Sublimation of crime

“Terrorism? Fast track humanism. It is a way of hastening the advent of civilization by liquidating the representatives of the old order. No flesh and blood beings are targeted but the bourgeoisie and capitalism – this is to say, the system that inhabits and manipulates man. Through this double sublimation – of homicide into the birth of the new, and of the person into abstract entity – the very consciousness of having committed a crime is erased"... Alain Finkielkraut from "The Wisdom of Love"

Culture, Coolture, Googlture...

"Fresh Hell", all pop, no culture at The Palais de Tokyo. According to Wikipedia, the term "Culture" has various meanings e.g. it's an integrated pattern of human knowledge, belief, and behavior that depends upon the capacity for symbolic thought and social learning or excellence of taste in the fine arts and humanities. From the Latin "cultura" stemming from "colere", means "to cultivate, protect, nurture, worship, honor"... What's the official Google's position on that? Should I just google it?

Touching Abakans or balancing mood swings with Wurm

Magdalena Abakanowicz  "Abakan Red"

Hysterical infantilism in today’s art makes me looking for the “exit” sign. It must be a result of sensory overload of human brains, hi-tech overdose, or just my age.

Sure, it is perfectly enjoyable to give yourself goose bumps by entering the horror land of Ron Mueck’s hyper reality and get back this limitless pleasure of being a child again while standing tête-à-tête with his gigantic and sweaty sculpture-dolls. Big cartoon eyes of contemporary fairy tale.

I’m not sure about asexual bold and busty women painted by John Currin. They nervously titter in my mind and their seduction performance is worse than hysterical American porn movie.

Well, playing with instant mood swings of Erwin Wurm could be certainly refreshing. Suddenly this pop media hysteria becomes funny and playful like a Lolita teenage girl. lol.

But still, I miss “The Uncanny” effect of art. Damp-smelling disturbing thanatos by Madgalena Abakanowicz at the National Museum of Art in Cracow or Tate Modern in London. Familiar, yet uncomfortably strange sensation of touching her Abakans reminds me of “Home” (?). In France they would say “heavy Eastern European art. Impossible to get it. Let's have lunch!”.