{"id":19136,"title":"Douglas Enyon - 2015 - The Mind as a Fruit Machine [EN, essay]","dimensions":"3 p.","date_begin":null,"material":"","art_status_id":13,"legal_status_id":47,"category_id":25,"platform_id":1,"deleted":false,"asset_count":1,"stream_count":0,"collection":"Hans Theys Archive / Archief Hans Theys","cached_tag_list":"essay","publishing_process_id":1,"annotation":"","date_end":null,"reference":"","stream_count_app":9,"permalink":"douglas-enyon-the-mind-as-a-fruit-machine-en-essay","description_ca":"","short_description_ca":"","description_it":"","short_description_it":"","cached_primary_asset_url":null,"cached_actor_names":"Hans Theys","hide_from_json":true,"prev_platform_id":null,"description_uk":null,"short_description_uk":null,"description_tr":null,"short_description_tr":null,"mhka_works":false,"category":{"en":"Text","nl":"Tekst","fr":"Texte"},"poster_image":null,"poster_credits":null,"translations":[{"locale":"en","short_description":"","description":"\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n__________\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nHans Theys\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cstrong\u003eThe Mind as a Fruit Machine\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nA few words on meeting Douglas Eynon\u003c/strong\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nI meet Eynon (\u0026deg;1989) in his studio. One big wall is covered with a series of new paintings, painted on dark blue cloth. I have the impression that the artist is primarily preoccupied with images, not with texture. Apart from the trivial support, which indicates that the paintings don\u0026rsquo;t want to look like traditional ones, they mainly consist of straightforward drawings with paint. In spite of their attempts to go to the essential (on the level of imagery), most of them look overwrought. We feel the artist is still searching. We also feel he\u0026rsquo;s not principally a painter, but someone who tries to put things in a certain order and to do that, uses paint. This corresponds with the various beautiful sculptures that are scattered about his studio, almost invisibly: a concrete model of a staircase, that proves to be eerily or funnily crooked when seen from up close, a plant in a pot, partly disappearing into a vertical concrete slab. Then the artist shows me his drawings. Clearly, the paintings I just saw stem from these drawings, that function as a virtual space in which a number of images are repetitively combined to form new worlds. One drawing, for instance, shows a dripping faucet attached to a rock, creating a shadow or flake in the shape of a human figure. Each drawing presents itself as a dreamlike space that reminds us of paintings by certain surrealists. Not as attempts to evoke a mystery or a surreal world, but as a manner of creating an unexpected poetic order into a dispersed set of images that haunt or tempt the artist. Not surprisingly, Eynon mentions Kafka. Not for superficial reasons, but for the unique way this writer shuffles with space. In Kafka\u0026rsquo;s novels heroes sometimes need hours to get somewhere, whereas the next day those same places appear to be adjacent. In Kafka\u0026rsquo;s novels, architecture obeys the abrupt logic of dreams. Similarly, Eynon juggles with images such as dripping light bulbs, raining tables or rippled black ponds. He puts them together and separates them, as if he were trying to find out why they fascinate him. Ideally, we understand, some of these images will be translated into large installations. In the meantime, Eynon has started to enlarge them to the size of the paintings, just to see what would happen. He tells me he doesn\u0026rsquo;t like talking about his work, but I like to listen to him. The following words might be attributed to him, but I cannot guarantee he really pronounced them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003e\u0026ldquo;Personal narrative becomes increasingly important for me, but I don\u0026rsquo;t know why\u0026hellip; I think I must be obsessed with water. Once I started a collection of paintings with water. A lot of them were really bad. One day I showed a lot of them in one row, putting the horizons on the same level. Together they