Cannon’s new contemptuous showing delivers a liberal untapped sentiment that is an artistic parable about our pretentious post-innocent opacity when facing rapacious structuralism. This work, at once dour and playful, represents the controlled dynamism-based absurdist parable of pataphysics, which is referenced in this work, with startling originality, as a courageous synthesis of political posturing and anthropology. From this artist we should look neither for electronic mental health nor idealistic Photo shopping a la Amazon/eBay. Instead we need to notice how this non-gendered artist experiences the mind-numbing psycho-union of self-love and self-hate.
His latest outmoded work is an ultra-simplistic self-defeating release that reminds us of today’s autonomous ultra-radical force of chop-and-screw musical experiment. At once hopeful and mandatory, the pieces are rooted in the adventurous distortion-based psychodynamic alliance of general insurrection, here cleverly construed as a pseudo-drunken mixing of Rodin sculpture and garbage dumps. With this outing you can come to expect neither complex childhood hedonism nor pastoral Christian mythology. Instead you can come to appreciate how this nearly impotent artist experiences the self-assembling standardization odyssey of Taoist philosophy.
This pathological exhibition-ism constitutes a schizoid variegated opposition imagery that demands our specific interactive reflection of “memescape”. At once approximation and phantom, there is a demand for the biological divergent construction of aggression, symbolized by Cannon as an organic mixing of sex and hunting lore. Here, you should search neither for foundational New York street wisdom nor specific hagiography. Instead you can come to appreciate how the artist exploits the bourgeois cyber-display of technoskill as scientific imperialism.
Can I sign this book review, too? Love it!
Done. Anyone can sign it, as it is almost entirely generated by computer code. Not even a critic could come up with “absurdist parable of pataphysics”. Well, most critics couldn’t.
Thanks to you and Rrose for the insights.
Ah, yes, Rrose Selavy, so nice of you to stop by …
And, he called himself Man Ray!
Emmanuel Radnitzky, South Philadelphia = Man Ray, Paris
Unfounded Objects all around.
It was more of a Boy George transvestite observation.
Man Ray took the portrait of Rrose; he wasn’t Rrose.
Just amazed and amused that Man Ray wouldn’t tell people who he was and documents Duchamp as Rrose! Everything else I wrote was not a found object, but purposeful confusion. No gender is out of place throughout, so the confusion of who is who. However, I FOUND the art critical text, names and titles. Freakin’ irony is too ironic. There are also sculptures made by/for each and photos of “them”. All this confounded who was artist, writer, critic, maker, or curator/editor.
Well, I’ll shut up before someone accuses me of being a critic.
I actually noticed months after finishing all this that the last thing I wrote was Soloman Finnis. Solo Man Finis. Kind of scary.
“However, I FOUND the art critical text, names and titles.”
So you took a critical text and wrote code to re-assemble it? And these sculptures–can we see them?
Actually a lost app called “Janus Node” was written to generate crap that ranged from Haiku’s to Postmodern Art Criticism. I edited a few bits (my name) and viola, a found scrap of pseudo-intellectual pablum.
Yes, there are 17 stories, 17 critical snippets, 17 sculptures (sold one, gave one away, all other in my closets), 17 manipulate photos (including my own self-portrait on cover with my birth year – all have dates), and one catalog of the “show”. This is the latest in the continuing evolution of the work.
The first exhibition took 20 months to produce. It is a single gesture extended for 20 months. Still not sure what it will be now 20 years in.
OK, I gotta get some serious counseling.