Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Tim Biskup
Tim Biskup
Tim Biskup
Tim Biskup
Ether Destroyed
Cel Vinyl Acrylic & Spray Paint on
Steel, Foam & Plastic
60 x 60 x 60
Introduction
This project was intended as a personal reaction to and
an analysis of separations within the fine art community.
All systems fail, eventually. My failure is embedded with
regret and success. Diamond studded coal spinning
through space. Maybe it is time to approach the emperor
rather than hurl stones at the gates. He's still a naked
bastard, but I respect his wit and charm and power.
Finding that we agree more than we disagree is a
luminous and treacherous shock. What began as institutional critique has become a love letter. My heart laid bare.
What is art?
I hate that question, but it seems like a good place to start.
There is a school of thought that tells us that everything that is
made with the intention of being art is art. I'm fine with that.
You can call your amazing macaroni and cheese art if you
want. I'm not going to argue with you. I am more interested in
how this kind of discussion effects people.
The reason that I hate that question is that it is a distraction
from the simple joy of looking at and making art. It is the
doorway into a paradoxical web of theories that create a fog
of context that floats between art and audience. In many cases
it lends the control of perception to those that seek to frame
artwork in conceptual terms rather than let an artist's creation
speak for itself. The question is at the root of the attempt to
invalidate the "gut reaction" of the viewer to a work of art.
I also love that question and for the very same reasons
(speaking of paradox...). Discourse on the nature of art works
like a Buddhist riddle designed to destroy reality, only artspeak and ornate critical theories destroy art with the
paradoxes they create. The dismantling of reality leads to
transcendence and enlightenment. The deconstruction of art
as an object brings us freedom from context if we are willing to
stay onboard for the duration of the ride.
Perhaps art is dead. If so, the afterlife is heaven and hell and
Louis Vuitton. I feel like a ghost passing through the walls and
looking for a way out.
This is where I find myself focusing my attention; Varied
emotional responses to the complexity of involvement in the
art world. It is seemingly possible for some to simply reject the
debates and divisions in lieu of pure appreciation or creation
of art. In other cases, the act of challenging perceptions,
questioning theories and contemplating the boundaries of
artistic expression seems to be satisfying in itself. It is my
belief, though that in most of our minds there is a constant
balancing act between appreciating pure aesthetic and
reacting to context. That balance can add to the experience
or it can be distracting. More and more, in my case, it is
distracting.
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Proposal
My fountain will piss blood on the passers by.
My painting will sock you in the jaw, pick your pocket,
fuck your wife, inhale the world and burn the fields.
I insist that this will come true.
I intend to lie and cheat.
Cavorting and brutal without boundaries.
We are going to swing from the curtains, drink dry the
wine and whiskey.
When we are hung over and hungry we'll bang on the
windows from both sides.
In, out, high, low
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Love Letter
I think I am in love, but perhaps what I have now is a
hard-on for drama, money and aesthetic pleasure.
Educating myself into a new appreciation of my present
muse means confronting the anger that I have about my
relationship to that world. For so long I have seen it as a
monolithic and opaque wall. I hear about the artistic
privilege, outrageous prices, spectacular extravagances
and deep appreciation from an audience that loves its
babies as if they were carried in its own womb. My
response reeks of the kind of jealousy that I felt in junior
high school looking at the shiny lips of that cheerleader
chewing on a fingernail while she connected her name
carelessly and repeatedly to the last name of the fuckhead that called me fag in the locker room. I wanted her
and I wanted him to see me get her. Those feelings of
rejection, fear and anger are powerful because they are
driven by obsession and base desires. Being a victim
invites the most insideous strain of elitism. I can hate you
and feel justified as long as I can convince myself that you
hate me more or that you started it. As much as I try to
intellectualize my feelings, I must face the fact that I am
dealing with the same basic emotions that we all have.
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Doom Loop #6
Cel Vinyl Acrylic on Panel
24 x 18
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Calculation
We are charged with honors to carry out.
It is not our place to question, but to perfect the conduit
by which we translate.
