lamentations, hoots and a few jubilations/ visual arts and diversity in a reflecting europe/ re-culture II/ patras/
installation/ mixed media
the work attempts an insight of the contemporary man of today, his relations with his limits, the consumption of his emotions and his animalistic instincts to tear to pieces the easy victims/ the video part of the work are extracts of reality talent shows and are close ups of people expressing their emotions.
third act /
he was a contemporary paparazzi/ he was posting anytime, all the time, the guy next to him to the next, the awful shoes of the lady in front of him at the line in the tax office, the prices of pleurotus mushrooms at the flea market, the view of the acropolis from his car, the garden of megaron swinging with maraveyas illegal/ "be contemporary" everything was shouting at him... visual poems were waiting to spring out from his keys... he knew how to write properly: time was flowing differently, himself was at the mercy of his thought, a thought enriched with hundreds of adjectives to decorate his nouns, a bucketload of information that unprocessed were taken and given away, he was calling it "an exchange of catharsis", words ready to get diffused, to influence generations, to shape aesthetics, to delineate semicircles around the globe, to go to thailand and get automatically translated, to change at once with autocorrect before even written/ he was ready for these changes, in the ring of life he struggled to make it and... haha haha a voice laughed nearby ... haha haha and he wiped stoically the visual shit of his pavement to his neighbor's garden!/
installation/ mixed media
the work attempts an insight of the contemporary man of today, his relations with his limits, the consumption of his emotions and his animalistic instincts to tear to pieces the easy victims/ the video part of the work are extracts of reality talent shows and are close ups of people expressing their emotions.
third act /
he was a contemporary paparazzi/ he was posting anytime, all the time, the guy next to him to the next, the awful shoes of the lady in front of him at the line in the tax office, the prices of pleurotus mushrooms at the flea market, the view of the acropolis from his car, the garden of megaron swinging with maraveyas illegal/ "be contemporary" everything was shouting at him... visual poems were waiting to spring out from his keys... he knew how to write properly: time was flowing differently, himself was at the mercy of his thought, a thought enriched with hundreds of adjectives to decorate his nouns, a bucketload of information that unprocessed were taken and given away, he was calling it "an exchange of catharsis", words ready to get diffused, to influence generations, to shape aesthetics, to delineate semicircles around the globe, to go to thailand and get automatically translated, to change at once with autocorrect before even written/ he was ready for these changes, in the ring of life he struggled to make it and... haha haha a voice laughed nearby ... haha haha and he wiped stoically the visual shit of his pavement to his neighbor's garden!/