I've
been cannonised, finally. Though I couldn't disagree more with the
reviewer. I am not in the margins, I'm %100 mainstream as an artist.
Everyone gets me. No fancy fluting words needed to be convinced neither.
It's almost like the work is doing All the work, with out an artwriters
translation needed at all. Nuts. What do you know. .... far from me to
say, eh. Not even really allowed, really, but they do. All the time.
It's like it is how it is done. It's a deal. Between those that want to
write the scripts and those that want to play a part. There are a lot of
those relationships, they dominate and don't let in a whole lot of new
faces. But here I am, slipped past, the net, sow eating its young, and
found a champion!
It's a book, called Social Practices, by Chris Kraus , international art journalist, and I am in it. Me in the form of a performance I did. Called the Beneficiary's Office. Eight years ago. How many contemporary NZ art works, let alone international ones, are called up, called back due to popular demand, eight years later, eight years after it happened ( aw heaps man!). The memory being so fresh, so sharp, so cutting, so right now. So epic and necessary, it had to be seen again to be believed. And now here it is. Eight years later and the work's signal, has bounced around and around, ended up here. Couldn't be prouder. Pinch myself. Screw up my face and look at the screen meaningfully, missing. Wild dreams stuff. Lost for words
It's a book, called Social Practices, by Chris Kraus , international art journalist, and I am in it. Me in the form of a performance I did. Called the Beneficiary's Office. Eight years ago. How many contemporary NZ art works, let alone international ones, are called up, called back due to popular demand, eight years later, eight years after it happened ( aw heaps man!). The memory being so fresh, so sharp, so cutting, so right now. So epic and necessary, it had to be seen again to be believed. And now here it is. Eight years later and the work's signal, has bounced around and around, ended up here. Couldn't be prouder. Pinch myself. Screw up my face and look at the screen meaningfully, missing. Wild dreams stuff. Lost for words
