200, v3 : The White Ribbon

I’m not sure if the story I want to tell you is entirely true. Some of it I only recognize from camera phones. And after so many months a lot of it is still foggy and some answers I don’t even want to know.

It all began, I think, with the Lawyer’s cycling accident. As he was coming to meet us down at the beach, he quite thoroughly devastated his bike, and his wrist along with it. There were no trip wires, evil leprechauns or divine interventions involved, merely a hangover and some sunrays.

Later on, we went on a tour of the island’s clubs: Lust, Kinky and Scandall. Amidst the sweat of dancers, throb of lights and relentless basses I vaguely remember all of them interconnected by our host’s white ribbon (and by ribbon I mean garter).

The days passed in blissful oblivion, relishing in nature’s gifts both on and under our skin, doing our best to take in the best of summer, laziness and hedonism. No-one owed anyone anything, but we still exchanged fluids generously.

In the end we all happily returned, brandishing slight tans and distinct bitemarks, into the dreary, black-and-white, guilt-ridden everyday life that we broke away from. The Lawyer’s new cast included.

200, v2: Museum of Everything

I’ve been entertaining a couple of friends over the weekend on their trip to London, suggesting things to see and do in a couple of days and get the best experience. And I found myself in a curious position of advising them to go see the Museum of Everything instead of their planned trip to the British Museum.

I’m not sure if my advice was good or appropriate, but it was definitely sincere. I don’t think the Parthenon marbles are going anywhere anytime soon, or any of the other cultural treasures of immense value, that are safely locked up in that somber institution. But what we get in this museum is a slice of today through eyes of some peculiar people.

But what were my friends going to say on their return? “We went to see some random stuff in a makeshift gallery that we could have seen anywhere else”? But that is exactly the point. It does exactly what it says on the box, and swoops up items from backyards of eccentrics from around the globe. And what you get in return is a conceptual frolic across the meadows of Silly.

I’m not sure that outweighs the Marbles, but it sure is fun!

200, v1: Anish Kapoor

As the tension builds up, a quiet and expectant air fills the room. The Cannon is warming up and a host of onlookers hold their breath at the sound of buzzing. As gas is being pumped through pipes, valves and tanks, one can dissect what is going on.

Throughout the works, there is no author, as there is no desired form. What we are witnessing are merely transient stages in haphazard physical processes. They would be best described as briefly embodied “What if...” sentences, conceptually floating around us. Almost like the gallery has tried to trap a passing cloud within its walls.

But somehow this apparent absence of author or tool somehow manages to capture a part of nature, that is too primeval to be created rationally. The pure brutality and persuasiveness of carving a square peg to fit through a round-ish hole or the wall that has been blasted repeatedly only to create an image more powerful than Guernica or chilling than Scream. The Cannon and its exhibited cousins speak a language of their own that instinctively connects with us.

And then BOOM! Wax is sent flying through the gallery and a gratifying thud lets us know we’ve just witnessed art being made.

kaj, komu, kako, kdaj, zakaj in čemu?

prijelo me je, da spet obudim tale blog. kaj tocno bo v njemu pisalo, v katerem jeziku in kako pogosto bom v tej reziji kaj vpisoval ne vem. bom pa zacel z domacimi nalogami (predvsem ker jih imam ze spisane :) ) iz serije 200, ki so kratki sestavki na razlicne teme. skupna lastnost je dolzina, ki je (skoraj cisto natancno) 200 besed.

gremo naprej

amerika je mrtva.
naj zivi anglija.


Leto in ščepec ni kasneje se štorija nadaljuje, tokrat v Londonu. Amerika zbogom, in hvala za vse ribe. Čauči Anglija, greva ga mal hengat skup!