created this artificial sea. You couldn\u0026rsquo;t see any land. It was a one-off. Normally I don\u0026rsquo;t work with found objects, but if a thing takes me to a certain medium, I have to accept this. Of course, you cannot be a fucking great painter and a fucking great sculptor at the same time. That\u0026rsquo;s another thing we have to accept. (Laughs.) One day I took this dentist material to the Rodin Museum and I made moulds of certain hands. The moulds were turned into plaster casts. (He shows me one of these casts. A beautiful sculpture. He also shows me photographs of Rodin\u0026rsquo;s sculptures with buckets covering hands.) I didn\u0026rsquo;t want to harm his sculptures. I only made moulds from the bronzes. I was not trying to reproduce, I was trying to make new objects. My practice consists of developing materials and stuff. It really bounces around. Mmm. I never talked so much about myself, except in French classes\u0026hellip; I would like to place big wedges under some sculptures on Easter Island. In my drawings and paintings this is possible. (He shows me an aquarium filled with water. On the bottom of the aquarium, protected from the water by a glass recipient, a little plant in a pot dries out.) I\u0026rsquo;m obsessed with control. I\u0026rsquo;ve always liked the idea of home improvement. Not to create a place to live in, but to create absurd objects\u0026hellip; For a while, my work was like people who create an arrangement in their front garden, with a plant, a little pond or any other object. Today sculptures are more meaningful to me and I learnt to trust my drawings more. Now I\u0026rsquo;m no longer trying to create a perfect home, but a perfect installation: an environment that corresponds to the atmosphere of my drawings. All the stuff of my drawings is happening in the same place. I would like to be able to construct this place and make a film inside of it. I would live in it and continuously add new sculptures. I\u0026rsquo;m very much attached to this place, where all this stuff goes on. I don\u0026rsquo;t feel like explaining this to anyone. I love rain. I never get bored of it. It\u0026rsquo;s difficult to paint rain. I think I succeeded in this painting, but then I ruined it by adding the landscape. Sometimes your mind is like a stingy dirty corridor with fags everywhere, sometimes it\u0026rsquo;s nicely lit. Kafka\u0026rsquo;s world is frightening, but it\u0026rsquo;s also fascinating. In Orson Welles\u0026rsquo; film \u0026lsquo;The Trial\u0026rsquo; there\u0026rsquo;s this great scene where K. leaves the house to go to work. These photographs remind me of this scene. (He shows me photographs of a building that looks like a church and of a staircase hewn out of rock. Juxtaposed, they create an incongruent ensemble. On another photograph the interior of what seems to be a church looks like a cemetery\u0026hellip; While looking at these photographs, I notice that the image on the desktop shows a painting of Philip Guston, representing a vomiting mouth.) Kafka gives you so much pleasure\u0026hellip; I don\u0026rsquo;t know if I\u0026rsquo;d cope if I were stuck, but I\u0026rsquo;d love to be trapped and try to work it out\u0026hellip; One type of control against the other\u0026hellip; I like this bit in Beckett\u0026rsquo;s novel \u0026lsquo;Molloy\u0026rsquo;, where a guy keeps sixteen stones in groups of four in four pockets. When he sucks on a stone he replaces it by a stone from another pocket, which in it\u0026rsquo;s turn is replaced by a stone from another pocket, which in it\u0026rsquo;s turn is replaced by a fourth stone, which is replaced by the stone that comes out of his mouth. However, following this system, he can never be sure he\u0026rsquo;s not always sucking on the same four stones. And even if he would have sixteen pockets, he wouldn\u0026rsquo;t be satisfied because\u0026hellip; And so on\u0026hellip; I\u0026rsquo;m trying to create a sculpture with melting metal that drips like rain. I don\u0026rsquo;t want to justify my work. Secrecy is very important. I admire the way Bob Dylan changes accents, sings in different voices. Nobody can pin him down\u0026hellip; Nothing against hopping around. We should be allowed to surprise people. I\u0026rsquo;d