After a five month hiatus, Bright Stupid Confetti is back with a brand new look, an official domain name, and a whole lot of material for your viewing pleasure.
Two new additions to the site:
(i) Each month will feature one or two Guest Curators. Learn more about the upcoming curators who will be taking over in November and December by clicking on the tab above.
(ii) Each month will also feature original essays on contemporary artists by contemporary authors. Likewise, learn more about the upcoming contributors by clicking on the tab above.
If you would like to be considered for a Guest Curator spot, or if you would like to submit an essay on a contemporary artist, click on the contact tab above.
Help spread the word about bsc's return, and make sure you follow me on Twitter to receive updates.
Thank you for visiting. I hope you enjoy...
If the curator is indeed the inheritor of Duchamp’s contextual break, then how precisely do we thematize the enclosure of contemporary art that curators themselves have been tasked with maintaining and expanding?
The rudiments of sentences are ancient without a mouth needing to remember
what it is losing as it lets those words out, something eviller than what they
even mean right now, something too evil to be known right now
Wormies make promises and twine body-fingers
my soft knives connected to a white whale sac.
I have left holes everywhere in my sleep
when all along
I had thought that sleep was in the potato.
The potato spurn me.
Proudly I wore my veil of spuds now shame.
Upon waking there is ovum everywhere
little bloods sitting where I cannot see them.
How to keep track?
I think something very particular about silence in the encounter with the art object. There is often an embarrassment at silence, an embarrassment which generates chatter, or generates too fast a response in order to fill that space rather than allow it to exist. This space is necessary for us to experience our anxieties, our uncertainties, our feelings of doubt, our feelings of ambiguity. To allow for that unhingedness is a very affirmative thing. Silence should be celebrated.
If I seem obsessed with the apple tree
it’s only because I can’t believe
how many blossoms are on it.
In love you count on every word.
It is impossible not to be ordinary
if you are ordinary
but you can pretend.
The abyss the abyss the abyss the abyss
is a window built of tinier windows
made from individual grains of sand.
When one looks through this window
it is as if their eyes are unopened parachutes,
it is as if the abyss were a word, a mist, a wish
rollicking between being and believing.
I hold my legs
like two chicken drumsticks.
I could rip them off.
I am capable
but black words
on a white tongue.
Blood on the floor
then on the pillows
There is a place
on the backs
of my hands
You Are What You Eat is a series of portraits made by examining the interiors of refrigerators in homes across the United States.
For three years I traveled around the country exploring food issues. The more time I spent speaking and listening to individual stories, the more I began to think about the foods we consume and the effects they have on us as individuals and communities.
An intense curiosity and questions about stewardship led me to begin to make these unconventional portraits. A refrigerator is both a private and a shared space. One person likened the question, “May I photograph the interior of your fridge?” to asking someone to pose nude for the camera.
Each fridge is photographed “as is”. Nothing added, nothing taken away.
These are portraits of the rich and the poor. Vegetarians, Republicans, members of the NRA, those left out, the under appreciated, former POWs, dreamers, and so much more. We never know the full story of one’s life.
My hope is that we will think deeply about how we care.
How we care for our bodies. How we care for others. And how we care for the land.
My point is that mainstream contemporary art simultaneously disavows and depends on the digital revolution, even—especially—when this art declines to speak overtly about the conditions of living in and through new media. But why is contemporary art so reluctant to describe our experience of digitized life? After all, photography and film were embraced rapidly and wholeheartedly in the 1920s, as was video in the late 1960s and ’70s. These formats, however, were image-based, and their relevance and challenge to visual art were self-evident. The digital, by contrast, is code, inherently alien to human perception. It is, at base, a linguistic model.
The ghosts swarm.
They speak as one
loves you. Each
has left something
LA A man is walking down the road. A Canadian goose falls right on his head; at the same moment there’s a triple rainbow and the guy has a heart attack.
MA That’s a fantastic image. Have you ever done something with it?
LA Occasionally I use it to snap myself out of trances. What about you?
MA I have very strange dreams now from which I wake up in complete horror. They repeat during different periods of my life. I can’t explain them. They have something to do with the disturbance of an order that is not supposed to be disturbed.
“I feel very influenced by ball culture,” she says enthusiastically. “A lot of my friends are in and out of that scene, and growing up my sister was really involved in it. She came out of the closet when she was fourteen, and her friends would always be over our house talking shit and dancing, and I would just watch them and pick stuff up.”
Steve Roggenbuck - "Somewhere in the bottom of the rain"
(frank turns to a spot at the back of the stage and flicks a switch and a blank computer screen can be seen, the white of the screen is the only light on stage. frank sits on the computer and clicks things in a non-random seeming way for ~30-40 minutes or until the audience is uncomfortable enough where maybe 10-20 have outright walked out of this production.)
Film: Françoise Romand, Portée (2012)
Music: Bernard Vitet and Jean-Jacques Birgé (1976)
When I was young
I used to play this game
in which I’d stick my hands into the closet & pretend
that what I couldn’t see wasn’t there.
Sometimes when I brought
my hands back into the light
there’d be a little gift
in the palm.
A polished stone,
a single drop of milk.
When we look at a flower, a strange kind of hypnotic aesthetic symbiosis occurs.
Why do you waste your time and mine by trying to get value judgments? Don't you see that when you get a value judgment, that's all you have.
From the room inside the room, from the house inside the house, memories of a one-legged father and various acts of jurisprudence haunt the mysterious creature who writhes in somatic isolation from one waking nightmare to another. In ONE two writers have produced textual bodies, one speaking for the interior and the other describing the exterior, while a third writer has assembled these two bodies into a single grotesque symphony of chimerical language. A hitherto unprecedented collaborative experiment, ONE defies categorization and heralds a new approach to exploring the boundaries of authorship and narrative.
DC You see personality as an art form. Warhol was interested in personality and depicted it in his work, but while he would erase himself, your personality is the fabric of your art. Your art is your personality, and within that personality there are layers of other personalities. It’s quite complex.
JW I’m so glad you say art — I can’t say that word out loud because that’s up to others to decide. I would never say I’m an artist. I hate when you ask people what they do, and they say, “I’m an artist.” I believe I’ll be the judge of that. Saying somebody’s work is art is a good review. But what was the question? Oh, about my personality. It’s completely in my photo shows because I’m still the one telling those twisted little narratives. I’m telling them in a different context and in a different world, but as in the films, I’m making fun, in a way, of something that I really, really love. I think that is the personality of all my work, no matter if you like it or not.
ART SLAVE // LIVE ACTION PAINTING