If you look
at an Art School, there’s no way to see it. One person can never see an Art School. You can miss it, hate it, or realize that it’s taken some- thing from
you, but you can’t go somewhere and look at it and just see it empirically. It has
to be informed, imagined, by many people at a time. It’s an everyday group
hallucination. This novel is mod- eled on that phenomenon. And Art School its self benefits from it by being more of a
material entity, a being, than a character— thoughts and actions are not
spanned by any artists mind. Who pulls their strings?
Mama! An
author is a routine, which makes for good conversa- tion whenever that routine
climbs down from the windswept seclu- sion that walks and breathes centuries of
the word. All this drilling,
convincing,
testing, baiting proves that not only is an author a person who writes, but
also a role that is negotiated and trained by those who choose the books one
can read today. Becoming an author is a process of subjectivization, and so is
becoming a soldier, becoming a cashier, becoming a potted plant.
Like the
authors, the Art School depicted herein finds itself constantly exposed to the
urges of “communism” – that is, to a chosen indifference to private property, a
putting-in-common of the methods and means of urban life and language.
Communism, it seems to say, is the only thing we share today, besides our
extreme separation. Between the lines is a desire for the not normal situation,
a wartime desire not for peace but for a better, fresher war that would produce
the not normal situation. In everybody, even an underwear model.
Sometimes,
hoping to generate a timely product for young readers today, we couldn’t help
but produce something unwanted, unexpected instead. If the Novel,
today, has lost much of its seductive power and its necessity, perhaps we can
fill it with something else. This is a novel that could also have been a
magazine. It’s a book written by images, about images, to be read by other
images, which is to say it is uninhibited and realist. Its primary content is
the desire to do two things at once: to take something back and to get rid of
ourselves.
20-MANIFESTO-12
Who
are you?
The
reader.
Our
audience.
Good.
Art
cannot function as art without the art audience.
But.
Who.
Are.
We?
We are the year of 2012. The new generation
of artist. Four years. Three years. Training, adapting and learning. We are
still learning. Forever learning. Forever changing. “Ever tried. Ever
failed. No Matter. Try Again. Fail Again. Fail Better.” Tits without boxes. Tits with boxes. What does it mean? Collaboration is the
only real work produced. We work together. We are one and the same; but we are
separate also. We are the year of 2012. Trained from the beginning. To
question. Criticise. Consider.
What is art?
What is good
art?
Is there good art?
What
is bad art?
Is there bad art?
What is image? What is text?
Image-Text
Image/Text
Still young.
Delicate. Clinging on. To hope. To Perseverance. Steady persistence in a course
of action. A purpose. A state. Especially in spite of difficulties, obstacles,
or discouragement. The sound of the last bugle. The last frontier. Creators.
Animators. Questioners. Doers. Thinkers. Sculptors. Painters. Writers.
Investigators. Dreamers. Poets. Directors. Actors. Publishers. Performers.
This
is our publication. Our show. Our statement.
Declaration. Proclamation. Of
institutionalisation. Our institution.
But
nothing is original. Copy. Original. Simulation. Simulacra. Everything exists.
Nothing exists. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing is original. Copies of copies. With
no origin. This is not original. We are not original.
Elitist.
Maybe? Artists. Who knows?
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