like to come out like Urs Fischer. I like this kind of appearing. He offers open access to anybody on his website, but at the same time he\u0026rsquo;s protecting his secrecy. By giving everybody everything, he makes it clear that we will never know where he will go. I love his clay cats on San Marco, washed away by the rain\u0026hellip; A friend of mine once told me that while waiting for a train at some station, he suddenly stepped into an adjacent room full of fruit machines. The room was empty, except for an Asian guy, who was sitting on a chair. Slowly he rose and went from machine to machine, just pulling the arms. It appeared he had already put money into each machine\u0026hellip;\u0026rdquo;\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nMontagne de Miel, 27 August 2015\u003c/p\u003e\r\n"},{"locale":"nl","short_description":"","description":"\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n__________\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nHans Theys\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cstrong\u003eThe Mind as a Fruit Machine\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nA few words on meeting Douglas Eynon\u003c/strong\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nI meet Eynon (\u0026deg;1989) in his studio. One big wall is covered with a series of new paintings, painted on dark blue cloth. I have the impression that the artist is primarily preoccupied with images, not with texture. Apart from the trivial support, which indicates that the paintings don\u0026rsquo;t want to look like traditional ones, they mainly consist of straightforward drawings with paint. In spite of their attempts to go to the essential (on the level of imagery), most of them look overwrought. We feel the artist is still searching. We also feel he\u0026rsquo;s not principally a painter, but someone who tries to put things in a certain order and to do that, uses paint. This corresponds with the various beautiful sculptures that are scattered about his studio, almost invisibly: a concrete model of a staircase, that proves to be eerily or funnily crooked when seen from up close, a plant in a pot, partly disappearing into a vertical concrete slab. Then the artist shows me his drawings. Clearly, the paintings I just saw stem from these drawings, that function as a virtual space in which a number of images are repetitively combined to form new worlds. One drawing, for instance, shows a dripping faucet attached to a rock, creating a shadow or flake in the shape of a human figure. Each drawing presents itself as a dreamlike space that reminds us of paintings by certain surrealists. Not as attempts to evoke a mystery or a surreal world, but as a manner of creating an unexpected poetic order into a dispersed set of images that haunt or tempt the artist. Not surprisingly, Eynon mentions Kafka. Not for superficial reasons, but for the unique way this writer shuffles with space. In Kafka\u0026rsquo;s novels heroes sometimes need hours to get somewhere, whereas the next day those same places appear to be adjacent. In Kafka\u0026rsquo;s novels, architecture obeys the abrupt logic of dreams. Similarly, Eynon juggles with images such as dripping light bulbs, raining tables or rippled black ponds. He puts them together and separates them, as if he were trying to find out why they fascinate him. Ideally, we understand, some of these images will be translated into large installations. In the meantime, Eynon has started to enlarge them to the size of the paintings, just to see what would happen. He tells me he doesn\u0026rsquo;t like talking about his work, but I like to listen to him. The following words might be attributed to him, but I cannot guarantee he really pronounced them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003e\u0026ldquo;Personal narrative becomes increasingly important for me, but I don\u0026rsquo;t know why\u0026hellip; I think I must be obsessed with water. Once I started a collection of paintings with water. A lot of them were really bad. One day I showed a lot of them in one row, putting the horizons on the same level. Together they created this artificial sea. You couldn\u0026rsquo;t see any land. It was a one-off. Normally I don\u0026rsquo;t