You can have a videotaperecorder at home. You can record sound and image and play them back right away. You can even monitor as you are recording. What do you do?
Wave your cock.
Grin happily and idiotically at all the taboos you are so joyously flaunting.
We are not supposed to dwell on our own bodies. And yet we all, for the extent of our sojourns on earth, live in a body, mostly our own, sometimes fused with another. We are interested in our bodies. We have had enough of undressing in the dark. In this culture are starved for soma-feedback.
Dance Loops at Vancouver Art Gallery’s “The Dome Show,” 1970
All Star Video by Nam June Paik
"How long before every artist is his own television station?"
- Nam June Paik, “father of video art,” early 1970s
"I’ve always thought art was about truth and beauty. Was I just being a dumb idiot?"
A few highlights from that piece on obscenely rich art collectors I posted yesterday.
“Koons’s unflappable, peculiar Tony-Robbins-meets-art-CEO shtick, all delivered in the soothing, condescending tones of a nurse in a mental ward, is clearly a formula that works on billionaires. Demarcating a comfort zone of guilt-free privilege for the artist’s collector client base, the Koons oeuvre creates the overarching impression that all aesthetic value is vaguely farcical and ever contingent, and that ambitious and worthy social virtues can be ascribed to whatever you’re peddling with just the right verbal formulation. These are all also defining traits of the fortunes on which Koons collections are founded: the work and the patron’s worldview enjoy a perfect state of mutual self-regard.”
– This is a pretty horrifying (and insightful) read.