Mostra personale dal titolo Cold Shoulders / Foreign Affairs / Seafood Dinners / Pregnant Décor / Power Vacuums / and The Last Gate at the End of a Long Terminal.
Cold Shoulders / Foreign Affairs / Seafood Dinners / Pregnant Décor / Power Vacuums / and The Last Gate at the End of a Long Terminal
April 8 - June 3, 2021
Gió Marconi is pleased to announce “Cold Shoulders / Foreign Affairs / Seafood Dinners / Power Vacuums / and The Last Gate at the End of a Very Long Terminal.”, Matthew Brannon’s third solo show with the gallery.
I made this exhibition during the surreal year that was 2020. I imagined a plane hovering in mid-air above a city sometime during the last century. Light as a feather, heavy as a whale. Each artwork shows the seat of an unseen passenger. It’s the set of a theatre production after the show is over and the cameras are off. It’s the moment upon waking before you remember all you have to do. It’s the center of a book I wrote long ago. It’s a space for you to enter. The floating world. - Matthew Brannon, New York City, March 2021
There it is. Out in the middle of the ocean. As barren as the moon. Down miles under cold and heavy water. Where few fish dwell and less plant life than a desert. Just very old rocks the size of mountains. It takes a great deal of force to propel the craft down and requires the sort of lights they use in massive stadiums and yet all you see is black. Like driving in a rainstorm in some outer-space nightmare. And then it’s there. Like a snake of prehistoric proportions. The world’s largest cobra. Able to devour mouthfuls of people. Glistening but dead. A huge extension cord running between the continents. It’s the internet cable. And you do what you have to. What you’ve been dreaming of since it began. A way to save the world. A way to stop all the madness and distortion and impossibility. And when the ship’s huge jaws of life begin to hack at the outside it’s as if you hear the screams of all those houses full of all those devices bought online and totally dependent on this very blood you’re now disrupting. Each giant slash into the cable cancels billions of emails and texts and downloads and uploads and streaming and even long deleted emails evaporate. And then like the sound of a glacier cracking or a crack in a wine glass in an empty room - it’s over. and the tension pulls both ends of the cable thousands of miles apart. It’ll be easier to rebuild one than to reattach these. And everyone will need new passwords. And a generation will pass before it’s back up.