work with found objects, but if a thing takes me to a certain medium, I have to accept this. Of course, you cannot be a fucking great painter and a fucking great sculptor at the same time. That\u0026rsquo;s another thing we have to accept. (Laughs.) One day I took this dentist material to the Rodin Museum and I made moulds of certain hands. The moulds were turned into plaster casts. (He shows me one of these casts. A beautiful sculpture. He also shows me photographs of Rodin\u0026rsquo;s sculptures with buckets covering hands.) I didn\u0026rsquo;t want to harm his sculptures. I only made moulds from the bronzes. I was not trying to reproduce, I was trying to make new objects. My practice consists of developing materials and stuff. It really bounces around. Mmm. I never talked so much about myself, except in French classes\u0026hellip; I would like to place big wedges under some sculptures on Easter Island. In my drawings and paintings this is possible. (He shows me an aquarium filled with water. On the bottom of the aquarium, protected from the water by a glass recipient, a little plant in a pot dries out.) I\u0026rsquo;m obsessed with control. I\u0026rsquo;ve always liked the idea of home improvement. Not to create a place to live in, but to create absurd objects\u0026hellip; For a while, my work was like people who create an arrangement in their front garden, with a plant, a little pond or any other object. Today sculptures are more meaningful to me and I learnt to trust my drawings more. Now I\u0026rsquo;m no longer trying to create a perfect home, but a perfect installation: an environment that corresponds to the atmosphere of my drawings. All the stuff of my drawings is happening in the same place. I would like to be able to construct this place and make a film inside of it. I would live in it and continuously add new sculptures. I\u0026rsquo;m very much attached to this place, where all this stuff goes on. I don\u0026rsquo;t feel like explaining this to anyone. I love rain. I never get bored of it. It\u0026rsquo;s difficult to paint rain. I think I succeeded in this painting, but then I ruined it by adding the landscape. Sometimes your mind is like a stingy dirty corridor with fags everywhere, sometimes it\u0026rsquo;s nicely lit. Kafka\u0026rsquo;s world is frightening, but it\u0026rsquo;s also fascinating. In Orson Welles\u0026rsquo; film \u0026lsquo;The Trial\u0026rsquo; there\u0026rsquo;s this great scene where K. leaves the house to go to work. These photographs remind me of this scene. (He shows me photographs of a building that looks like a church and of a staircase hewn out of rock. Juxtaposed, they create an incongruent ensemble. On another photograph the interior of what seems to be a church looks like a cemetery\u0026hellip; While looking at these photographs, I notice that the image on the desktop shows a painting of Philip Guston, representing a vomiting mouth.) Kafka gives you so much pleasure\u0026hellip; I don\u0026rsquo;t know if I\u0026rsquo;d cope if I were stuck, but I\u0026rsquo;d love to be trapped and try to work it out\u0026hellip; One type of control against the other\u0026hellip; I like this bit in Beckett\u0026rsquo;s novel \u0026lsquo;Molloy\u0026rsquo;, where a guy keeps sixteen stones in groups of four in four pockets. When he sucks on a stone he replaces it by a stone from another pocket, which in it\u0026rsquo;s turn is replaced by a stone from another pocket, which in it\u0026rsquo;s turn is replaced by a fourth stone, which is replaced by the stone that comes out of his mouth. However, following this system, he can never be sure he\u0026rsquo;s not always sucking on the same four stones. And even if he would have sixteen pockets, he wouldn\u0026rsquo;t be satisfied because\u0026hellip; And so on\u0026hellip; I\u0026rsquo;m trying to create a sculpture with melting metal that drips like rain. I don\u0026rsquo;t want to justify my work. Secrecy is very important. I admire the way Bob Dylan changes accents, sings in different voices. Nobody can pin him down\u0026hellip; Nothing against hopping around. We should be allowed to surprise people. I\u0026rsquo;d like to come out like Urs Fischer. I like this kind of appearing. He offers open access to anybody on