"Adlinguisticity is when one speaks about speaking and writes about writing, with the consequence that a new language can be developed only within one that has been experimented with. Therefore in the reality, it cannot be developed at all. In the same way, many cities suffer today from [add]linguisti[city]: historical and epistemic self-reference, the corpse and stench of a modernity that never happened. Modernity is the language of a power system based on expansion and progressive research for perfection. Rather this escape from the animal and claim of deification brings to the beast, to the inadequacy of a man who is not what he is, not what he has, not even what he consumes, but what he throws away, a human refusal, rejection and excrement of himself. Trash, garbage couture à la Simon Rasmussen or Coca Cola-empty-can-headdress à la John Galliano. We live in a society where in the name of progress, it is easier to produce a plastic dish for eating off, by going to the supermarket, buying it, organizing it in a differentiated waste disposal, rather then standing up and walking five meters to wash an everlasting ceramic dish. The same goes for fashion within the imperative mania for eco-sustainability: for being natural, it’s easier to make research on artificial materials and implement energy-dragging industrial innovations, rather than considering design garments and accessories conceived in a honest local chain of production. Non-places, subject-objects, non-fashion, fast fashion, slow death. It’s evident, the time has come to abandon the Apollo, to get rid of this abstraction called modernity and its [mode]ls, to heal from athazagoraphobia, the fear of forgetting and being forgotten, and get infected by sapiosexuality, the erotic attraction for someone’s intelligence, the virus spread by the one who, mixing a Dionysus mutilated statue with a Picasso’s secondary painting, is able to generate new visions, dreams and even nightmares."
John Galliano by Richard Avedon©
"Fragmentation, ambiguity, discontinuity, disjunction, deformation, disintegration, decentralization, displacement, delegitimization, decolonization, all elements affecting the erotic psyche and body, are instead the existential status of plural and these open cities where nostalgic and futuristic, physical and cybernetic, eschatological and visionary are convergent. Where pre-modernity, modernity and post-modernity, that formerly used to come after each other, are showing themselves as a uniquely and perfectly organized disorder. Here, the roles of who does what to whom, fall. Dress codes mingle à la Harlequin, literally queer king and queen of hell. The distinction between the to-be-looked-ness (the way the modern is pretending to be considered) and the to-be-looked-at-ness (the way the modern is suspiciously considering what is not modern, functional, evolved and western) doesn’t make sense anymore because getting off the Apollo we land into the territory of hybridization and contamination. Alteration, corruption, breakdown and profanation are part of an adventure called art/life/sickness. They destroy to create, and hurt to [be]come amongst trepid fleshes, smelling sounds, telling hearts, imagine vices and figurative deliriums. Untamed bodies, pieces of revolt and desire, emotional transfers and escape-objects explode in a common errotic pulsation that liberates the human from the interstices of a phantom empiricism, [empire]cism and empi[racism]. Nothing here has to be scientifically proved or measured, there’s no evolution to be sustained and the collaged time sticks portions of plural aesthetics triggering explosions of associative chains. [Pain]ting: this scenario is necessarily decadent and apocalyptic because the human being, unlike his waste, is excluded from the industrial reincarnation, because he is self-revealing for what he is, because when the theatre of the superstructures goes down the oneiric tragedy takes place. Thus spoke Zarathustra once again. Thus the clownish women by Alexander McQueen (i want to be loved but i will never let you love me) were shown, and John Galliano’s as well (i don’t want to be loved but i will always let you love me). Thus sang The Radiohead in Exit Song (For a Movie), making us cry for joy and sorrow at the same time. Thus The Night Porter, masterpiece movie with Dirk Bogarde and Charlotte Rampling, ended. [Rêve]olution: this is the erratic power of a dream, dreamt in French during a summer trip in Paris. Dare to wear and wear to dare, the rest is belonging to the aesthetic of ruins, interiorized remains, perfection programmed to rot, isms condemned to become wasms.
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Danilo Venturi © 2012
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