Thursday, November 18, 2010

pure ravishing grimness


while we here at AO are slowly warming up to the idea of publishing art criticism about less obvious targets, the tired, formless faces of the subhumans dragging tired repressed facebook bodies in the streets of the metropolis and the accumulation of increasingly decadent forms of cultural blasphemies reminds us that the finest dish one finds when out for free thrills on a Thursday night at the New Museum is not dumplings or void discursivity—although one surely finds a lot of that—it is PURE HATRED. There is nothing like the NuMu to stir up and actualize deeply held heartfelt monarchist convictions...


is there anything in the NuMu—this temple of pure ravishing grimness where everything in place brutally assaults non-cybernetic thought, reaps lifeforms and militarizes "queer"—that doesn't call for a special tribunal against itself? while a lot on view at least offers a sacred orgonic tabernacle for PURE EXECRATION, AO only remembers very bad things from the NuMu date, adding to which countless others have been traumatically suppressed. here are artifacts that achieved the simultaneous traumatic value and putrid vileness required to win an AOWJM ZIVILISATIONSUNTERGANG AWARD!

1 - Takeshi Murata's fully retarded, autistic and surprisingly reactionary remake of now copyright-free popeye. long rendering times unfortunately cannot mask the vile stench..

2 - Rashaad Newsome's anal retentive, vacuous hipster collages from google image searches, framed in vintage gold frames borrow from all things low and manage to sink somewhat lower with added lameness. can such putrefaction be understood, as the moronic wall text suggests, to imitate hip-hop in its potential to "elicit emotional and visceral responses that can be universally recognized and felt"? hopefully, yes...

3 - Amanda Ross-Ho's terrible, highly bloggable and brutally camp hipster art. Pure hellenistic detritus? Trash-humping beside itself?

Honorable mention: NateLo's process-based addendum to a pestilential cluster of crafty detritus (in The Last Newspaper), DJ's playing loud music to a wall of dash snow collages, etc.

shows like these really make visible deterritorialized capital's tendency to justify itself by all means necessary as soon as it happens to slip beyond traditional models of relevance (or morality). what could possibly save this frigid neoliberal bunker from the inverted putrescence it's become a champion of?
could a curatorial program rooted in incest at least pack some donk?

AO wants order and discipline! HAIL SATAN

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