P s e u d o - P o s t h u m o u s

 

The exhibitor tried to express a paragraph1 (the very drive of the work) dividing it not only into lexis, minimal items with definite narrative functions, but also recklessly into both important and excessive or unnecessary words and phrases. The exhibitor repeated each word or phrase numerous times.

There was but one unchanging act, identically repeated three times in each répétition and reiterated identically throughout. It stands for three words. The rest was repeated differently.  

‘Exhibition’ resides in répétition: accumulation of repetitive rehearsals. In ‘Exhibition’ repetition is not merely a result of technical loop, for répétition is not circular; it’s a diminishing spiral. The exhibitor is and is not doing the same thing every day. Look down at him and see if you find identical répétitions.

i never found out if he has used all of his footages, all that feasible.

 

There is nothing new about ‘Exhibition’ for there is nothing new about the ceaseless dreary act of exhibiting. i in exhibition, while revealing, conceals his weakness. Exposed in this petty concealment, he projects his modus operandi onto a work of art. This work of art is not just an offspring of a certain modus operandi or practice; it is indeed about that mode and practice. Since this practice bitterly embraces every moment and act of exhibiting, and for every point or stain resides on the plain of feasibility, a Meta-exhibition was not feasible. “What can one do to be truly sincere?2

 

 

The video will start over after twenty one thousand, eight hundred and four minutes of ceaseless répétition. Répétitions prepare actors, exhibitors or exhibitionists for a memorable premiere, a perfect performance that will start over every night. Box office may even prolong the misery. Mockery happens on the stage, the Board, when every evening Othello is obliged to cry out: Are there no stones in heaven, but what serves for the thunder? The spectators are different today, so they won’t laugh. Perhaps the lightman would look down at him and give him the laughter.

 

Rehearsals even give one the clap. i did not get the clap; ‘Exhibition’ began for he already had the disease. All those other pretentious denials of puny triumphs and exploits got him the clap3.

It all began with a photograph in which he saw his own smile while receiving an award. He ridiculed this in another exhibition4. That was praised too. He did smile again, then ridiculed again and on. Were the smiles forced or sneering or were it the mockeries? The mockeries were repentant; came each time creeping like self-reproaches of a religious wanker. ‘Exhibition’ is not of a Sunday-wanker for he has wanked every other piece off. Two of the most painstaking pieces bare the names ‘Masturpiece’ (2006) and ‘The Book of Masturpiece’ (2006). And another, ‘Jxalq’ (2006), is a verb for the act of creating a masterpiece. And it’s true to say that he has been expressing that he has nothing – no, next to nothing – to express. In i's ‘Aporia’ (2007) from time to time he stops his fake monotonous masturbation and turns back towards the camera saying “I don't know what aporia means.”

 

‘Exhibition’ never reached a premiere. It did not even receive its last répétition. It gradually darkened, desaturated, slowed down and extinguished. Its time came: a black square its leftover.

Odyssey-i did reach its end when ‘A Huge Amount of Enough’ (2008) was accumulated or when the ephemeral ‘Handjob’ (2004-08) diminishingly began to arrive at a blank piece of paper as literature, that is to say, it began to unwrite on5. And isn’t it true to say that i has closed this chapter with the book ‘Unwriting’ (2009)? Then why is the Odyssey still going worstward? Not just once i has dotted the diminishing line, the spiral. Or was it the spiral that reached its farthermost, the state of unworsenability? This way or the other, why go on? Is it because there is no home for Ulysses? Is it because he’s only able to imagine the dead imagination? Or is it merely because he knows nothing worse than this – this that he does? Hasn’t he repeatedly called this addiction, obligation, habit or the cancer of time to shroud himself? That being armorless, he, like a hermit crab, has inserted his asymmetrical abdomen into all those gastropod mollusk shells that others carry about with them for protection?6 Let it come to its end, again, here, by the Poseidon statue7, one of those nauseating mythological objects of obligation that i has hanged on to – and now again.

 

Pictorial syntaxes of weakness or a huge amount of that. Never so weak. Never so sincere before. With ‘Handjob’ he did wish others to take those sharp creases as in his master’s grisailles. Never sincere. ‘Odyssey-i' project accumulation of pentimenti, a beetle’s dung, once or twice suspended on its wedge, the dreary road of know-how of not-know-how. The dung of obligations; letting go of the know-hows – uttering empty but joyous Os in their absence - and pulling back the string to make what was gone, there. And now, gone, not those, all. All long gone. No, next to all. Next to long.

 

At evenings Clov [goes to Hamm, removes sheet covering him, folds it over his arm.] as if the sheet has been covering him all night and day to avoid dust. Wait for the spectators to come then repeat the play, play back! In ‘Exhibition’ i exhibits even when they are not there, even when the museum is closed. Then let spectators to be gone – begone! – while exhibition goes on. No hunger for “to be perceived”. No! less.

i can never exit the Board; i slides about in certain orders and within the plane of the feasible8; Once the ironing board slumped and once the exhibitor failed to remember the next word and checked the script. Hereafter, for i was still on the Board, the ironing board – having no alternative – slumped again and again, and i forgot that word habitually and checked the script over and over again. Under the Board dazzling light “there is nothing whereof it may be said, see this is new.”

 

Concurrence of at least two of our greatest exhibitionists – at least amongst the dead and gone –, van Gogh, the perspiring myth of expressionists, and Bacon the expressionist who had nothing to express (Bacon claims this and that his works are not expressionistic at all) but who has merely made things out of obsession (mouth and its diseases, colours, Velasquez’s Pope and etc.), both revolutionaries within certain orders on the Board, and the Board – hallowed be its name – not only squeezed their screaming penis, but also masked their nudity.