his website, but at the same time he\u0026rsquo;s protecting his secrecy. By giving everybody everything, he makes it clear that we will never know where he will go. I love his clay cats on San Marco, washed away by the rain\u0026hellip; A friend of mine once told me that while waiting for a train at some station, he suddenly stepped into an adjacent room full of fruit machines. The room was empty, except for an Asian guy, who was sitting on a chair. Slowly he rose and went from machine to machine, just pulling the arms. It appeared he had already put money into each machine\u0026hellip;\u0026rdquo;\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nMontagne de Miel, 27 August 2015\u003c/p\u003e\r\n"},{"locale":"fr","short_description":"","description":"\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n__________\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nHans Theys\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cstrong\u003eDes images qui changent de poche\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nQuelques mots sur ma rencontre avec Douglas Eynon\u003c/strong\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nJe suis dans l\u0026rsquo;atelier de Douglas Eynon (\u0026deg;1989) devant une s\u0026eacute;rie de peintures. Elles sont peintes sur des toiles bleu fonc\u0026eacute; agraf\u0026eacute;es \u0026agrave; m\u0026ecirc;me le mur. En les regardant je me dis que l\u0026rsquo;artiste semble plus int\u0026eacute;ress\u0026eacute; par les images que par la mati\u0026egrave;re. Le support me laisse penser que les peintures cherchent \u0026agrave; \u0026eacute;chapper aux canons traditionnels du genre et qu\u0026rsquo;elles s\u0026rsquo;apparentent plus \u0026agrave; des dessins. La volont\u0026eacute; d\u0026rsquo;aller \u0026agrave; l\u0026rsquo;essentiel, dans la repr\u0026eacute;sentation, donne un aspect fragile aux images. On sent que l\u0026rsquo;artiste cherche \u0026agrave; ordonner des id\u0026eacute;es, \u0026agrave; construire quelque chose en se servant des moyens de la peinture mais qu\u0026rsquo;il n\u0026rsquo;est pas, \u0026agrave; proprement parler, un peintre. Plusieurs magnifiques sculptures, \u0026eacute;parpill\u0026eacute;es sur le sol, presqu\u0026rsquo;invisibles, me confortent dans cette id\u0026eacute;e\u0026nbsp;: une maquette d\u0026rsquo;escalier en b\u0026eacute;ton \u0026eacute;trangement vrill\u0026eacute;e quand on la regarde du dessus, une plante et son pot en partie pris dans un bloc de b\u0026eacute;ton\u0026hellip;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eL\u0026rsquo;artiste me montre ensuite ses dessins. Il est clair que les peintures que je viens de voir viennent de l\u0026agrave;, qu\u0026rsquo;elles fonctionnent comme un espace virtuel dans lequel beaucoup d\u0026rsquo;id\u0026eacute;es se combinent et se r\u0026eacute;p\u0026egrave;tent pour cr\u0026eacute;er de nouveaux univers. Un des dessins, par exemple, repr\u0026eacute;sente un robinet ouvert, fich\u0026eacute; dans un rocher, qui cr\u0026eacute;e une sorte d\u0026rsquo;ombre port\u0026eacute;e antropomorphe. Chacun des dessins est comme la repr\u0026eacute;sentation d\u0026rsquo;un r\u0026ecirc;ve. Ils rappellent les tableaux de certains surr\u0026eacute;alistes. Pour autant ils ne cherchent pas \u0026agrave; \u0026eacute;voquer le myst\u0026egrave;re ou une surr\u0026eacute;alit\u0026eacute;, mais plut\u0026ocirc;t \u0026agrave; cr\u0026eacute;er un ordre po\u0026eacute;tique singulier \u0026agrave; partir d\u0026rsquo;images subjectives qui habitent l\u0026rsquo;artiste.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eEynon mentionne le traitement de l\u0026rsquo;espace chez Kafka. Dans les romans de Kafka il arrive que le h\u0026eacute;ros mette des heures \u0026agrave; parcourir la distance entre deux lieux alors que le lendemain ces m\u0026ecirc;mes lieux s\u0026rsquo;av\u0026egrave;rent \u0026ecirc;tre contigus. L\u0026rsquo;architecture ob\u0026eacute;it \u0026agrave; la logique des r\u0026ecirc;ves. De la m\u0026ecirc;me mani\u0026egrave;re Eynon jongle avec des images\u0026nbsp;: une ampoule lumineuse liquide, une averse qui tombe sous une table ou une mare \u0026agrave; la fois sombre et iris\u0026eacute;e. Il les rassemble et les s\u0026eacute;pare, joue avec comme s\u0026rsquo;il cherchait \u0026agrave; comprendre pourquoi elles le fascinent tant.