SOMETHING MUST BREAK

we curate.

[somethingmustbreak-project]

“Clumsy and Milky: encoding the last quarter of a pose”

Curated by Something Must Break

at White Noise Gallery, Rome IT

“ I tried to show you the best parts of me, the most edgy, composed, winking and generous of futile details, and I turned my silhouette into its own artifact orthogonal essence. Three plans, three quarters, simultaneously. Fractionated segments, carefully selected to make sure that you will look at me, for sure.

I hoped I could show you only the good, the best, like through a pleasant profile picture, in which I am the image itself of your admiration, the contemplation of a perfectly-accomplished connotation inside the space of a narrow geometry. I’m like you imagined. The protruding cheekbones, the winking curves drawn by the compass, concluding in a squared jaw; the edgy nose when viewed from above, the languid, transparent glance, two newborn’s patinated-of-nothing colored eyes. The torso slightly turned, a tuft of hair turned between the fingers.

You said you loved me, and now you are disappointed. It 's true. I’m not as you thought. Not orthogonal at all, or appropriately squared. I'm so clumsy, and you're so beautiful. I wanted to please you, for just a moment, a very short time, before everything ended, before disappointing you. I quickly hid all the rest, so ungainly, milky and inhomogeneous, the last plane of that axonometry that is the pose of an uncanny shape. But I never lied to you, never. I just wanted to keep seeing you talk about me so proud, openly, and feeling connected to me, to my three quarters, to the clumsy sensuality that I could not hide between my back and shoulder... Accept me ... I'm what you desired ... “

Something Must Break

June 7 - July 27, 2018

Something Must Break © 2018 All Rights Reserved. 

[somethingmustbreak-project]

“Assiette ou Virage et Dérapage”

Text by Natalya Serkova

If Thumbelina had to travel not on the back of the swallow but by a motorcycle, she would have hardly managed to keep her wedding dress and her tiny bows unrumpled. It is not only that riding a bike requires special gear: a helmet, gloves or a leather jacket. More than that, unlike immersion into a comfortable womb of a car or a swallow’s soft feathers, riding a motorcycle requires an equal complicity in the breakneck ride on the part of the traveller. A motorcycle is an example of a perfect hybrid of a human and a vehicle. Once astride a motorcycle, riders not only partake of the speed and the slaps of the head wind, slaps of dust, of sounds or of the ground, but they also have to fully merge with the motorcycle, to repeat its curves with the curves of their own bodies. The more complete this conjunction between the body and the vehicle, the better the riders can steer and control it, the more stable and well balanced their position is on the saddle. Those who seek to achieve an effective contact with this mechanism made of metal, rubber and leather have to become the extension of it, an outgrowth on its mechanical body that enables it to wake up and come into action.

Such an amalgamation does not mean that the vehicle engulfs its “second engine”, its human outgrowth. Just like the intestines of the motorcycle that are exposed, pulled inside out, the motorcycle itself always seeks to expand outward. It does not devour, but, with the help of powerful sounds, high speed and the sparks from its wheels at steep turns, works to expand whatever accompanies it in its movement. Everything that comes clear of the ground and is ready to follow the motorbike’s metal curves, turns into a shining, a gas, a rumble. A motorcycle continuously multiplies itself in all this shining and noise, capable of taking on new parts that are willing to be absorbed  and expanding itself to an unknown extent. But given this expansion, does the motorcycle remain what it used to be before? Or does it become a bleak reflection of its former self shimmering with its smooth, cool intestines and turning all the new parts into a semblance of itself? Every brand new thumb, every human or non-human outgrowth forces the entire motorcycle system, not just the wheels alone, into constant motion. The mutation can escalate to such an extent as to make it impossible to tell whether it is a parasitic outgrowth, hiding among the parts of the vehicle, or a vehicle that has become a parasitic virus of a weird shape that eludes the logic of functional driving.

It has become impossible to separate the parts from their bearer, because the bearer is now little more than a sum total of its constituent parts assembled in a somewhat random manner. The infinite expansion and annexation of yet more parts prompts an incessant renewal of the entire body. We are no longer sure which point in time and space we should select in order to be able to give a proper name to whatever it is that we are facing. If the motorcycle is a parasitic virus that is revived by every contact with a creature such as a human being, it means that it is hardwired—they way all viruses are—not only to mutate, but also to deftly elude the eyes of strangers. This is exactly why in contrast to a car, a motorcycle is naked: you do not have to hide or tear the surface membrane that is simply not there. Yet at the same time, its shiny, sleek, smooth, glossy surfaces are meant to distract anyone who manages to catch a glimpse of them. Will the multiplication of these surfaces and of their shine turn into the multiplication of their deceptions? Or, taken to extremes, thus will detonate the logic of the vehicle from within, unleashing the powers previously hidden inside? Thumbelina landing happily on her swallow next to an elvish prince notices a brand new bike behind his back.

