Pour l'Amour de l'Art - A SECRET SCRATCHADELIA SHOW - PART 2

MONEY LISA / THE CURSE - SCRATCHADELIA 2010

"There’s two ways I can talk about Art made by someone I respect, first impressions, mine, my dumb outline of what for me is an expressionistic fusion of the passion and determination of an uncompromising individual. Or by compromising your own experience, creating a short-circuit feedback loop.

I paint upstairs in a large building between Old St. and Shoreditch, which was supposed to be demolished over six months ago, erased, even the foundations as a site for a brand new skyscraper hotel.

This indeterminacy attracted “Scratchadelia” deepening the groove...

The ideal way to experience the work would be to witness its destruction.

So, there’s some mad fuck in the basement banging away...

Bam! Bam!! BAM!!! Morning till night, 24/7.

There’s a lot of graffiti down there left over from different artists, parties, recent

archaeological eras if you like, socio-social eras, the opposite of paleo-archeology  or old old ology).

It’s funny how the council 'cleanse' tags that deface recognised or sanctioned ‘street art’ but in the basement day'n'nite these delicate understated deep etched public images gradually define this defiantly exuberant underground music club into a true alternative art museum.

Weirdly, it’s like Art taking on the public space the same way house music crossed genres and changed the world for my post-punk post agenda DIY generation. [

I want to lam the irritation after a few days of Art.

Fuck yeah” Bam! Bam!! BAM!!! and then, I love it. No choice.

Art never works the way you expect, if it works at all there is no compromise.

It becomes a reality, part of the furniture like you forgot what was in your zone before it existed. So obvious, in spite of expectations.

These floors to ceiling shallow silhouettes obscured by pillars, club lighting...

This Marseilaise guy cutting into hardened concrete by hand.

Day after day, hard labour. Black sunglasses as some nod to protection against flying debris,

Wu-Tang Clan on headphones.  Bam! Bam!! BAM!!! Got to be some agenda...

It could be outlined by lasers, tarted up in UV, defined by any bullshit, some nights its burlesque cocktail cheeky, next the toughest grime core, an hour later the sex club you never got invited to but wish you etc...

SCRATCHADELIA makes ghosts of us all, our own desires.

This is not for sale!”

Préface by Brendan Quick

FROM 5/11/10 TILL BUILDING DEMOLITION... 


MORE PICTURES HERE:
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