Stood in a room full of tight black jeans, fake glasses, tights, leggings, clashing colours and empty empty empty words I found myself falling ever so slightly in love with Dran.
Who else on a cold Thursday night would get well off, with no responsibility, well, pricks, of London in a room where nothing is for sale and nothing is to be viewed (okay there were two pictures so fucking sue me).
Just cheese for the mice in a laboratory.
Not one, not one fucking word about what it all means, just fucking grabbing grabbing hands trying to get a little bit more cash for some new trainers, or to brag to their empty empty friends on their fucking handheld device of some fucking sort.
So what did it all mean?
Well let's start with the title 'public execution' , two meanings yes? Everything is to be created in public so watch it grow. But also the execution of the artist in public. You open a show with nothing, what could destroy an artist more? What does it say about the baying masses and grabbing grabbing hands?
It's a show in reverse, you start with nothing and end the show with everything, when the interest is at it's least. It's deconstructing the notion of how our short attention span should be used. Of what we expect and when. Yesterdays opening was the closing. Of course you couldn't buy anything then, it's gone.
What was the statement? What was the artistic statement? It wasn't what you were expecting..was it? But perhaps it was a damning statement of what art is viewed as, by the affluent and greedy?
It's alright sit there in oblivion, caress your handheld device and tell yourself challenging thought is bad, you'll be dead soon, so fuck it.