Painful changes in faith and complexity are thrown into
and through without pause, reflection or explanation.
Because it is accepted that the artist is an aggressive
and romantic beast there is a wide berth given.
What if it is not given?
What if it is suggested that the artist in you has obligations?
There is a simulation performed out of care and longing.
It is broken apart and swallowed in pieces.
When it is gone you should be full.
What if you are not?
What if you can't get it down?
You are taking a break from what you love because you
just can't get along.
You will see it on the street and say an awkward "hello".
I miss you dearly.
You have been made redundant.
This position has been filled.
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Evolution
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History
I can recall only what I have come to understand.
Bury the hatchet under white pine.
Eagles nest perched on the bow.
Breaking sea and animal blood.
Oak barrel filled and rotting with dirty nutrients.
That past seeps into the present quietly.
Harmony of color, space, triumph, delusion, calculation,
dreams and long sick sketches sucked out at the worst
possible time.
Mosquito passing into me and I don't have space for it.
Tiny bird-filled sky destroyed by controlling beasts and
the simple loss of well known quantities.
I could not make enough to keep the troops fed so they
passed away.
Scrambled words selling mystery to boiling vats of
energy.
The little truth that perishes under the microscope only to
re-claim its goal and remind travelers of transportation and
the brutality of wandering away from comfort.
You are a part of the new position.
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Fuck you art intelligencia. Weak fuckers. You can all get
in circle and talk about how art is dead and in need of recontextualization, but it is your art that is dead. Your fake
meaning and questions have spirale d into a post-art
wasteland. Your need to control the situation and fear of
risk and truth is what got you here. You must continue with
your high art jack off if you want to maintain your
relevance. It is only in the flimsy context that you and the
other pathetic vampires have put forward as important
that you retain a shred of meaning. Faced with time tested
professional artistic ability and deep conscious personal
truth you will wither and die. Put me in context and I will
stomp your fucking head into pulp. Your greed has
created a blood sucking, soul shattering beast that is
growing full and sick and purple with the blood of the
weak and brilliant. You can't be like us and you don't want
to do what it takes to get to that point because you are so
full of pain, evil, denial, mountains of bullshit, miles of rocky
path and insurmountable passages. When the brave
return they are battered and strong. If you control them,
then who will doubt your power?
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Crisis
They may be strong, but your shame is stronger. Hear this:
there is no elephant in the room. It is far worse. There is a
crippled and shaking old theorist taking their last breath.
We are coming. We are here.
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At the heart of my questioning the state of the art establishment is that there seems to be a disconnect between
what is deemed "important" by those that study art from a
theoretical point of view and what is considered "good" by
the general public. It would not be an issue if so much
institutional control was not in the hands of intellectuals. It
is my opinion that the rejection of "popularity" as a relevant
factor in weighing the importance of an artist's work is due
to discomfort with the release of control by the intellectual
art community. There is, undeniably, much at stake. I am
not suggesting that the pendulum should swing the other
way entirely. I am interested in the possibility of what can
be achieved if there were a loosening of aesthetic administration to make the talented outsiders feel welcome.
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Follow Me
Cel Vinyl Acrylic on Canvas
78 x 78
Following pages
Follow Me (Detail)
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Buyer Beware
Welcome dislocation and wealth into your life.
Become an aware and brilliant mate.
Come hither.
Follow me.
My wet past, full of fire and mistakes, invites you.
Penetrate and I'll do the same to you.
Revolve to the bottom where it began and rests, firmfooted.
There is something wrong there that makes the whole
construction stable.
You have your best chance right now.
Will you regret not buying this?
Will you wake up to it every day?
Smiling or swearing... it is yours.
Why did you sit still when you should have acted?
You piece of shit.
You fucked us both!
We could have ridden a wave of complexity, virtue, pride,
skill and wit into an age of culturally enlightened glory, but
you got cold feet.
You fucking pussy.
Take my hand right now and lets jump out the window.
Fuck it.
I'm serious.
Why not?
If you are not going to live your life the way that you really
want to we may as well both be dead.
