Kim Hiorthøy
22 Feb - 30 Mar 2013
KIM HIORTHØY
The Future Of Local Music
22 February – 30 March 2013
STANDARD (OSLO) is proud to present an exhibition with new works by Kim Hiorthøy. Entitled "The Future of Local Music", the exhibition comprises of recent graphite drawings and watercolour paintings. At the moment 32 of them are stored downstairs in the gallery. Some of those will make it into the exhibition. Others will not.
"Poetry is the reopening of the indefinite, the ironic act of exceeding the established meaning of words. [...] While social communication is a limited process, language is boundless: its potentiality is not limited to the limits of the signified. Poetry is language's excess, the signifier disentangled from the limits of the signified."
—Franco Bifo, The Uprising, on Poetry and Finance
If you can't make it good, make it big. If you can't make it big, make it red. There might have been some desperation on display at that Liste presentation in Basel in 2004. The work was begging for attention – easily visible from the entrance of the room where we were located on the lower ground floor. That floor that is so easily missed by many when manoeuvring through the old brewery in Burgweg; Liste is about remaining loyal to the map, climbing a lot of stairs and staying keenly alert avoiding to miss out on what might be of more than medium interesting. This work, however, didn't require a recent refuelling of espressos for you to notice. It was blood red. That is to say it was blood red, with a hint of tomato, stop sign and Christmas gift wrapping paper. It did the trick.
It had sold by the time this other woman approached it, some time later in the week, walked up to it, studied it, stepped back, studied further and swivelled around towards me and asked the question: "Is this the only one he has done or would he be willing to make portraits of other people's children?" I glimpsed right onto the painting. Then looked at the woman. Then looked back to the painting. Across the surface were two children running. They were collaged onto the canvas in a scrappy black and white quality. With flames coming out of their backs. Whether the background was blood red, tomato red, stop sign red, or Christmas gift red was insignificant – the result could not be anything but disturbing. She was serious, which was of serious concern: why would a mother commission a portrait of her children running in panic with flames coming out of their backs? To serve as a conversation piece during dinner parties ("That's Peter Jr. on the left by the way")? To hang in a bedroom and serve as a reminder of Mum's affection after she had kissed them good night and turned off the light (the red still glowing in the dark)? Or to serve as a reminder for Mum and Dad of what their children looked like once they had departed for boarding school (wouldn't a Thomas Ruff photograph be more accurate if still a whole lot pricier)? I may have lost out on some money, at least for the artist, when responding "I hardly think so". She swivelled again and left up the staircase. It's been almost nine years. Her children should be adults by now.
None of the works are red this time around. No children are appearing. There are no flames either, but a fair few of the people appearing are running around wild with knives stabbed into their backs. If anybody asks, Kim has informed me that he's willing to do portraits.
The Future Of Local Music
22 February – 30 March 2013
STANDARD (OSLO) is proud to present an exhibition with new works by Kim Hiorthøy. Entitled "The Future of Local Music", the exhibition comprises of recent graphite drawings and watercolour paintings. At the moment 32 of them are stored downstairs in the gallery. Some of those will make it into the exhibition. Others will not.
"Poetry is the reopening of the indefinite, the ironic act of exceeding the established meaning of words. [...] While social communication is a limited process, language is boundless: its potentiality is not limited to the limits of the signified. Poetry is language's excess, the signifier disentangled from the limits of the signified."
—Franco Bifo, The Uprising, on Poetry and Finance
If you can't make it good, make it big. If you can't make it big, make it red. There might have been some desperation on display at that Liste presentation in Basel in 2004. The work was begging for attention – easily visible from the entrance of the room where we were located on the lower ground floor. That floor that is so easily missed by many when manoeuvring through the old brewery in Burgweg; Liste is about remaining loyal to the map, climbing a lot of stairs and staying keenly alert avoiding to miss out on what might be of more than medium interesting. This work, however, didn't require a recent refuelling of espressos for you to notice. It was blood red. That is to say it was blood red, with a hint of tomato, stop sign and Christmas gift wrapping paper. It did the trick.
It had sold by the time this other woman approached it, some time later in the week, walked up to it, studied it, stepped back, studied further and swivelled around towards me and asked the question: "Is this the only one he has done or would he be willing to make portraits of other people's children?" I glimpsed right onto the painting. Then looked at the woman. Then looked back to the painting. Across the surface were two children running. They were collaged onto the canvas in a scrappy black and white quality. With flames coming out of their backs. Whether the background was blood red, tomato red, stop sign red, or Christmas gift red was insignificant – the result could not be anything but disturbing. She was serious, which was of serious concern: why would a mother commission a portrait of her children running in panic with flames coming out of their backs? To serve as a conversation piece during dinner parties ("That's Peter Jr. on the left by the way")? To hang in a bedroom and serve as a reminder of Mum's affection after she had kissed them good night and turned off the light (the red still glowing in the dark)? Or to serve as a reminder for Mum and Dad of what their children looked like once they had departed for boarding school (wouldn't a Thomas Ruff photograph be more accurate if still a whole lot pricier)? I may have lost out on some money, at least for the artist, when responding "I hardly think so". She swivelled again and left up the staircase. It's been almost nine years. Her children should be adults by now.
None of the works are red this time around. No children are appearing. There are no flames either, but a fair few of the people appearing are running around wild with knives stabbed into their backs. If anybody asks, Kim has informed me that he's willing to do portraits.