Marco Giordano: Asnatureintended (Q16)
The image on the invitation could act as a deterrent. The cult of domesticated nature (whether Chinese or Japanese, here in the form of a Buddha-pear coated in red) doesn’t want to assume any recognizable cultural guise. It wants to introduce something else. Because images, and not only Marco’s, always want something. They could be saying, for in- stance, that the effect of humanity over nature is so influential and by now so definitive that a new geological era is to be announced. They could be announcing: Ladies and Gentlemen the Holocene, the era we are accustomed to since 11.700 years, is over. Over! Over to make way for the Anthropocene through the fine particles of radioactive waste breaking up into the atmosphere thanks to nuclear bombing tests and to impossible stockings, via the chocking seas due to oceans of plastic, among the dust of billions of chicken (bones) dramatically bred in industrial batches.
Pause for a minute, and picture these images. And now, without forgetting them, try to let them go, and let yourself be guided by the will of new images all dressed in red.
Dream of this scene. There are (roughly) thirty non professional sculptors (read: amateur) around a man. He is white, male, Caucasian, with strong features, longish hair, a beard à la page, probably in his thirties. This crowd is visually interpreting him, while having produced him conceptually. But, He, is an artist. Actually, much more than that. He, is (tadam!) the Artist.
You are confused, I know, I am too. Also this is quite predictable. But finding a narrative, whether linear or complex, takes time, because the white little stones in the forest have been swallowed by global pollution, because most of your relationship with what is edible is mediated by supermar- kets and restaurants, because you know what sounds a wolf produces thanks to Wikipedia.
At the center of the world we still annoyingly find him, the man (the Artist?). So centered to have put the world at the margins, standing still, fragile, impoverished, and apparently powerless. Even if, we hope, still capable of imagination. Because its incredible and incomparable imagination will be the last to burn. Or maybe the only one to burn will be him, the man. And the world will have fun in reviving. Or it will revive the dinosaurs. And I wonder if this is what him, the Artist, wanted to tell us.
Extract from a text by Antonia Alampi