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Asylum
Cel Vinyl Acrylic on Panel
24 x 36
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Asylum #2
Cel Vinyl Acrylic on Panel
24 x 36
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Asylum #3
Cel Vinyl Acrylic on Panel
24 x 36
Asylum #4
Cel Vinyl Acrylic on Panel
24 x 36
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Asylum #5
Cel Vinyl Acrylic on Panel
24 x 36
Asylum #6
Cel Vinyl Acrylic on Panel
24 x 36
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Alien
Who the fuck are you and why are you trying to send me
out for food.
I revised the classic form and you were not a part of it.
You are a lazy partition, an unavoidable consequence of
material creation.
Break out the bubbly and toast the frame that holds it all
together.
My guess is that you are shitting yourself trying to hold
onto what you have based your life on.
It is not that I want you to feel pain.
It is that I want my job back.
I am the harbor that holds out the sea.
Crap freedom and intoxicating politics are kicked swiftly
in the balls.
bubbles of paste and stain.
Wax, shape, oil and eyes mistaken for luxury are keeping
the wolves in the woods and not at your door.
Count your lucky stars, alien.
You are not at home.
Requirements
Where are you going to put the windows?
I need to see something that will inspire me.
I want to be out there, but I can't be.
I have to stay in here.
There's been a major shift in the way that I think.
I can't pass these paintings without taking them with me.
I broke in and stole them off the wall.
I hated what they were doing to me and my friends.
They cheated.
Please, don't walk away from me while I am talking.
I need to hear what you are thinking about me.
Can you avoid telling me anything that is fucking stupid,
though?
Take me with you.
I'd rather be in your pocket and pissed off at the way you
walk.
Don't hesitate if you want to come through for me.
I wish you were here and I could talk to you about what I
am seeing.
It is perfect and it resonates with discipline.
Keep it in the front of your mind while I am walking
around.
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Doom Loop #4
Cel Vinyl Acrylic on Panel
24 x 36
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Doom Loops
Complain, contrast, debate, invent, reduce, calculate
and feel the envy that will bury me.
I am not careful or restrained.
I am wicked for what I am doing, but mostly I feel foolish.
I am unwanted, shy and rude.
You complete me with recognition or abuse.
I want something that will prove that I exist.
A file full of a million wasted minutes streaking across the
street and into a doorway.
Micro-managed doom loops.
A passive resistance to any kind of behavior correction.
Modification of deliberate complexity establishes confusion based appreciation or true idealized nutritional wit.
Fuck with it all the time.
Play with it like it is a toy.
Try it out on your friends.
Prove to yourself that it can be meaningful and heartfelt
even though it is a joke and a stupid game.
It is serious when you remember that it is not.
When I am working it is not working.
Personal effect lost.
Doom Loop
Cel Vinyl Acrylic on Panel
78 x 78
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Natalia Fabia
Amanda Fairey
Shepard Fairey
Korin Faught
Dan Field
Eric Foss
Sam & Tury (Friends With You)
Gary Garay
Camille Rose Carcia
Alex Gross
Liz Hamilton
Naomi Harris
Jaime Hayon
Seonna Hong
James Jean
Long Gone John
Nathan Jurevicius
KAWS
Sean Kelly
Simone Legno
Nichole Lindsay
Greg Long
Jeff Mann
James Marshall
Carlo McCormick
Tara McPherson
Iigo Martinez Moller
Kathy Murphy
Holly Myers
Jolene Myers
Jay Nailor
Eric Nakamura
Kyle Ng
Martin Ontiveros
Marion Peck
David Peskovitz
Chad Phillips
Peter & Lars (Pictoplasma)
Ragnar
Darren Romanelli
Rob Reger
Mark Ryden
Souther Salazar
Todd Schorr
Kathy Staico-Schorr
Eric Schrody
Billy Shire
Alix Sloan
John Solomon
Joe Sorren
Bwana Spoons
Louisa St. Pierre
Teddy Tennenbaum
Miles Thompson
Mark Todd
Kirsten Ulve
Esther Pearl Watson
Eric White
Jessica Whiteside
Ashley Wood
Bill Wray