Aesthetic Terrorism
I've always had an affinity for and have been greatly influenced by underground culture, especially in regards to SWANS, Foetus, and Throbbing Gristle levels of music performances and the Parfrey, Sotos, Kern movements of Aesthetic Terrorism.
However, reading up on the scene that existed at the time when this type of "art" was viable, I'm forced to ask myself "what do we have today? Why is it so impossible for such danger to exist in the media and why am I so despondently seeking for a revolution with no cause (or at least what is my cause)?"
Art used to be about something. When fringe groups outside of society had causes to rally for. Or a political temperature to condemn and unite against. When performance art could be used as a voice to be heard and the shock of rebirthing through the blood and tears of our eviscerated taboos would actually have results in awakening the belligerent and stupefied sprawl.
Now there's nothing shocking enough to isolate oneself away from the mainstream mentality. Everything has been converted to commodity.
Counter-culture is dead.
Mainly because everything has been done before.
We know the drill.
And no matter how much we use it to core our way through the thick skull of moribund lifestyle, there just isn't a fucking thing to care about.
Maybe I'm just especially jaded, but I don't give a shit about your outmoded ideas. I've seen enough artists cut themselves and bleed on their canvas or whatever to know that it isn't really saying anything. I'm not coming to any profound realization. So what is the point, if not to evoke some meaning. Art has become a formulaic endeavor to reach some personal justification instead of a medium for revolt.
I am upset by the fact that the only causes we have even worth becoming "informed" about are our civil liberties (which seem to be continuously eroding without much concern) and an individualized spirituality that can't be found in books. Both of which ideas are the reason I started the Gates Of Dissent project. So maybe now I'm entering my own form of justification, but at least I can feel that I'll always believe in what I'm trying to say. No matter how dull our senses have become.
If only I can find the proper ways to incite this line of insight and disobedience. I think that's all I really wish for. And the cathartic release, of course, but that's none of your goddamn business.
However, reading up on the scene that existed at the time when this type of "art" was viable, I'm forced to ask myself "what do we have today? Why is it so impossible for such danger to exist in the media and why am I so despondently seeking for a revolution with no cause (or at least what is my cause)?"
Art used to be about something. When fringe groups outside of society had causes to rally for. Or a political temperature to condemn and unite against. When performance art could be used as a voice to be heard and the shock of rebirthing through the blood and tears of our eviscerated taboos would actually have results in awakening the belligerent and stupefied sprawl.
Now there's nothing shocking enough to isolate oneself away from the mainstream mentality. Everything has been converted to commodity.
Counter-culture is dead.
Mainly because everything has been done before.
We know the drill.
And no matter how much we use it to core our way through the thick skull of moribund lifestyle, there just isn't a fucking thing to care about.
Maybe I'm just especially jaded, but I don't give a shit about your outmoded ideas. I've seen enough artists cut themselves and bleed on their canvas or whatever to know that it isn't really saying anything. I'm not coming to any profound realization. So what is the point, if not to evoke some meaning. Art has become a formulaic endeavor to reach some personal justification instead of a medium for revolt.
I am upset by the fact that the only causes we have even worth becoming "informed" about are our civil liberties (which seem to be continuously eroding without much concern) and an individualized spirituality that can't be found in books. Both of which ideas are the reason I started the Gates Of Dissent project. So maybe now I'm entering my own form of justification, but at least I can feel that I'll always believe in what I'm trying to say. No matter how dull our senses have become.
If only I can find the proper ways to incite this line of insight and disobedience. I think that's all I really wish for. And the cathartic release, of course, but that's none of your goddamn business.