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eParfois certaines de ces images deviennent des installations complexes dans l\u0026rsquo;espace, d\u0026rsquo;autres sont agrandies \u0026agrave; l\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;chelle de grandes peintures, \u0026ccedil;a d\u0026eacute;pend du contexte et des images elles-m\u0026ecirc;mes. Eynon me confie qu\u0026rsquo;il n\u0026rsquo;aime pas parler de son travail\u0026hellip; mais moi j\u0026rsquo;aime l\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;couter. Les phrases qui suivent lui sont attribu\u0026eacute;es, bien que je ne garantisse pas qu\u0026rsquo;il les ait prononc\u0026eacute;es.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003e\u0026laquo;\u0026nbsp;Mes histoires personnelles prennent de plus en plus d\u0026rsquo;importance mais je ne sais pas vraiment pourquoi. Je suis obs\u0026eacute;d\u0026eacute; par l\u0026rsquo;eau. Pendant un temps j\u0026rsquo;ai collectionn\u0026eacute; des marines. Beaucoup d\u0026rsquo;entre elles \u0026eacute;taient vraiment mauvaises. J\u0026rsquo;en ai montr\u0026eacute; toute une s\u0026eacute;rie, en ligne, en les accrochant de telle mani\u0026egrave;re que les lignes d\u0026rsquo;horizon se suivaient. Ensemble elles cr\u0026eacute;aient une sorte de mer artificielle, sans rivage. En g\u0026eacute;n\u0026eacute;ral je ne travaille pas avec des objets trouv\u0026eacute;s mais si quelque chose m\u0026rsquo;am\u0026egrave;ne \u0026agrave; utiliser un certain m\u0026eacute;dium je l\u0026rsquo;accepte. Bien s\u0026ucirc;r on ne peut pas \u0026ecirc;tre \u0026agrave; la fois un grand peintre et un grand sculpteur. C\u0026rsquo;est encore un truc qu\u0026rsquo;il faut accepter (rire).\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eUn jour je suis all\u0026eacute; au mus\u0026eacute;e Rodin avec un sachet d\u0026rsquo;alginate et j\u0026rsquo;ai fait des moules de certaines mains directement sur les bronzes. Puis j\u0026rsquo;en ai fait des tirages en pl\u0026acirc;tre. (Il me montre un de ces tirages, une magnifique sculpture. Il me montre aussi des photos de sculptures de Rodin dont les mains sont prises dans des seaux). Je ne voulais pas ab\u0026icirc;mer ses sculptures. J\u0026rsquo;ai juste fait des moules \u0026agrave; partir des bronzes. Je ne voulais pas non plus les copier, juste en faire de nouveaux objets.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eJ\u0026rsquo;aimerais mettre des cales sous les statues de l\u0026rsquo;\u0026icirc;le de P\u0026acirc;ques. Dans mes peintures et mes dessins c\u0026rsquo;est possible. (Il me montre un aquarium rempli d\u0026rsquo;eau. Au fond, isol\u0026eacute;e de l\u0026rsquo;eau par un r\u0026eacute;cipient de verre, une plante se dess\u0026egrave;che). Je m\u0026rsquo;int\u0026eacute;resse au contr\u0026ocirc;le qu\u0026rsquo;on peut avoir sur les choses. J\u0026rsquo;ai toujours aim\u0026eacute; l\u0026rsquo;id\u0026eacute;e de bricolage. Pas pour am\u0026eacute;liorer un espace de vie mais pour cr\u0026eacute;er des objets absurdes\u0026hellip; Pendant un temps mon travail \u0026eacute;tait comme ces gens qui d\u0026eacute;corent leur jardinet avec des plantes, une petite mare ou n\u0026rsquo;importe quels objets. Maintenant j\u0026rsquo;ai l\u0026rsquo;impression que mes sculptures ont plus de sens et j\u0026rsquo;ai appris \u0026agrave; avoir plus confiance en mes dessins. Je n\u0026rsquo;essaie plus de cr\u0026eacute;er une maison parfaite mais une installation parfaite\u0026nbsp;: un environnement qui corresponde \u0026agrave; l\u0026rsquo;atmosph\u0026egrave;re de mes dessins. Tout, dans mes dessins, se passe au m\u0026ecirc;me endroit. J\u0026rsquo;aimerais arriver \u0026agrave; construire cet espace et y faire un film. Je vivrais \u0026agrave; l\u0026rsquo;int\u0026eacute;rieur, j\u0026rsquo;ajouterais en permanence des nouvelles sculptures. Je suis tr\u0026egrave;s attach\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; cet endroit, o\u0026ugrave; tous ces trucs se passent. Mais je ne me vois pas expliquer \u0026ccedil;a \u0026agrave; qui que ce soit. J\u0026rsquo;adore la