Digging into the still unsettled soil of the 1990's, Algus pulls out another corpse for display. Is it a martyr or just a bad painter? or both ;-) From AO's recent on-site investigation we have concluded that, for reasons that escape us, no one cares. Is there a lacking alchemical essence, No solve et coagula that heats the seat of so many doe-eyed art critics? Yet what's on view is certainly worthy a glance. Most notably for its inverted take on art's lingering monographic obsessions as Hohn––himself facing the reaper's sickle––imagines gerhard richter's early death so as to piss on the old fart's heteronormative grave. The intricate Nachträglichkeit of being German has never before been so felt (or maybe it has, but only by Annette Schwarz), praise god, hail satan!
Hohn's frank statements, sometimes painted atop an "anal" wash or backdrop, elicit a train of connotations and ponderings; it's not hard to finish the punch line, follow the trail of urine and dook into whipsy hazes of knowing ineptitude. These works demand to be taken as a collection of ironic one-liners, despite all appearances of this work falling in line with recent Teutons' adorable criticality. They are total performative acts of painterly sacriledge, of singing heavy metal like a "faggot", of sodomizing aristocrats with a sunday painter's easel. An aptitude of cultivated insensitivity, shamelessly diving headlong into overdetermined painterly rough trades, as in Tan Enamel, 1993, a large canvas from a series in which abstraction is equated with abjection, where these works' alchemy is lead into gold but gold into excrement. Hohn's staged blasphemes of painted desecration and belligerent commentary both swap the painter's studio for a body whose sickness is an outrage––figuring a painting that is an explicit act of protest against the hegemonic valuations of a politically indifferent elite; confronting the viewer with the hazards of art and its miraculous potential––an alchemy created by the adversarial coupling of its basest material.