[THE SPIRIT OF THE TIMES (ART AS INTERNET)
(FLAVOR,BENEFIT)(100% COCONUT WATER DISERVES 100% PUNISHMENT, YOU WILL ROT IN HELL FOR YOUR PRESS RELEASES, YOUR LUST FOR YOUTH AND YOUR FLEXIBLE ROSTER OF ARTISTS BUILT ON A LOVE OF MONEY, A LOVE OF MONEY AND A VAGUE, EVER-MUTATING BULLSHIT IDEA OF "AVANT-GARDE", YOUR DROPPING OF THE WORD "SPECTACLE", AAAARRRRRRHHHHHHGGGGUUUUUUUUHHHHHH I AM BURNING WITH SO MUCH FUCKN HAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYT)
human = garbage]
In the future we are garbage, human garbage. Will we blame the Internet? Probably: it will have replaced our atmosphere from its years of being-at-work-staying-the-same, its slowly revealed entelechy as a cosmic air conditioner. Sighing, we’ll log on to breathe, to research fossilized episodes of Hoarders—a vain attempt to drape a veil of sense on the catastrophic routine of our unsanitary cosmos. In the learned scrutiny of these vids, will we come to see how we abandoned the givenness of the naturally received world for the jouissance of the cybernetic masseuse? Realize that we prefer lathering scenes of Wall-E with our eager human discharge: warm cum, vaginal excrete, toe fungus, fingernail grime, asshair lint, et cetera? That over anything else we prefer to generate this operable lubricant for our machinic enslavement to the technology of uncontested selfhood, the sovereign “you” whose militantly-defended atomization within this world of trash meta-materializes in JST CHILLIN?
Here we have an exhibition in the ground zero of this entropic inevitability: 21st-century Bushwick. If we are contemporaries of leaks, data floods and chilling masses, we also live in a time where smart fridges curate healthy meals and group shows. A harvested accretion of poor postures of long hours spent chilling online—the physical discipline of the boot camp with its rigid backs and its eye-meeting servitude swapped for atrophied limbs, gym memberships and carpal tunnel surgeries for an inexorably good time.
The latin word Informare means “to give form to the mind”, to “instruct”, to “teach”. Just as it is required to have a sense of the grandiose to conceive and launch a new movement using the model of Neen art in a dim-witted fashion that englobes all aspects of “serious” culture—and its least commendable signifiers, eg. internet art about greek art—the light hearted Informare art beamed on the walls of today’s cyber cultural hubs is a Rancho Relaxo Informo—in other words: I am given form to in a relaxing ranch.
Will there be a JST CHILLING exhibition in the year 3011? Will it be as strange as the opening of a Contemporary Art Daily black box, with its myriads of jpgs of promiscuous merchandise, all surprising and beautiful? Or will it look almost like this website JST CHILLING, assembled with love and care and a lot of work? One thing is sure, by accelerating time, the internet has profoundly changed our ideas about ourselves and about history.