Nomadic, fulfilling disposition of non-familiar shapes: Assiette ou Virage et Dérapage

Inspired by the documentation modality used to describe an art work through its details, "Assiette ou Virage et Dérapage" is a project anchored to the idea that the Minor Circumstance of such images often exhibits the most material and fulfilling aspect of the object, letting visual pleasure have the best on the imaginary / imaginative concept of the artwork. Obliged to relate to a restricted space, cynically sensual already, seven artists dialogued with the exhibition space cannibalizing an aesthetic that we all know and which we has been influenced and sometimes distracted in these years. The hateful, common, coarse, and deplorable mistakes that inspired this project are essentially two: How does an installation view reveal of the project, the curatorial thought, and the gallerist ambitions? And how often does it only show the depressing interior designer ability of the curator and the proud complacency of rampant estate owner? And when it comes to the artist: sure to choose from the dozens of photos of details the one that can best express the concept of the work, he is instead distracted as a child by the twinkle of a chromed metal, excited by the curve of a a form that reminds us some car advertising . The art works are the center of any topic that interests art, but they are often misunderstood and then chosen for the most simplistic and approximate reasons. The operation is simple and mocking. The viewer is made responsible. Will he stop on a superficial and consolatory reading? Let him. Everything is in order and prepared for this to happen, because he does not bother too much and convinces himself that everything is fine. Perhaps he would prefer to feel cuddled by those images he recognizes and loves. That he needs. Satisfying and feticist images.

Dangerous double curve, the first to the left.

Something Must Break 2017

  Monia Ben Hamouda Vitaly Bezpalov Alessandro Di Pietro Jibril Esposito Michele Gabriele Dorota Gaweda & Egle Kulbokaite Lucia Leuci

contribution text by Natalya Serkova

curated by Something Must Break

14th November 2017 Milan IT Something Must Break © 2017 All Rights Reserved. 

[somethingmustbreak-project]

“You would like that we were not here. But we are too emotionally absorbed by the homesickness of places that we’ll see only from the windows of our Bentleys”

An environment seemingly unreachable: familiar to us as much as distant.

Paul Barsch Pierre Clement Michele Gabriele Andrew Birk Nuno Patrício Lucia Leuci Monia Ben Hamouda

With text contributions by Keiu Krikmann and Matteo Mottin. Concept, documentation, curation: Michele Gabriele.

She is driving, angry. She is driving, sad. She’s been driving for hours, nowhere in particular – post-fight. Highway, industrial landscape – in transit. By now, together with fading daylight her mind is turning soggy and dropping off, out of focus. Her eyes are on the road, thoughts floating around her; some circling back, again and again.

She’s worn out from the fight, her emotional state and the smothering synthetic smell in her car are stirring up something; the spiralling thoughts are gathering, she’s driving into a vortex.

Barely acknowledging it, she glimpses things she isn’t really sure are there, objects or images she can’t place – superfluous and not part of the landscape. A flash of blue sky, when it’s clearly getting dark. A round pattern, a bit detached and too close – what – doesn’t matter. The bitterness and chafed vibes from before and the stuffiness of the car are closing in on her – leaving little room for anything outside – pickled, probed and gray – ugh, can she even be??

All the fights she’s had in this car! Why do arguments always happen in the car? And then you are stuck in a wildfire in a tin box with no escape – that is just the worst.

With mom it had been long passive-aggressive streaks. Their fights were thick, like expired plasticine or shit, you couldn’t get it off of you, you couldn’t get the smell out. And the level of pettiness was unreal.

Something registered – like – she doesn’t – umm no.

And then, with her – heavy screaming, fights so intense they were physically exhausting. It had obviously not always been like that, but eventually she had grow to resent everything about her, she had grown to hate her hair in particular, sometimes at night she had thought she’s gonna cut her fucking hair off in a clump. Cut and run – just leave it – just –. Heavy beats, gasping for air. Get – get the – fuck – fuck – out – out of – my car. I don’t get mad!

A story so cliché she was embarrassed to admit it. Another unplaceable object faintly flickered in corner of her eye, or in her mind’s eye, or somewhere in-between.

She now knows for sure, this car is a vehicle of fights – she can’t get the exhaust fumes of confrontations out, everything is drenched in it. She needs a new car to vanquish the spirits. Somewhere along the road she has become like all those women laughing alone with salad, quietly gone mad – and she – will go off – blow off – up – and beyond. The neon letters are all fucked up, she can’t read the signs anymore. This one’s gone to the vortex.

