In a post truth world, cowering under the overwhelming threat of an unstoppable “flu”, are we that far removed from being mere characters in a post apocalyptic book? By the time the Objet Trouvé+ Residency came about most had already been through a challenging lockdown, been socially distancing for 4 months, and faced a reality that has gone from bleak to resigned since.
The works in the exhibition were birthed into this swirling uncertainty from the minds of 11 disparate individuals. Following in the footsteps of the Surrealists, each maker found a vein of untapped potential, a stream of consciousness that helped fuel the works on display. These works are different in many ways from the artist’s oeuvre, in that they are unfiltered glimpses into the minds of artists. It is the spark of an idea, being fanned into flames. The online format forestalls any interaction, limits access and narrows our vision of the work to that which can be seen through a rectangular peep hole. But it is in a way the most democratic, most fitting result of a Residency that took root in Apurva’s mind in the depressive depths of the pandemic, allowing us all a peek into the inner worlds of the participating artists.
The found object has for long been a much lauded and reviled facet of art making, raising questions of authorship and authenticity while simultaneously disparaging the artist who resorts to the ‘readymade’. The Residency sought to celebrate this ever present but much ignored ‘object’, turning us, like Apurva believes, into archeologists, digging through our unconscious and projecting our deepest images onto the things that surround us.
Itchy met Scratchy, and said with a smile,
Have you met the Skin King in a while?
No he said, not i not i,
But can try next door by the by.
Come to me, prickled and full of holes,
Under a weepy sky, full of promise and light.
Leave your thoughts blank, leave nothing to chance,
Don’t get caught on the way out of the garden of earthly delight.
All is as it should be, the old guard stands down,
The new is upon us, standing tall.
Be steady, stay the course, all will be revealed,
Where Pen meets Mind, the battle will be won.
What must be must be
For life shall follow its own path
No matter the meaning and purpose we give it
No hope can alter the coming of the beginning of the end.
She quilts, and she carves, she is master above all.
Her hands work wonders, her brain never rests.
The wonders abound when she creates,
Her studio is a marvel and fantasy, a place of quiet contemplation.
How do you make sense of this twisted world,
A cloud here, a leg there, a collage of your making.
Teach, fill young minds with wisdom, hearts with joy,
For the pure delight of making art matter.
The sea in its churning, has washed ashore,
That which you treasure, spray and mould.
It’s calm exterior notwithstanding, you see beneath its inky waves,
Life and longing, bubbling.
Youth is not wasted on all the young,
Before you know it, they’ve strung you along.
With a song and blocks and baubles galore,
They’ll build us a world, where we can hope for more.
The moon set its path across the sky
You gazed and felt it pass you by
Oh Saturn, you have been displaced
As the one who she listens to on the fly.
Hear the call of the soil,
It tills and weaves for you,
It grows not what will make you rich,
Only that which will bring you pride.
Homesickness has many faces
Sometimes neither a nose nor a mouth
And yet when you think of it
All you can see is the humble pão