Katya Grokhovsky, Slow Dance, Art Loop Open, Palmer House, Chicago, Installation detail
UNTITLED, 2010, Katya Grokhovsky, photo Andrew GreenManifest: some destiny, please
To not consume it all.
Instructions: to fly and bleed for us, there is no time, like, yes, now, like :Sweat and cry.
Softer falling leaves, mambo italiano, mexican bekafast
Slavoy Zizek on empty stomach and asymmetrical haircut.
Nervous tension, anxiety and full blossoming.
Let us pioneer and return
overheating
Memories flood the floor
Stopping to patronize
Occasionally and unusually greater than?
La Isla Bonita, that island of dreamy soft pink fluffy yellow sun bunnies in your eyes.Chewing gum and bubbling up inside. Coca cola all round you. Leveling. Sticky lovely thoughts. Heavy ideas. Dressed in piles of clothes - immigrating to nowhere. White flowers on the train to future of your West.
tie them tip tie them up and be strong. stronger than ever. you will learn. trust your gut. be there for it all. the glitter and gloss and shiny glass and perfume and softer loves and mingle: licking of your hands - be true
Pina Bausch
Tania Bruguera
Kate Gilmore
Yoko Ono
Instructed to not paint.
Perhaps, I will dance and move and smile and jump for you a little bit.
Perhaps I will dance with you a little bit tonight, holding your hand, and touching your soft rough cheek. I am a lady in red, let me kiss your air. Let us make a contract, I might hurt you in the process, please sign under the line, under the dot, please make a mark, leave a dot, leave something, fragile and exhausted, floor and ceiling, melting minds, volcano of idea making, let me give you my headpiece and gift you my head space. Perhaps it's empty, perhaps there is nowhere to park. Perhaps I am aware of the worldly pressure. Time, time, my time is seeping, darling darling, do you speak any other languages? Maybe? How strange, I don't think I do anymore. I think I have forgotten . Please, no more Lady Gaga, not here, please stop. why that blonde? She's dead. Un-die her, perhaps she needs some water, perhaps she needs to come alive, who is her prince charming? He killed her? How awful, darling darling, I have forgotten my language. My lips are soundless, I am hissing at you all and undermining your integrity. Boiled down to it all, nothing to leave and say, Marilyn's diaries reveal a psychotically challenged mind. She was a "sick girl". Girl. Girl. Move it.
come and communicate with me.