– Keiu Krikmann

___________________________

Facebook THU 12.01.2017 – 2:14 PM

MG: Hello Matteo, I wanted to ask you if you could come visit me one of these days. There’s something I’d like to show you. MM: Sounds good! What’s that about? Where do you wanna meet? MG: Let’s meet at the Seregno’s trains station, early in the morning. Catch the first train you can. And let me know by what time you’ll be there. MM: I could be there next Wednesday. I’ll catch the train in Turin at 5.50 AM and I’ll be in Seregno by 7.30. How about that? MG: That’s great Matte! MM: What is this all about? MG: I’ve got a few things to show you. Telling you wouldn’t be the same. You must see them yourself.

Seregno WED 7:32 AM

MM: Hello there Michele, it’s so good to see you here, just like the first time we met, when I came for the studio visit. MG: There you are, of course I remember! Seregno never changes, like all these area actually. It waits for you but it never helps. MM: On that matter, what’s awaiting me in Seregno today? MG: We’re just leaving, we’re going to Milan. Please, get in the car. That’s no Bentley, some call it my wheelchair, but it’s still carrying me around. MM: Why are we going to Milan? Did you change your mind? I’d have waited for you there if you told me. MG: We must go there together. Shall we leave? MM: Do you mind if I keep this recorder on? MG: Not at all.

WED 7:48 AM

MG: Look at this tunnel here, it connects Brianza and Milan. I used to get stuck in traffic for hours to get to the city center before this was built. I believe it has had a strong influence on my production, esthetically speaking. Look at the colors. It’s new but still it looks like it’s been here forever. It’s one of the longest urban tunnels in Europe. It repeats itself over and over, same doors, same streetlights. This makes it look shorter but it’ll be around two kilometers long. MM: Wait a minute, what’s that? Did you see that? Just at the entrance of the tunnel. They looked like dreadlocks. MG: They are dreadlocks, tied up and thrown there. They recall a sitting person, if you’ve got that type of imaginary need. Still it looks like they fell there by chance. Has if someone threw them away, forgotten… MM: As if someone threw them from a running car. Can we go back to get a better look? MG: It’s better not to stop here, we must go on. Cars should be going at 90 km/h, but who’s driving that slow? MM: When we first met you used to have dreadlocks. I remember coming across Rastamen, they were always saluting you, beating their fist on their chest. It’s interesting how we found those dreadlocks right here in this tunnel, almost as if you left them behind to move faster to the city center… MG: Yes, I remember my dreadlocks! I didn’t think about that! You know Paul Barsch is keeping them? He made an artwork out of them and he exhibited them for the project Cielo Milano curated by him and Tilman Hornig months ago. Come on, let’s get out of here, let’s catch the first exit.

WED 8:11 AM

MM: Wait, slow down, there’s a small mouse! MG: Fuck that’s true! MM: Don’t squash it! MG: Yes, I’ll be careful. The Lambro river runs around here, that’s why it’s full of rats. MM: Ok, it crossed the road. Now it’s under those, ehm, twelve antennas? What are those twelve antennas on the wall for? MG: In this time of the year and this time of the day the light comes in a particularly white shade, desaturated and the objects outdoors look white just for a few minutes. Then the sky changes color and so do they. MM: That’s true, those objects usually keep a strong relationship with the sky, the weather and the light, even if placed like that, at that height, they look like they’re trying to show us a will to be listening and receiving in a place were, perhaps, there’s nothing interesting to be listening to. MG: I don’t know Matteo, surely antennas are usually above us, we all know them but we rarely get to see them close. Assembled with shamanic aesthetics, with bamboo canes and plumes, it look like they are ironically showing us two different clichès.

WED 8:23 AM

MM: The traffic is getting more intense, where are we? MG: We’re in the northernmost part of Milan. Let’s see if I can pull over. MM: Careful, the car in front of you is stopping, there’s something on the road. It looks like… is that salad? Wait, is that the work you made for the Bubble Tea show? MG: Yes, I better move it today or I’ll get in trouble. MM: What’s it doing hanging from the traffic divider? MG: Well, Matte… consider this as a guided tour. This is “You would like that we were not here. But we are too emotionally absorbed by the homesickness of places that we’ll see only from the windows of our Bentleys”: a group show. MM: You curated a group show setting up the works on the road from Brianza to Milan? MG: In a certain way, yes. Paul Barsch’s work is in the tunnel that, for me, links my house to Milan. But all the others are in the city. MM: Your works always have a lot to do with observing what surrounds them, and from that you develop them in a very sincere way, without being even bothered by the fact that the result might be disappointing. This work reminds me of the eating sculpture by Gianni Anselmo, only it looks faster: the lettuce is not withering, it’s being squeezed by the passing cars. What’s its title? MG: “Whity-Trashy vol.3 (I stay if you hold me tight)”. Lately, it’s as if I felt a lot more freedom in formally using the elements in my work almost carelessly.

