Stefan "Jackson" Tcherepnin
2014 - 2017: The Missing Years
10 Dec 2016 - 04 Feb 2017
STEFAN "JACKSON" TCHEREPNIN
2014 - 2017: The Missing Years
10 December 2016 - 4 February 2017
In anticipation of the coming Equinox, The Missing Years have congregated here, at Francesca Pia
I collected a good many boughs, rotten and golden ones, and promised myself to stick them together while studying old press releases, to renew my ancient loves with the creeds of the gullies. --- which I did last month; but it struck me that it would be convenient to show the paintings from Coney Island.
Coney Island with the Funny Face of Steeplechase. Steeplechase park, with its neo-Classical architecture and manicured gardens--- but also hidden fans beneath the Boardwalk entrance that blew girls` skirts up over their waists, as well as a clown faced dwarf that chased visitors around and spanked them with an electric paddle.
A glass wall bearing the Funny Face rose over the gates of Steeplechase in 1908 and grinned upon thrillseekers for 56 years, until the park’s foreclosure in 1964.
The following year, Freddy Trump bought the property and hoped to convert it to waterfront housing. To preempt the city from declaring the park a protected landmark, Trump held a public stoning handing out bricks to fellow scum, they threw them through the Funny Face’s bared teeth.
Running on empty.
walked the alps for a fortnight or so. At my stay in Rosenlaui, I had the convenience to confer upon the degree of a Neophyte, I passed quite brilliantly through this year as Probationer. During vesper in solitude, I am quite sensitive to interruptions; as if from behind an invisible partition, I heard a rattling noise. Like someone’s gasping for oxygen. A sufferer, I called him, muttering to myself. I pictured him half-fathomed, strung on a crooked spine, the scent of smouldering lemon tarts in a saucer, but still very young alas, a week’s growth of fur.
I hear you---
CURRO AD PERPETUUM CURRO VACUUS CURRO CAECUS CONTINUATUM IN CURSU SOLEM SED SERO SUM
By these words I felt dragged behind the chariot of a secret order. But its chains of such exquisite temper, that it might be beaten into shiver, to cut loose again. Hither and yonder his voice.
The horror! The horror! There’s America I said, I had to say something at least.
PER-DU-RA-BO, Stefan „Jackson“ Tcherepnin & Yannic Joray
2014 - 2017: The Missing Years
10 December 2016 - 4 February 2017
In anticipation of the coming Equinox, The Missing Years have congregated here, at Francesca Pia
I collected a good many boughs, rotten and golden ones, and promised myself to stick them together while studying old press releases, to renew my ancient loves with the creeds of the gullies. --- which I did last month; but it struck me that it would be convenient to show the paintings from Coney Island.
Coney Island with the Funny Face of Steeplechase. Steeplechase park, with its neo-Classical architecture and manicured gardens--- but also hidden fans beneath the Boardwalk entrance that blew girls` skirts up over their waists, as well as a clown faced dwarf that chased visitors around and spanked them with an electric paddle.
A glass wall bearing the Funny Face rose over the gates of Steeplechase in 1908 and grinned upon thrillseekers for 56 years, until the park’s foreclosure in 1964.
The following year, Freddy Trump bought the property and hoped to convert it to waterfront housing. To preempt the city from declaring the park a protected landmark, Trump held a public stoning handing out bricks to fellow scum, they threw them through the Funny Face’s bared teeth.
Running on empty.
walked the alps for a fortnight or so. At my stay in Rosenlaui, I had the convenience to confer upon the degree of a Neophyte, I passed quite brilliantly through this year as Probationer. During vesper in solitude, I am quite sensitive to interruptions; as if from behind an invisible partition, I heard a rattling noise. Like someone’s gasping for oxygen. A sufferer, I called him, muttering to myself. I pictured him half-fathomed, strung on a crooked spine, the scent of smouldering lemon tarts in a saucer, but still very young alas, a week’s growth of fur.
I hear you---
CURRO AD PERPETUUM CURRO VACUUS CURRO CAECUS CONTINUATUM IN CURSU SOLEM SED SERO SUM
By these words I felt dragged behind the chariot of a secret order. But its chains of such exquisite temper, that it might be beaten into shiver, to cut loose again. Hither and yonder his voice.
The horror! The horror! There’s America I said, I had to say something at least.
PER-DU-RA-BO, Stefan „Jackson“ Tcherepnin & Yannic Joray