Saturday, February 12, 2011

Maybe not the Woerst of 2010, entry #3:Free @ NuMu

photo courtesy of disimages

“And in our ignorance we let them take control
And in their wisdom they decreed that we should bow
Their grips extending to encompass all the world
The cages open to accommodate the crowd
When we put our lives into their hands
We put our hands into their chains”
- Amebix

A 17-story shitshow of the latest, most neo-liberal, dumbly naive and repulsive incarnations of overdetermined transparency, democracy and corporate-sponsored leftovers of “generational” tater tots. Etsy-esque in its user-generated fascism, countless with rampant sophisms that no seriously-minded institution could ever afford to approach with a ten foot pole… Free is chock-full o' WAGE-certified ingredients that make up this ideologically indigestible “magister smoothie” of entartete mediocrity.

Offering yet another example of the fanatical recasting of contemporary media’s enslaving jouissance as emancipatory artistic content, this exhibition's curatorial fixation on the vaporous stuff of digital ether—that evaporated substance whose mercurial relation to value maintains the post-Fordist bottom line—makes apparent the literal economy of form so crucial to the tumescent careers of young contemporary artists. With this artistic and curatorial inscription of emancipation onto the back of no-cost content, services and enthusiasms, it is necessary for one to critically examine their monadic relation to the communal becoming of this accursed share. We must parse our exegetical tie to the servile economy of these digitized potlatches; plumb the sumptuous abandon to which we subject our selves to this communal overflowing of marketable subject-identities. It remains up to the user-generated proletariat of self to will a discursive agency capable of contesting the very techniques of connexionist knowledge that foster its present conscription. And all while not lapsing into the affirmative cynicisms or catastrophic atavisms that have come to demarcate many of contemporary art's operative sites. That the coils of a serpent are more complex than the burrows of a molehill almost goes without noting given the context of Free, blah, blah, blah…

Another exhibition in a long line that continues to demonstrate that Marcia Tucker's lower-case museum has further left its socialist-inspired, non-museological roots in the dust with yet another group of bankable up-and-comers who make work "like, kind of about the internet," work perfectly sited for the 21st-century kunsthalle. Despite her noted sense of humor, Marcia no doubt rolls over in her grave once again.

score: 666 million BrätschWörsts

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