1 comment | posted Jun 28
Inasmuch as art is to possess any meaning to me it has to be able to provide me with
certain type of experience which I call soteriological-momental, sotomomental experience.
I mean here a special sensation ( in this case the artistic one ) on the one hand based on
my "now"; imbued with its concrete, direct power of impact. On the other hand, however
saturated with the synthetic intensity of bewildering impressive flashes, Byzantine moods
and emotions, and also unusual hieratic thought circles
post a comment | posted Jun 28
I cannot see any sense of art as a space to experiment over a new type of organizing
forms, evoking a new type of experience, a new type of participation in culture etc.
I cannot bear any longer the blunt mumble of the sort : "the art for masses...",
"art is an intelligent manipulation with form..."...
post a comment | posted Jun 28
2.3 A decadent in face of modern art...
Sunt quaedam formosa adeo, deformia si sint ;
Et tunc cum multum displicuere, placent.
There are things beautiful because deformed
and those we like, simultaneously disgusting them.
Celia Calcagni
post a comment | posted Jun 28
And here is decadence ! It starts to fester again in our exhausted
brains and clattered hearts. Again execrating despair pushes us into
wasting off these sentences : no simple domistication : no permanent
port, in pleroma of clear ideas and theories... ; no lies about homeland -
collective duty or common obligations any more. No myths of gradual
growth of universal happiness and general progress, no "self-evident" and
self-regulating image of life which is to be normative, and productive...
post a comment | posted Jun 28
1. We, decadents...
Only mirrors are left to us... rare, self-conscious successors.
We sit in front of them and look into our own eyes.
What reflects in them ? Nobody counts reflections any longer...
nobody is looking forward to the sparks of power which would
be created by their new accretions and configurations.
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