Tom Motley
BA (Hons) Fine Art
As Deleuze once said it shits and fucks. The original French of which I have never read. As philosophers contemplate the meaning of words and how they connect to theories on desire, the mind and society, they often neglect how these words further demonstrate systems, their functions, and their inabilities. To shit, to poo, to do something. To fuck, to have sex, to do something. To be perceived, to express, “Dear Mr. Toilet, I'm the shit” (Lil Wayne). States of being and what they mean to us are diverse and unmappable, in a world increasingly aware of context and networks, creating objectivity is null.
History died before I was born, the residue was free to explore through algorithms and moderation systems. I thank CERN everyday for my reality. Traversing hauntological liminal spaces, those touching my rubber soles and those on the screen, each as simulated as the other. Blood on the snow or dead websites with no users, both realms succumbed to actions of culture, ritual and violence. Coupled by folk arts and façades.
But I don’t think Utopia ever meant much to me, so based but so cringe. Was it to be ethereal transcendence or materialist reality; or a secret goofy third thing. Analysis removed of Zizekian fetish always seemed impossible and I’d rather not be involved. All we may have is image anarchism.
