MOUSSE magazine, interview by Hans Ulrich Obrist of Nigerian artist Otobong Nkanga
'Raised in a universe where performance comes naturally, that of a native Nigerian, the artist investigates themes of absence, loss through her practice. Her drawings, installations, photographs, videos and sculptures examine the idea of the earth, the place, the mutable relationship of individuals with realities distant '
Jeff Koons @ The Whitney Museum; crabby expo, maximalist. Too much. Over the top. Not my preference right now. (Also featured other works from other artists Oldenburg, Johns, Smith)
I’m still trying to get over how interminably fucked up it is that my ten minute outloud exchanges are being recorded and broadcasted to the whole cyberworld without my knowledge or consent, and that pervasive conclusions are being drawn from them. I feel I need time to digest this farce, it goes against every fiber of my being.
It must be mentioned in the course of the interweb wars I managed to get into physical fights that involved stubbing my finger, nearly breaking my foot, biting, strep throat, falling off bikes, lots of bruises, many mosquito bites, occasional regurgitation, about two (or three, not sure) panic attacks and a lot of thinking. It has not been much of a smooth ride, as you see. Haha.
But it was all the worthwhile, its been an insane experience. A necessary one. I from day one did not have a good feeling about it, my gut was screaming get the fuck out of there, from day one you’ve been putting me back in my womb. The posts, the videos, the responses, everything was off. At first it was the opportunity, another outlet of communication, then the hype, then it simply fermented into an energized source of inspiration, a symbol of an opportunity to belong to a group of people and grow to put a proper limit to love and enforce it with the ultimate and glorious, necessary armed love, an obsession with the idea that creation was the distance between two opposing realities in Breton terms, then a simple headstrong need to finish the what I had essentially foreseen to be impossible task. I was stuck with the idea of not following, not leading, but walking beside the equally beautiful fact. Maybe even would have fed off and become the bad bitch I would only imagine being to come to terms with the ‘good girl’ I am. It was not enough. I could have left earlier, I wanted to, was about to, and I probably would have been a bit more victorious than not; I felt it was giving up. I have so much to say about this ordeal. So much to hate, so much to ruminate, so much more. Like opening my eyes after a restless sleep full of jolts n dreams. Mm actual breakfast and coffee time. Cool.
Call me a blanket, an uncommodified ass, I can’t n won’t cheat on Rome, the unconscious is and has always been an orphan; this is where I find my freedom, where I can continue dreaming. I’m a child, like you. But desire is a process, not a lack.
That is not to deny that hell is empty and the devils are all here to play. My devils take different pitifully dependent forms. A dog walking on hind legs. That does not mean I am trash, scum or grime.
It does break my heart to see this global hypermobility. To see how internet interminably throws off the balance of ‘noble’ deeds ; an extreme acceleration and deceleration of partial things. More to say about that. For now pooooooooopppp
I just want to give a shoshout to a number of people who I had always looked up to during this odyssey or some other term, but tough without breaking the seal of subtext. Young love
tunnel vision for whatever was going on in the moment as the repetition of the same shyt that was said, with the same responses, running around in circles for another ten minutes. HOW DO YOU TELL SOMEBODY IN TEN MINUTES THE HEAT YOU’VE BEEN PACKING??? IS THIS A THING?? it sounds like there’s a major undercover set up, and all of it has cramped my style to the nth degree; to this day i have no concrete idea whether i’m being a paranoid looney or whether there’s an entire audience behind this fucking joke. in either case this isn’t the end.
Honestly, whateva yo. thangz i do for some dirty decent armed loving. #tbt