KITSCH AND SINK/KITSCH AND SYNC new work from December till January in Pave exhibition by artist Marcel Craven… music was my first love, well-almost! work informed/inspired by…trans-media expressions…
‘THE RAW AND THE COOKED’
‘…music was my first love’, well-almost! Work informed/inspired by…trans-media expressions and interactions. The herald of ‘the song remains the same’ is conflated within the binary transactions of consumerism and economy; the raw and the cooked, money not only ‘makes the world go round’-as pronounced adroitly by Sally Bowles- it also makes the records spin.
And spin is an inherent part of our world today, the marketed gloss and surface delivery that imbues all conceivable ‘commodities’ including ourselves, is constituted and affirmed by the rhetoric of the manufactured society-an emblematic trait of social assemblage in all its discursive layers.
From the transmuted angst ridden debris of post war fabrication to the anti-aesthete of manufactured mediocrity, as the title suggests; so is that what it’s all about…Alfie?
Anyone who knows my work will begin to unravel the onion(s), these works are ‘assemblages’ in process and in context; their presence being a reflection of the society they inhabit and that which spawned them.
The works on show are ‘outtakes’ from ongoing projects discussing the myriad of layers of social assemblage; a ‘bootleg album’, a compilation of packaged moments. Wordplay is evident as ‘spin’ suggests, and though some of the works are apparent direct references to the punctum of a musical moment, these are layered in covert/fugitive responses to the mechanics at play.
The projects these ‘outtakes’ come from use the process(es) of assemblage to explore and extrapolate the frameworks we live within and without-physically and meta-physically; ‘Still ill’, ‘State space and state time’ and ‘Communication Breakdown’ discuss our inclusion and exclusion as products of these frameworks, and the power narratives that inform them; they consider the indistinctness and ill-defined terminology that pervades our supposed very exact, precise and syncopated societies. (These projects can be seen/followed online: http://www.marcelcraven.com)
And as the ‘jazz’ played on the opening night a discussion arose as to the ‘providence’ of a particular refrain; was the trombone solo from here or was it from there? This line of conversation later led to the preference of delivery of a particular rendition, the anti-aesthete to a traditionalist was an apt companion to the work on display; this paralleled conveyance of the raw and the cooked a decisive and purposeful exponent of the ‘jazz’ and of the show; the duality of juxtaposed elements within a whole.
The two main assemblages-let’s call them ASS.1 (THIS) and ASS.2 (NEVERMIND) – like beasts of burden, are laden with conceits and vignettes; these are flanked by the added baggage of conflated possibilities, ingredients sucked from the host and neatly packaged in glossed and syncopated balance/imbalance.
The re-mastering of a particular element wholly representative of much of the mediocre stock of today; re-sized, revamped, reconstituted and reshown from high gloss print to filtered Instagram deceits.
ASS.2 carries the obvious homage to the manufactured sub-culture and fashioned demobilization of the anti-aesthete of its day, and in its reconstituted version bears the parodic sense of its own demise; it announces its own duplicity and the mechanics of its process. As a political parody it reflects the kitsch era of ‘plastic statesmen’, and black gold economics-the template we still use today. Nevermind’s repeated appearance in glossed and packaged form, safe and sanitised completes the process and also makes a cameo on social media, albeit in an unfiltered role; and as the true proponents of the sub-culture genre (such as CRASS or The Dead Kennedy’s) should have said, ‘a turd in a suit is still a turd’.
As a footnote, and as Morrissey sarcastically decreed- on the advent of the selfish society-‘…life is simply taking and not giving, England is mine-it owes me a living…’