Perejuame
09 Jun - 16 Jul 2011
PEREJAUME
Exvotos
9 June - 16 July, 2011
Next Thursday 9th of June Galería Soledad Lorenzo presents Exvotos, last exhibion in Madrid by Perejuame.
In L'Entretien infini (The Infinite Conversation) Maurice Blanchot interrupts the danger of an infinite loss of sense of direction by an indisputable sentence: A book is simply a stratagem by means of which writing is self-directed towards the absence of the book. Literature as the most clamorous ambition to disappear. Do you remember? Literature as an enormous cloud of dust stirred up by a rhinoceros, invisible behind the grey curtain that the animal creates as he treads the ground. This is the true sense of the literary text and that of all other possible works: to convert the desire of not doing so in the only legitimate operating method. Despite the fact that there are many who pretend to read the particles of dust. This sort of aesthetic imperative translates itself into an Orphic contradiction. Art is an almost ostentatious product of its own constant extension, intent on moving forward until it reaches its own disappearance. To be right in choosing the correct way to remain quiet is, in fact just as foolish as becoming obsessed in seeing what is invisible as being invisible. This is the inevitable failure of art, whether it is in so far as speaking about what is unnameable or as a gaze placed on what must remain in darkness. That is its failure and, in spite of everything, its final raison d’être.
Perejaume, facing a deaf auditorium, and obstinate in keeping the show going, has been trying to express that double quandary for a long time now. On the one hand, ever since the beginning of the nineties he has continually repeated the need to peel the paint off, undoing, blurring and giving back the words and images to the place where things belong. He even suggested bringing exhibitions to an end in Dejar de hacer una exposicion –Stop doing exhibitions (MACBA, 1999) as a unique justifiable formula with which to do something with his works. As for the inevitable tragic nature which such a contradiction involves, Perejaume supports it in an open way without the need of searching for a dialectical solution.
What a strange thing to have opened a workshop amongst the trees! On the one hand with my work I am delaying the forest occupation of the space where I work. On the other hand, I am increasing the number of trees with the new ones that take shape under my hands. It is difficult to guess what I am doing in the workshop with regards to the forest activity: does my work help promote it or am I holding it up? When I ask myself what has impelled me to come here for so many days, I no longer know what is more important. (Pagèsiques. Unpublished)
Exvotos
9 June - 16 July, 2011
Next Thursday 9th of June Galería Soledad Lorenzo presents Exvotos, last exhibion in Madrid by Perejuame.
In L'Entretien infini (The Infinite Conversation) Maurice Blanchot interrupts the danger of an infinite loss of sense of direction by an indisputable sentence: A book is simply a stratagem by means of which writing is self-directed towards the absence of the book. Literature as the most clamorous ambition to disappear. Do you remember? Literature as an enormous cloud of dust stirred up by a rhinoceros, invisible behind the grey curtain that the animal creates as he treads the ground. This is the true sense of the literary text and that of all other possible works: to convert the desire of not doing so in the only legitimate operating method. Despite the fact that there are many who pretend to read the particles of dust. This sort of aesthetic imperative translates itself into an Orphic contradiction. Art is an almost ostentatious product of its own constant extension, intent on moving forward until it reaches its own disappearance. To be right in choosing the correct way to remain quiet is, in fact just as foolish as becoming obsessed in seeing what is invisible as being invisible. This is the inevitable failure of art, whether it is in so far as speaking about what is unnameable or as a gaze placed on what must remain in darkness. That is its failure and, in spite of everything, its final raison d’être.
Perejaume, facing a deaf auditorium, and obstinate in keeping the show going, has been trying to express that double quandary for a long time now. On the one hand, ever since the beginning of the nineties he has continually repeated the need to peel the paint off, undoing, blurring and giving back the words and images to the place where things belong. He even suggested bringing exhibitions to an end in Dejar de hacer una exposicion –Stop doing exhibitions (MACBA, 1999) as a unique justifiable formula with which to do something with his works. As for the inevitable tragic nature which such a contradiction involves, Perejaume supports it in an open way without the need of searching for a dialectical solution.
What a strange thing to have opened a workshop amongst the trees! On the one hand with my work I am delaying the forest occupation of the space where I work. On the other hand, I am increasing the number of trees with the new ones that take shape under my hands. It is difficult to guess what I am doing in the workshop with regards to the forest activity: does my work help promote it or am I holding it up? When I ask myself what has impelled me to come here for so many days, I no longer know what is more important. (Pagèsiques. Unpublished)