Apocalypse Expressionism

I will occasionally use this blog to comment on art, not only to post gorgeous imagery alongside heartbreaking texts.



image source: Trash & Treasure




Images: Yet to be Titled / The Leaf and the Wind, both 2011 by Landon Metz


I've been on notice of a recent surge of neo-Abstract Expressionism. It manifests in fine art, design, fashion, home decor.




Kline-esq / de Kooning-esq Pillows by Wary Meyers




ffixxed less world silk scarf from POUR PORTER / Scarf by Unknown (help?)


Shirt by Paul Cowan at Contemporary Standard / Tote by Unknown (help?)


Do these artists execute their works under the same maniacal influences of raw spirit that their predecessors channeled? Are they influenced by certain MOMA retrospectives? The 20-something year swing around of all trends? Or is this the work of a generationally loud last gasp of lost soul? A wisply leak into the ozone-depleted ether of something beautiful and prevalent enough to quiet the darkness that envelopes the current zeitgeist?




"It Tastes Like Ashes" by Bert Huyghe


Abstract expressionism has always (in my aspect) shared a root of with the marrow of true humanity. It is not often representation of figural form, but there is human being all over it. In color, shape, stroke, texture, sensation. Abstraction is hard, but expression is as natural as pre-30s rain, as easy and fulfilling as taking a shit. It may have pushed boundaries for the art world, but what it did for the artist was release, release, release. All anger, frustration, joy, ecstasy, pulsating desire, envy, insanity.



"fucking hack" by Mitchel Spider


I'll speak now of WE, my generation, of (young) artists and makers. Collectively, we worry in those tiny black boxes hidden deep inside our minds, that population explosion means we probably won't have kids or grandkids; at least not comfortably, not without fighting a few more wars to weed out the less rich and armed. Or not without staging a worldwide guillotine-style rebellion and reorganization that completely sets the world right just so it can fall apart again. (these pipe dreams keep our heads bowed upon the whiskey fumed planks while our asses are glued to timber bar stools). The not-so-terribly-distant wasteland to which we are steered--however unwillingly-- eradicates the notion of gallery/museum based presentation of artwork. In fact, it makes all preservation obsolete. WE don't hope to become names in an already corpulent lexicon of Art History, we just want to ease the terror sting of that burning Apocalypse on the horizon.



"Untitled" by Thomas Jessome, 2011


NOTE: I would like to thank the tumblr RainbowGradientCatBoom where a lot of the images/inspiration came to me from.