The Crucifixion? - The resurrection? - The burning of Joan of Arc? - The assassination of Marat? - The gas attack at Ypres? - The sinking of the Titanic? - Stalingrad? - Auschwitz? - Hiroshima? - The assassination of Kennedy? - The massacre at My Lai? - The suicide of the RAF? - Chernobyl? - The crash of the Challenger? - The mass graves in Bosnia-Herzegovina? - The earthquake in Gujarat? - 11.09?
When art nothing more to do with themselves knowing they invented life. Art is life, because life is an art. And nothing is more elaborate than death. We are born in our absence, but death is everywhere and always there. As heavy clouds lift light towers. As they fall, concrete cathedrals of the assembled economic activity, falling endlessly in finite media endlessly repeat loops, always fall. Like trying to grasp what is hard to categorize. No one will fall deeper say the holy warriors, as in God's arms. Yes, it is 11.09. The most perfect work of art ever. You may have heard recently. Kiefer has said. Stockhausen had already said earlier. Celan and it has not said before, unforgettable, with this memorable deep, haunting voice
Death is a master from Germany
Hamburg. City of the Hanseatic League, the serial killer Honda and the Al-Quds mosque where students met the German master of suicidal world heritage . City of difference between the time of planning and the date of execution, between the living and the dead, between those who have completed their presence already, and those to whom the present is closed to all their hopes on more contemporary . Between Hamburg, Town of masterful smile and the masterly reply, and New York City, the painful bewilderment and the painful questions. Many questions, too many questions, and only one death. The death in New York 11.09. This is the answer, the only answer at all, because there is only one death, just this one death and no other. Mort de ma vie, we are now at the point where, every doubt as to the size and power of the completed form to disappear definitively and finally. perfect. Traumatic perfect. But absolutely perfect.
all had that day in New York can achieve. Perhaps even the absence of death. Or at least the thought of it. In those same towers that rise into the sky. But that did not allow the art master from Germany. It would probably not have been perfect enough.
0 comments:
Post a Comment