Sorrow, Heartache, Recovery & Shit
YEAR, technique
Through drawing and installation, the artist brings front the contrast between sterile and organic materials, between artificial and natural, in a dichotomy that turns our existence upside down.
“My Inner Dog”, the animal from within, aggressive or harmless, works on batteries nowadays. We charge it and it functions for a certain amount of time.
Tears desperately stream down from the “Black Mouths of the Underpaid”. We sing and we wail “If you were a willow at the shore, I would turn myself into a river” and we turn on lights that signal sadness and hurt. We suffer alone or together, in a slightly comforting kitsch frame.
“My Inner Dog”, the animal from within, aggressive or harmless, works on batteries nowadays. We charge it and it functions for a certain amount of time.
Tears desperately stream down from the “Black Mouths of the Underpaid”. We sing and we wail “If you were a willow at the shore, I would turn myself into a river” and we turn on lights that signal sadness and hurt. We suffer alone or together, in a slightly comforting kitsch frame.
Looking at Lea’s staging, we come to realize that from this moment on, anything can happen. We are at a waiting point, stuck in front of the upcoming action. We are not sure whether to burst into tears or into laughter.
We would start a war, but we are not sure who against. We would cry but we don’t really have a reason. We would take refuge but there’s no real danger ahead.
But let’s not be so melodramatic.
The future seems bright.
We would start a war, but we are not sure who against. We would cry but we don’t really have a reason. We would take refuge but there’s no real danger ahead.
But let’s not be so melodramatic.
The future seems bright.
Everything will be fine?
We don’t even own our anxieties anymore. We have long lost our dreams. As well as our pains.
We try to build them or to assume already existing ones, and ultimately end up using them as “super materials” for art. They give us the resources needed for building the “tormented and misunderstood” artist portrait.
It is true we still enjoy the stereotypical image of the romantic, troubled and restless artist. Our inner storms have become the frame to our existence. We lament, we cry, we revolt, without really knowing why.
Lea Rasovszky proposes an onsite project, a very personal experiment about manipulating feelings, counterfeit melancholia, mass produced anxieties and nostalgia after something we never really ever had. She has a lucid and ironical view on “existential crisis”. How true and how severe are they, really?
We don’t even own our anxieties anymore. We have long lost our dreams. As well as our pains.
We try to build them or to assume already existing ones, and ultimately end up using them as “super materials” for art. They give us the resources needed for building the “tormented and misunderstood” artist portrait.
It is true we still enjoy the stereotypical image of the romantic, troubled and restless artist. Our inner storms have become the frame to our existence. We lament, we cry, we revolt, without really knowing why.
Lea Rasovszky proposes an onsite project, a very personal experiment about manipulating feelings, counterfeit melancholia, mass produced anxieties and nostalgia after something we never really ever had. She has a lucid and ironical view on “existential crisis”. How true and how severe are they, really?