pluie. Je ne m\u0026rsquo;en suis jamais lass\u0026eacute;. C\u0026rsquo;est difficile de peindre la pluie. Je croyais y \u0026ecirc;tre arriv\u0026eacute; dans cette peinture mais apr\u0026egrave;s je l\u0026rsquo;ai ruin\u0026eacute;e en ajoutant un paysage\u0026hellip;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eParfois l\u0026rsquo;esprit est comme un pauvre couloir sombre et d\u0026eacute;gueulasse, rempli de m\u0026eacute;gots, et parfois il est joliment \u0026eacute;clair\u0026eacute;. Le monde de Kafka est \u0026agrave; la fois effrayant et fascinant. Dans \u0026laquo; Le proc\u0026egrave;s\u0026nbsp;\u0026raquo; d\u0026rsquo;Orson Welles il y a cette sc\u0026egrave;ne formidable o\u0026ugrave; K sort de chez lui pour aller au travail. Ces photos me font penser \u0026agrave; cette sc\u0026egrave;ne.\u0026nbsp;\u0026raquo;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003e(Il me montre une photo d\u0026rsquo;un building qui ressemble \u0026agrave; une \u0026eacute;glise et une autre d\u0026rsquo;un escalier sculpt\u0026eacute; dans un rocher. Les deux photos juxtapos\u0026eacute;es cr\u0026eacute;ent un ensemble incongru. Sur une autre photo, ce qui semble \u0026ecirc;tre l\u0026rsquo;int\u0026eacute;rieur d\u0026rsquo;une \u0026eacute;glise ressemble \u0026agrave; un cimeti\u0026egrave;re\u0026hellip; Pendant que je regarde ces photographies je note que l\u0026rsquo;image de fond d\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;cran de l\u0026rsquo;ordinateur est une peinture de Philip Guston qui repr\u0026eacute;sente une bouche en train de vomir.)\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003e\u0026laquo; J\u0026rsquo;aime \u0026eacute;norm\u0026eacute;ment Kafka\u0026hellip; Je ne sais pas si je tiendrais le coup si j\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tais dans des situations comme celles qu\u0026rsquo;il d\u0026eacute;crit mais j\u0026rsquo;aimerais \u0026ecirc;tre pris au pi\u0026egrave;ge et essayer de retrouver mon chemin\u0026hellip; un mode de contr\u0026ocirc;le contre un autre\u0026hellip; J\u0026rsquo;aime aussi ce passage dans \u0026laquo;\u0026nbsp;Molloy\u0026nbsp;\u0026raquo; de Beckett o\u0026ugrave; un type garde seize cailloux par groupes de quatre dans ses poches (4 dans chacune des deux poches de son pantalon et 4 dans chacune des poches de son manteau). Il prend une pierre de la poche droite de son manteau et la met dans sa bouche pour la sucer. Puis il la remplace par une pierre de la poche droite de son pantalon qu\u0026rsquo;il remplace elle-m\u0026ecirc;me par une de la poche gauche de son pantalon et cette derni\u0026egrave;re par une autre de la poche gauche de son manteau qui remplace finalement celle qu\u0026rsquo;il a dans la bouche\u0026hellip; et ainsi de suite. Mais en suivant ce syst\u0026egrave;me il n\u0026rsquo;est jamais s\u0026ucirc;r de ne pas sucer toujours les m\u0026ecirc;mes quatre pierres\u0026nbsp;! Et m\u0026ecirc;me s\u0026rsquo;il avait seize poches il n\u0026rsquo;en serait toujours pas s\u0026ucirc;r\u0026hellip;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eJ\u0026rsquo;essaie de faire une sculpture avec du m\u0026eacute;tal fondu qui coulerait comme de la pluie.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eJe ne veux pas justifier ce que je fais. Garder une forme de secret est tr\u0026egrave;s important. J\u0026rsquo;admire la mani\u0026egrave;re dont Bob Dylan change d\u0026rsquo;accent ou de voix quand il chante. Il se cache derri\u0026egrave;re, il appara\u0026icirc;t l\u0026agrave; o\u0026ugrave; on ne l\u0026rsquo;attend pas. On devrait pouvoir surprendre les gens. J\u0026rsquo;aimerai agir comme Urs Fisher. Il laisse \u0026agrave; tout le monde un libre acc\u0026egrave;s \u0026agrave; son site web, mais en m\u0026ecirc;me temps il garde ses secrets. En livrant tout en bloc \u0026agrave; tout le monde il entretient une forme de myst\u0026egrave;re sur ce qu\u0026rsquo;il fera par la suite. J\u0026rsquo;adore ces chats en argile crue, \u0026agrave; San Marco, qui se d\u0026eacute;sint\u0026egrave;grent lentement sous la pluie\u0026hellip;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eUn ami m\u0026rsquo;a racont\u0026eacute; qu\u0026rsquo;un jour qu\u0026rsquo;il