Sakshi Gupta, Avinash Veeraraghavan
31 Mar - 30 Apr 2011
SAKSHI GUPTA, AVINASH VEERARAGHAVAN
Crazy Jane and Jack The Journeyman
31 March - 30 April, 2011
In the end there was a tree painted on her face, cherry blossoms, and it read besides, “Something you will never really see...”
If travel is searching
And home has been found
I'm not stopping
I'm going hunting
I'm the hunter
I'll bring back the goods
But I don't know when
I thought I could organize freedom
How Scandinavian of me
You sussed it out, didn't you?
You could smell it
So you left me on my own
To complete the mission
Now I'm leaving it all behind
I'm Going hunting
I'm the hunter, I'm the hunter
I'm going hunting
I'm ... the ... hunter...
-Hunter - Bjork
“Go out and walk in the world,” said she finally at the very end of this journey; private, confusing, misunderstood, and a complete hallucination from the outside. For reasons inexplicable it was a journey that had to be made still, shallow perhaps and completely solitary even though it was necessary. A psychic journey through endless thoughts and plots, morals and conspiracies, dreams and hopes, and where all mundane reality did was supply the clues to proceed from one destination to the next. Mirror, Mirror, He kept imagining to see a bird arrive so large, beautiful and frightening at the same time. And for some reason, the bird hated him, he hated himself.
Layers upon layers, signs and symbols, patterns and texts, accumulated slowly one on top of the other to build a soild body of dreams buffered by immense fear and crass desire. The friction caused by the two opposing forces generated wicked mirages: an ocean where there was possibly none? A whole where there were only parts? He found himself in a tableau of a dense and incomprehensible forest, dressed up through repetition and make believe. Harmless and safe, yet within the dream it held the capacity for real danger and paralysis.
The foolish, sheepish Hero now quickly and briefly summerizes his tragic but insignificant voyage that has no meaning or significance to anybody but himself.
Crazy Jane and Jack The Journeyman
31 March - 30 April, 2011
In the end there was a tree painted on her face, cherry blossoms, and it read besides, “Something you will never really see...”
If travel is searching
And home has been found
I'm not stopping
I'm going hunting
I'm the hunter
I'll bring back the goods
But I don't know when
I thought I could organize freedom
How Scandinavian of me
You sussed it out, didn't you?
You could smell it
So you left me on my own
To complete the mission
Now I'm leaving it all behind
I'm Going hunting
I'm the hunter, I'm the hunter
I'm going hunting
I'm ... the ... hunter...
-Hunter - Bjork
“Go out and walk in the world,” said she finally at the very end of this journey; private, confusing, misunderstood, and a complete hallucination from the outside. For reasons inexplicable it was a journey that had to be made still, shallow perhaps and completely solitary even though it was necessary. A psychic journey through endless thoughts and plots, morals and conspiracies, dreams and hopes, and where all mundane reality did was supply the clues to proceed from one destination to the next. Mirror, Mirror, He kept imagining to see a bird arrive so large, beautiful and frightening at the same time. And for some reason, the bird hated him, he hated himself.
Layers upon layers, signs and symbols, patterns and texts, accumulated slowly one on top of the other to build a soild body of dreams buffered by immense fear and crass desire. The friction caused by the two opposing forces generated wicked mirages: an ocean where there was possibly none? A whole where there were only parts? He found himself in a tableau of a dense and incomprehensible forest, dressed up through repetition and make believe. Harmless and safe, yet within the dream it held the capacity for real danger and paralysis.
The foolish, sheepish Hero now quickly and briefly summerizes his tragic but insignificant voyage that has no meaning or significance to anybody but himself.