Norbert Bisky Hell? Paradise!

published in Zoo Magazine No. 42, p. 61

If Brutalism was not an architectural style movement of the 1950s, the term could easily be applied as cipher for the shocking, sadistic and sexual paintings of Norbert Bisky. His canvases, rich in detail and color, depict romantic sceneries of beaches and forest resorts. Yet, his actors – well-toned, topless boy scouts – are caught in the act of slaughter and destruction. Heads are cut off, proudly presented as trophies. Torsos are smudged by blood and other bodily liquids. Regardless of the cruelty, Bisky's images exude a peaceful, almost happy mood. As if everything was alright. In addition to these larger than life tableaus of contemporary consumerism, tourism and gay culture, the former master student of Georg Baselitz has lately devoted himself to a different painterly tradition. Since 2004, his motifs are paralleled in smaller, gestural water colors. Again, we witness postcard-ready beach scenes – this time less detailed and more distant. Actors and actions are only suggested. Similar to Japanese ink paintings the figures are reduced to little spots and lucid brush strokes.

Perspective and gravity seem suspended. The protagonists appear in smaller groups and constellations, almost floating and repeatedly arranged in wallpaper-like manner. Indeed, Bisky's images exude a peaceful, almost happy mood. As if everything was alright. On closer inspection, the cheerful Toile de Jouy scenes quickly reveal themselves as greetings of torture and cannibalism. Amputated legs and streaks of blood replace ice cream and sunscreen. This is not a regular beach club resort. The series, in its entity known as Paraisópolis, is an ironic interpretation of the homonymous 'paradise city' in the favela neighborhoods of São Paulo. Here, nothing is alright. The idyllic nature of white sand and turquoise sea functions as backdrop for humankind’s self-elimination. Using paradise as pastiche, Bisky paints realistic images of hell on earth. His illusionary intent is best visible in Masterplan (2007) – the portrait of a young man without lower extremities who is re-creating himself by applying color with a brush. By staging the process of painting as godly act, Norbert Bisky confidently declares the artist as the Almighty self – on hell and earth.

YOU AND I: BARBARA KRUGER DID IT FIRST

published in HUSK Magazine Fall/Winter 2013, p. 12-13

Surveillance, Search and Destroy, Bleed Us Dry – the universe Kruger depicts is threatening but arresting, almost sexy. Her artworks demand: 'KISS IT' and 'Give me all you've got'. 'Pleasure' and 'Disgust' are the words that embellish, cover and destroy Barbara Kruger's underlying images. And it is funny how, for the very first time, words become stronger than the image, directing our perception and interpretation of that image. An image that could be anything. A sink, a hair brush, a box of pralines. Who cares? Or should we really care? Are those powerful, big letters simple but well-calculated distractions? Planned anti-manoeuvres? Barbara is, in fact, attacking us. And she is not even hiding her cruel intention – as an early artwork from 1989 announces: 'Your body is a battleground'. Your body is her battleground. So what is this very personal fight directed towards? The word 'horror' appears several times within Kruger's oeuvre. Hands appear as motif several times. The word 'You' appears several times. Seemingly, obviously Barbara wants to turn her fight into 'our' fight. She asks us to take that horror, to take that terrible future, that global history into our own hands. So what does this horror constitute itself of? The world of advertising and consumption delivers just the visual means Barbara takes advantage of. She uses their symbols and tricks. Messages that can be read from far away. Short messages that are to be understood within seconds. Big messages that become images in themselves. Bright messages, white letters in red boxes, that cannot be missed. The background image is usually a catalogue cutout or film still, stolen material, stolen techniques of mass communication.

So, if advertising is not the actual topic of her campaign as many have falsely implied, what is the bigger message, the bigger picture? What happens when we put all her cut-and-past collage works next to each other? What happens when we cut-and-paste every motif as one continuous film sequence? Barbara did exactly that. Her latest work is moving towards the moving image, some call it 'video work'. In 2010, Kruger released 'The Globe Shrinks' – following her video installation 'Twelve' from 2004 which featured interview situations and, most importantly, subtitles. Beautiful, meaningful subtitles. Now, instead of placing one sentence on top of one image, Kruger places conversations and personal quotes onto a multitude of flickering images. The single person, the 'You' and 'I', suddenly becomes part of 'He', 'She' and 'They'. Slowly, we realise what this shift is about: society. So-ci-e-ty. Can an abstract idea like 'society' ever be the core topic for one work of art? Is the single word 'society' ever enough to describe the intention of an artist? Indeed, we know it all too well: the misunderstood, suffering artist, caught in his very own misery and conflict with the surrounding world. When Barbara Kruger asks us 'Are we having fun yet?', she implies that the principle of the genius artist does not hold relevance anymore. In fact, she is quoting the clownish comic character Zippy the Pinhead, 1979. 'His' and 'her' pathetic, sarcastic remark is directly directed towards us: the beholders, the visitors, the readers. Suddenly, the artist's struggle is dissolving into one collective moaning. We are unhappy. Does Barbara put the blame on us? Of course she does.