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The art of authenticity

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  The Struggle for Authenticity in Art I want to speak today about authenticity . And about what we quietly give up to be accepted. We’re told that contemporary political art values autonomy . That artists are free. That inquiry sits at the centre of practice. But autonomy, in reality, is often something we *perform*— not something we’re allowed to exercise. Freedom is celebrated rhetorically, while legitimacy is granted only when work conforms to approved languages , approved theories , approved causes . Autonomy isn’t denied outright. It’s curated. This system doesn’t fail artists by accident. It functions mechanically. It rewards work that aligns with predetermined frameworks and filters out work that doesn’t speak the sanctioned dialect . Many voices are excluded not because they lack skill or meaning, but because they refuse to translate their experience into institutionally legible language. I’m not saying all excluded work is good. I am saying much of it is never heard. An...
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Godin Defence: Why can't everything just stay the same?

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Life promised so much but little favour came my way. And over this vista of nothingness I claimed what is mine. I waited for all of the promises and yet none did come. Others more fortunate gained splendor, but splendor was not me. And I gained self respect on other's misfortune. But your misfortune is not of my concern. Count your blessings and rot in your tragedy. Yes it will end in tears should you trespass my den. I do not travel,  my miracle is here. I remained close to my heritage. This colonial might. This is God's country, he gave it to me. I will deny you entry. You are contagion, you are far less than me. There are trees in my backyard, insects and lizards. Rodents scamper at my feet and bats by my ears. My dog is obedient. In silence we sit. Impatient and anxious , I do not want change. In dark moments I tend to my spite. With bottle in hand I seek like-minded. A good  man I have been. I have done no wrong. My house is clean. My ga...
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Ubud It happens in this time.

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It happens in this time. Within all of this hassell and bustle, there is peace to be found. It matters that our approach of founding is addressed. If we don't walk so fast,  if our minds are rested. We will have found this, where and whenever we intend understanding. Time were ritual is small,  place where space is eternal. There is a pattern to making sense. Personalised and collective. Forget the calling of the influential and competitive. Forget the combatants. Attempt to day dream. Fall over the drawn line. Re-position and let each door open wide. So much to see in so many small spaces. A universe in each unearthed cavity. There are many gods who nonsensically watch us. All whispering whilst we restrictively rant. They have privileged loss. They have fallen from superiority to obscurity. Their stories are silent whilst we are glorious in distraction. Fall with them, dream with them,  be at mind with them. Within each fall, the...
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