I’ll have this garden to grow until Quebec national holiday.
Sadly, people from Quebec city are dying inside and much is to be done. With such pictural composition, I move forward and backwards constantly to organize a macroscopic space, at the picture level, and a microscopic space, at the topological level. But as we painters know well, the pictural device delivers instantaneously all the content at once. This object of polarized positioning is then emitting a phenomenal configuration of a multiplicity of sight, dislocating the habit of the immutable position of the singular point of view. In time, I’m aiming toward an aesthetico-pharmacological regime of conceptual activity enacting the ritual of spiritual repatriation for their shell to be filled with vigour once again. At the tip of my nose, a hybridization of De Sade’s and Giger’s works will guide me toward a trans-erotic structure for world-building.
As they relegate the core of their cultural soul to bureaucratic means, Quebecers have forgone the echo of transcendental wisdom to a labyrinth, effectively acting as a silencer. In this necropolis that they’ve now got familiar with, aesthetic occurrences as been completely subdued to semiological panoramas.
They are starved and asphyxiated.
I continue hoping that I can infuse some life into this cultural wasteland.