Note on Jorge & Larry  Exhibition in THE APARTMENT gallery

"Mirtha, I don't understand how this monkey works... Why don't you answer me, for God's sake...?"
Lady trying to reach WhatsApp on urban taxi route 5.

Miracles still happen in the world. There are still people who speak loudly, face to face, even if it doesn't have to be by a bonfire, on a night of stopping on the way. There are still people who don't know what is in that glossy rectangle, which looks like a smaller-scale replica of the trickster monolith of "2001, space odyssey". A few years ago, in Angola, an anthropologist told me about a Soba (spiritual and administrative leader in the communities), who did not tire, in honor of his rank, of rubbing his mobile phone, knowing that it was precious, but of which he hardly knew its usefulness; in fact, he had it wrapped in a cloth, kept in a small piece of furniture next to other objects of the most diverse value. Also, although we are not located in the middle of the media jungle, I know other people, because I know myself, that we don't have much interest in controlling and being controlled, locating and being located; not always to love and be loved.

The contemporary world seems to be a bazaar of human history, completely fragmented in cultural terms, more determined by new economic and technological fissures than by the differences between nature and society that existed in the 15th century, when the frontier of the great globalizing explosion was crossed. There are people who cannot be understood today, even if they speak the same language. Now my closest social relations can leave me with the word in my mouth to answer the call of the luminous rectangle, and later talk to me about anything else that did not come to the case, or ask: What did you say to me? It would seem to be a psychedelic introspection connected to a social network that is presumed to have a high universal standard, in which people smile and hasten to respond, interacting only with their connector, without an external observer having the slightest idea of what is happening between the individual and his contraption; unless, according to anthropological literature, the observer is aware of the relationships at play between the subject and his interlocutors, through the cosmic mediator, the mobile. Not even the late Ray Bradbury would have ventured to speculate so much about fifty or sixty years ago, although he came quite close (throw out his novel Fahrenheit 451, of which there are several cinematographic versions, none as good as the book).

The great upheaval of human communication, the same as always, has been mounted on the train of digital progress. We know more and more of anyone's testicles, at a speed as frightening as anyone's testicles, that in the global imaginary we are confused in priority with the fire of Our Lady of Paris or that of the Amazon. Things are going to such a point that the shit that once muddied the chosen few must now reach everyone. Blessed progress that has put things in their place! Now it's easier to know who's who (if you're in the whatsappeo), and go and locate it, locating it in any park in Havana or around the world. Whoever does not enter into this electronic contradiction will continue to pray to the analogical God, kneeling in the church, ignoring, poor faithful, that the Lord moved from that altar a while ago. Now all our joys and misfortunes are shared without modesty in the green-emotional cloud that evaporated from the Valley of tears. The collectivization of our spatial misadventure, still unaware that this boat makes a slow spiral towards the galactic sump, is nothing more than a new and multiplied neurosis of anxieties, deposited in the incompetence to survive as the species that prefers to burn oil, or cathedrals and jungles, to have mobile data, coverage...

The new culture is the sum of all cultures, those of the past, revised and put on new shelves, and those of today, added to an overwhelming iconoclastic majority that gargle with everything they put in front of it, if their connectivity does not benefit, their space in virtual democracy. Increasingly dissipated from this boring and brutal reality, global spirituality is inserted into a new mental market, whether you live in a hut in Burundi, or travel by private jet to Seychelles. We are all the same! No one can deny that all this is culture, whoever does it is embarca´o, doomed to failure and ostracism. Since its dizzying appearance, many artists have taken advantage of the new media. Jorge & Larry has precipitated (of rain, not of haste) in material support double virtual components, presumably suspended in the nets and the direct exchange, adulterating them in such a way that this aesthetic, sarcastic return becomes an incompassionate booing to the banality and ease of an ethereal plot that permeates that dense net of interconnections, that do not exclude the divine. Once inside the game, aware of the rules and their nonsense, rather than their meanings, everything will be, as Jamila M. says. Rivers, "(...) unstoppable. Since then we spend the night in a house with a green roof-vomiting, bioluminescent green-silver walls, green-mamoncillo doors, shooting to marti-green, and cadet-green windows."   

Text and photos: Amilkar Feria Flores
Palatino Entropic Observatory / September 10, 2019, 08:25pm