in suspended relation. And do get mixed up.
I come in you.
The Party Sequel (Berlin) is accompanied by I cry. , Even chattier version of this press release in the form of a poster.
An edition of crying champagne glasses are available via the gallery.
̶ Lisa Holzer , Summer 2017
1 I live here since 9 years.
2 The Party Sequel (Paris) featuring pictures of puréed black beans and carrots in this gallery.
3 "I am in the middle of your picture" is a line from All I need by Radiohead, first cited in Four Press Releases (2009), and then again in I am not there (2011). I am in the middle of your first solo show at Gallery Emanuel Layr in 2011.
4 But I think so people drink too much. They get too drunk, and they can not do anything. Emily Sundblad at the WELCOME TO THE TATE CAFÉ, a conversation between Merlin Carpenter, Emily Sundblad, and John Kelsey. Paris, March 2012.
5 É douard Louis, The End of Eddy , Harvill Secker, Vintage, 2017. penguin.co.uk/vintage. The original edition was published in 2014, entitled En finier avec, Eddy Bellegeule, Editions du Seuil, Paris.