Although Bacon has frequently lied about his practice9, he has exposed his weaknesses and distastes so often. Accumulation of his feebly painted studies10, outstanding rehearsals, have made his syntax of weakness, a syntax of unsuccessful répétitions, much shorter than Rothko’s permanent and diminishing masturbation, less exasperating than i's stolen rockabyes11 and much stronger than those i has made out of love-hate12.

 

‘Exhibition’ failed for in few répétitions i failed to remember one or two words.

‘Exhibition’ failed for it has wrong and bad cuts (certainly not for adding “Bad Video”, as another unneeded sand grain, to the heap of Bad Arts; during filming and editing i – believe him noble ladies and gentlemen of the jury – truly faced unworsenable nadirs.

‘Exhibition’ failed for i failed to put his acts into words.

‘Exhibition’ failed for i could not overcome editing technical hitches.

‘Exhibition’ failed for i in ‘Exhibition’ is not playing, is being played back; for that thing there is fake.

‘Exhibition’ failed for ‘Exhibition’ may stop playing back for i could not solve the technical problems.

‘Exhibition’ failed for i has sneaked into other disciplines; in mime he did form the words with his lips. He even uttered them but they are no longer audible for another discipline didn’t let them to; for weakness is there.

‘Exhibition’ failed for weakness is power.

‘Exhibition’ failed for Göteborg Konstmuseum did not let Bacon’s “Homage to van Gogh” fall; they did not let i hang the painting upside down.

‘Exhibition’ failed for at the end of the day it made a Bacon-Malevitch diptych.

‘Exhibition’ failed for i knew what aporia meant.

‘Exhibition’ failed for when [Exits i.] he quits the Board but comes back again a tomorrow.

‘Exhibition’ failed for i won when he reached 15 days, 03:24:25:15.

‘Exhibition’ failed for the “fail again, fail better” story is impossible, for trying to fail better is again winning, for weakness and failure have different faces.

‘Exhibition’ failed for i has made up Aplasticism13 and he’s pulling back the string again.

‘Exhibition’ failed for i has been pacing in the dreary ‘Quad’.

‘Exhibition’ failed for this is a “please save the exhibition” text.

‘Exhibition’ failed for i‘s begging you to assert that i has failed.

‘Exhibition’ failed for ‘Exhibition’ is still worsenable.

‘Exhibition’ failed for ‘Exhibition’ is still an exhibition.

 

* * *

 

Bacon, “extremely unhappy emotionally,” in Rome wandered around in St. Peter’s and never visited the original ‘Pope Innocent X’ (not to visit the original painting did he wander?) There, hopefully, he was no longer on the Board.

In Oleg Kulik’s Gesamtkunstwerk, the triumphant extravagant ‘Vespro della Beata Vergine’, i fell asleep, dreaming of the time he once left the Board. Once, while filming those répétitions, enchanted he dropped the ever imposed répétitions, climbed down the Board, left the frame for it’s true that “Arse longa, vita brevis”, and ran towards the Millennium Bridge to inhale the odorous embers and freeze every ephemeral moment of his loved one. There he was no exhibitor, no i.

- What the fuck is your name?

 

 

 

 

 

 

[1] The lingual syntax of Répétitions has followed the language rules of the original text i.e. French language.

 

[2] See ‘Who Destroys a Heterotopia?’ (2007).

 

[3] To avoid the clap, Beckett ended Catastrophe with applause. There are morons who even join D (the

director) and give him “the storm of applause” for he has made a pile of ashes on that plinth. And i

poor thing – at The Jeu de Paume silenced the mechanical applause with the good old sneering smile:

Please do not clap; you’ll give me the clap!

 

[5] Samuel Beckett, Eleven Plays, “Unwriting”, Barbad Golshiri, Niloufar publishing house (Tehran 2009).

An English translation of “Unwriting” will be available shortly.

 

 

[7] See Golshiri’s page in the catalogue ‘Undercurrents06’ (Goteborg's Konstmuseum, 2006-07) or visit:

http://www.konstmuseum.goteborg.se/

 

[8] The plane of the feasible is not just the plane of representation; representation is a petty part of it, a

creditable pseudonym for the object of our hatred - namely Art. Here, that is a certain plane on which one

creates, produces, expresses or merely says something, anything.

 

[9] So did i and not only about his practice but also about how some pieces function. For instance, in ‘THE

OTHER’ he published that in the gallery the audience kept its distance with "THE OTHER”, a curved

mattress placed on a thin grid plastic surface. The word "the other" is reversibly written on the mattress

with crude oil, saffron and semen. A few people dared to step on the clean clinical surface to examine the

artist's penmanship or to smell saffron, semen or oil. Among them, only a child came near the

inviting/uninviting mattress.

When this was published, a spectator wrote i “I asked if I could approach more and you said no. You

wanted to win no matter how.”

 

[10] For instance, see ‘Figures in a Landscape’ (1956), ‘Figure Study II (the Magdalene)’ (1945-46), ‘Study

after Velasquez’ (1950), ‘Study for a Portrait of van Gogh’ (1957).

 

[11] See ‘The Impossible Image’ (2005), ‘Masturpiece’ (2006), ‘Jxalq’ (2006), ‘The Book of Masturpiece

(2007), ‘π’ (2007), ‘Aporia’ (2007), ‘Middle East Impromptu’ (2007),  ‘Handjob’ (2008), ‘

(2008).s

 

[12] Inspect closely Ingres’ ‘Napoleon on his Imperial Throne’ or Monet’s cute Nymphæas or water lilies – or

whatever their name is - and compare them with Bosch’s ‘The Ship of Fools” to see the differences

between a brush full of hope, virtuosity and joy and a hasty brush nourished by love-hate.

 

[13] For instance see ‘Camera Ardens’ (2008).