I dont care about this mans childhood tell me about the space rock.
. . .
I dont care about this mans childhood tell me about the space rock. It was good. It was the beginning of the end.The opening show was very clean and logical. Everything was laid out. When they first opened the show, they had lots of things to do. They had to decide on their own to do the right thing, or did they? They finally decided to make a statement. Then the rest of the show was out of order.The opening performance was a total performance. It was over. By the time I was done listening to the tape, I had forgotten how much I hated the sound, or how much I loved the music. I had forgotten the live line-up. I had forgotten the songs. There was no sound of applause or of anything. I had no idea what the closing performance was about, or the closing of the show. I thought I would never see that show again. It is hard to say.The show ended with a young lady being asked if she wanted to go to the next show. She said, Sure. She was going to do a thing. She had to decide whether she was going to go to the next show or not. I didnt understand. I thought the next performance was going to be about the ceiling, and that was it. She didnt understand. I asked her if she understood. She didnt. I asked her if she thought it was about the ceiling. She didnt. I asked her if she was going to go to the next show or not. She didnt. I asked her if she thought it was about the ceiling. She didnt understand. I asked her if she thought it was about the ceiling. She didnt understand. I asked her if she thought it was about the ceiling. She didnt understand. I asked her if she thought it was about the ceiling. She didnt understand. I asked her if she thought it was about the ceiling. She didnt understand. I asked her if she didnt. She didnt understand. I asked her if she didnt understand.
I dont care about this mans childhood tell me about the space rock. This is an art of power and domination, and the project as a whole, a paean to the power of the artist over his own life. I doubt if Dokoupil would have cared to discover that his own childhood was anything like that of the woman in the picture. Certainly, the artist himself never revealed this information, and we have no proof that he knew. But it was not enough to say, Why the difference? What does this have to do with my old man? It is enough that we see the difference. This is not art of the mind. There is a difference between art and the media. We can put the media aside and look at art. We can look at our childhood. But the difference is that the media, or art, does not necessarily mean something different.It is important to note that, in Dokoupils case, the two can never be reconciled; there is a limit to his autonomy. He claims to be a genius, but he doesnt really know what he is. Theres an intensity that we can never fully grasp, a quality that cannot be named by anything other than a change of expression. There is an aura of mystery here, and a self-awareness that will never be able to be fully communicated to us. Dokoupil has tried to break out of this by making paintings that look like paintings, but he is also trying to express an inner emptiness that is a paradox. The paintings look as if they had been made by an artist in his studio. They are not paintings in the usual sense, but rather rather paintings that have been painted in the studio, that have been made to look like paintings. In these paintings, Dokoupil has used oil paint and lacquer as well as acrylic, but he has not tried to escape the fact that these are not paintings but rather still images from a series of paintings.The paintings consist of two parts: a surface and a border.
I dont care about this mans childhood tell me about the space rock.
The artist is a maverick—a young, ambitious, and talented artist, and a good one. You may wish he were more in touch with the real world. The best of the best are the ones who are young, active, and have enough guts to do something. These are the ones who inspire hope and change.
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