WED 4:12 PM

MM: We’ve been driving all afternoon, but we haven’t come across any work for quite along time now. Is the show over? It’s almost sunset. MG: No, it’s not over yet but I thought we should have waited a little to see this one. Look up there! That’s “Clouds” by Andrew Birk. MM: It may be the time or the way you set it up, or maybe both, but that work looks extremely delicate and melancholy to me, as if it wanted to save an intimate and fleeting moment without telling us about it. MG: It’s been months now I’ve been observing the relationship between Andrew Birk and his work and I’m entranced by it. MM: Can you tell me more about it? MG: It’s the feeling I get, the number of canvases, the different ways of painting them. An erupting volcano. And every time he’s stripping himself down completely. Watching him working is amazing to me.

WED 6:35 PM

MM: Are you sure we can go this way? Isn’t it a private road? MG: Who cares. I’ve never seen anybody here. It gets you to a subway station. Can you hear the noise? MM: Yes, I must tell you it makes me shiver. These orange streetlights, they always made me claustrophobic. MG: Do they make you feel trapped even if we are outdoors? MM: Yes they do, they make me feel so… wait, there’s something next to that gate. Is it a painting? MG: Yes, a digitalized painting by Nuno Patricio. Its got a metal structure holding it to the ground. MM: It reminds me something I probably saw in a movie, but I can’t recall what it is now… MG: To me as well. Maybe it reminds me of a whole movie genre. When I was young I used to buy the weekly magazine “UFOs and Aliens”. Do you remember that? Buying it made me feel better than the others, one step closer to secret knowledge. MM: I was very fascinated by it as well, but then I remember thinking “if this stuff is that secret, then why can I get it so easily at the news-stand?”.

WED 10:36 PM

MG: The heating in my car comes and goes. Sorry about that, Matteo, I know it’s getting cold. Usually, it doesn’t work when it’s cold while it works perfectly when you don’t need it. MM: That’s what we’re gonna do: pull over as soon as you can, I’ll smoke a cigarette, I’ll be cold so that when we get back in the car it’ll be almost warm. MG: That sounds just about right.

WED 10:40 PM

MG: Alright, I’ll stop here. MM: Look, there’s something in the grass. They looks like tiny dolls. Hey, they’re Lucia Leuci’s from the exhibition at Tile Project Space! MG: I’ve chosen to exhibit some of the works from Lucia Leuci’s latest solo show. “Mamme Cattive e Bambini Creoli”. I’ve set them up here, among the grass in the dark. The concept of being creole upon which she’s been reflecting, the way in which she touches things. To me this really was one of last year’s most inspiring art works. Seeing them here, as if they were left behind, forgotten, moves me. MM: That may be because they’re so delicate. Seeing them here, in such an anonymous lawn, so close to the highway, conveys a strange feeling of danger, as if they were the ones in charge. MG: Probably, I’ve always felt as if they were the ones in danger, you know? MM: Maybe it is so. Maybe, because of how they were made, it’s very hard for them to find somewhere where they belong. Maybe they really don’t belong anywhere. MG:I feel represented. MM: Be careful, you’re getting too romantic. MG:Let’s go, there’s just one more work I want to show you. After that I’ll take you back to the station, it’s very late already and you might miss the last train back. MM: Will we make it or is it too dark allredy? MG: Of course we’ll make it. Everybody passing through the highway will see it with us.

WED 11:04 PM

MM: What song is this? I like it, can you turn the volume up? MG: “Reason” by Spooky Black. I’ve been listening to this kind of music a lot, lately. It’s called “sadboy music”, I think. MM: It really sounds like that.

WED 11:07PM

MM: Is that up there the work? I can’t really read what’s written upon it. MG: Yes, you to look at it for a while to understand it. You should get closer. MM: But now we’ve already moved past it, I couldn’t read it all. It’s a bit like it happens with songs, you get some of the words but you can’t understand it as a whole. MG: The font it’s written in is an art work by Monia Ben Hamouda, while the text is the verse from a song. “…Searching for wrong, so you can point your stubborn finger at me again, at me again…” MM: I see why it’s at the end of the show, it’s like the credits. MG: Yes, the credits. MM: When it comes to emotions, it’s always hard to keep the focus on who’s feeling them. It’s easier to identify with the emotion itself. And this has been a very emotional trip. MG: Thanks Matteo. MM: Thank you.

– Matteo Mottin in conversation with Michele Gabriele Something Must Break © 2017 All Rights Reserved.