YOUR LIGHT IS MY DARKNESS (Part III)
Curated by Michaela Kühn.
May 6 – June 11
Gerhard Hofland is proud to present the third part of the exhibition-project ”Your Light is My Darkness.”. From Berlin to Hamburg and finally Amsterdam, the exhibition brings together the artists:
Michael Kirkham, Damien Cadio, Sebastian Gögel, Julius Hofmann, Philip Grözinger, Stu Mead, Henning Kles, Silard Isaak, Alex Tennigkeit and Namio Harukawa.
The sculptures, drawings, paintings, and collages, despite diverse media and scales, have one commonality: the mediation of fetish, pornography and absurdity as inspiration and subject for the artist.
“Every work of art is an uncommitted crime” (Theodor W. Adorno, Minima Moralia 1944)
Your Light is My Darkness Artists are used to visitors. The ateliers into which they invite them are not very pleasant—paintings hang crooked on smudged walls and half-eaten sandwiches lie in ashtrays. The spaces smell and the artists sit taciturn and ill-tempered in their armchairs. Their paintings are monsters, uncanny things that want to be seen. With grinning vehemence they have insisted on their right to exist and they want their viewers to know it. They shriek: Look at me! Here I am! I exist, because I had to. They fulfill desires that cannot be satisfied anywhere else, they are the warm fingers that lure the viewer into the darkroom of the fine arts. The artists brought together here are lawyers of monstrosities. Their visitors, fans, and collectors are their clients; their paintings are both plea and evidence in the endless trial of humanity’s abyss. Despite their aggressive radical gestures, like good citizens they offer a conventional solution to a conventional problem: their paintings create a space without morals, they are the forbidden room lacking in every middle-class household—the room in which Dr. Jekyll transforms into Mr. Hyde. Their existence makes this metamorphosis obsolete. The paintings allow the co-optation of the monstrous and have more than once prevented the bourgeois subject from ripping itself to shreds. They speak to those who want to understand them, who need them and they tell the others loudly, glaringly, about a world they know nothing about.
But this world exists and it is part of life, the artists say, before fishing the sandwich out of the ashtray and devouring it in full view. Artists are used to visitors, they are used to being bad hosts. They receive their visitors in a space where freedom reigns. They receive visitors who have no idea how nasty that freedom sometimes tastes.