My black sun
Multiple flashes of impossible black
Frequent enough to return, there,
Where is the fueloily mud
Strong enough to
as if nothing had happened
My blind black sun
Without glasses was so defenseless
And even more defenseless now
And I still rhyme ´mother - don´t care´
and quote Rozanov:
´No man is worthy of praise,
The object is 20 unconnected cubes made of scotch tape. Each cube has part of an image pasted into it. Together they form a black and white portrait of my mother. She died a long time ago in Siberia, and for me her death is forever associated with ice and cold.
The scotch tape cubes are like ice. The image is shaky and cold, crumbling and unconnected into one image. A poem can be read from the back of the object.
artist | researcher | curator