“Listen mate, why would i wanna come into an empty room and stare at a blank canvas?”
This is not just a Blank Canvas.
You see, gazing into an Art piece,
We typically search for a sense of Meaning,
of Destiny, even.
Binding ourselves to the physical world
We seek answers in the gentle strokes of the Artist’s brush.
We consume the image,
observing, inspecting, exploring,
losing ourselves in the contours of colour.
We trace each twist and turn and line and streak
as the subtle sketching softly stimulates the senses.
But this Blank Canvas, this White Space, hauls us from
Gone are the deities behind the brush.
Gone are the soft shapes and soothing shades.
Faced with this artless Nothingness
We abandon our teleological toils and
We are Everything!
But as the layers slowly unfold and
We fall deeper into this Infinite abyss
We are Nothing!
So there we stand confounded:
Everything and Nothing;
The faculties to see into a
But fear not: for after irony comes liberty.
Once freed from the shackles of objects
We finally exert our freedom as subjects.
We now assume the role of Artist.
We project paint onto the canvas
and bask in the splendour of our creative vision.
A vision liberated and uninhibited;
A vision bound only to the ebbing and flowing
and toing and froing
of our flooding imaginations.
So you see, this is not just a Blank Canvas.
This is a portal into the human psyche:
A journey through the murky depths of introspection.
This is a Carte Blanche:
A chance to conceive,
to forge meaning in the absence of
This is an exhibition where the
Painter, Curator and Spectator
“Alright fair enough mate, I’ll come in and have a look”.
“Wonderful, that’ll be 9 euros then please”.
“9 euros!? Dream on you fucking cowboy! What man in the right mind would pay to get into his own exhibition!?”