attendait le train dans une gare quelconque, il s\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tait retrouv\u0026eacute; dans une salle remplie de machines \u0026agrave; sous. La pi\u0026egrave;ce \u0026eacute;tait vide, seul un chinois \u0026eacute;tait assis dans un coin, sur une chaise. L\u0026rsquo;homme s\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tait lev\u0026eacute; tranquillement et avait tir\u0026eacute; sur le bras m\u0026eacute;canique de chaque machine, l\u0026rsquo;une apr\u0026egrave;s l\u0026rsquo;autre. Il s\u0026rsquo;av\u0026eacute;rait qu\u0026rsquo;il avait d\u0026eacute;j\u0026agrave; mis de l\u0026rsquo;argent dans toutes les machines.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nMontagne de Miel, 27 ao\u0026ucirc;t 2015\u003c/p\u003e\r\n"},{"locale":"ru","short_description":"","description":""},{"locale":"de","short_description":"","description":"\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n__________\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nHans Theys\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cstrong\u003eThe Mind as a Fruit Machine\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nA few words on meeting Douglas Eynon\u003c/strong\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nI meet Eynon (\u0026deg;1989) in his studio. One big wall is covered with a series of new paintings, painted on dark blue cloth. I have the impression that the artist is primarily preoccupied with images, not with texture. Apart from the trivial support, which indicates that the paintings don\u0026rsquo;t want to look like traditional ones, they mainly consist of straightforward drawings with paint. In spite of their attempts to go to the essential (on the level of imagery), most of them look overwrought. We feel the artist is still searching. We also feel he\u0026rsquo;s not principally a painter, but someone who tries to put things in a certain order and to do that, uses paint. This corresponds with the various beautiful sculptures that are scattered about his studio, almost invisibly: a concrete model of a staircase, that proves to be eerily or funnily crooked when seen from up close, a plant in a pot, partly disappearing into a vertical concrete slab. Then the artist shows me his drawings. Clearly, the paintings I just saw stem from these drawings, that function as a virtual space in which a number of images are repetitively combined to form new worlds. One drawing, for instance, shows a dripping faucet attached to a rock, creating a shadow or flake in the shape of a human figure. Each drawing presents itself as a dreamlike space that reminds us of paintings by certain surrealists. Not as attempts to evoke a mystery or a surreal world, but as a manner of creating an unexpected poetic order into a dispersed set of images that haunt or tempt the artist. Not surprisingly, Eynon mentions Kafka. Not for superficial reasons, but for the unique way this writer shuffles with space. In Kafka\u0026rsquo;s novels heroes sometimes need hours to get somewhere, whereas the next day those same places appear to be adjacent. In Kafka\u0026rsquo;s novels, architecture obeys the abrupt logic of dreams. Similarly, Eynon juggles with images such as dripping light bulbs, raining tables or rippled black ponds. He puts them together and separates them, as if he were trying to find out why they fascinate him. Ideally, we understand, some of these images will be translated into large installations. In the meantime, Eynon has started to enlarge them to the size of the paintings, just to see what would happen. He tells me he doesn\u0026rsquo;t like talking about his work, but I like to listen to him. The following words might be attributed to him, but I cannot guarantee he really pronounced them.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003e\u0026ldquo;Personal narrative becomes increasingly important for me, but I don\u0026rsquo;t know why\u0026hellip; I think I must be obsessed with water. Once I started a collection of paintings with water. A lot of them were really bad. One day I showed a lot of them in one row, putting the horizons on the same level. Together they created this artificial sea. You couldn\u0026rsquo;t see any land. It was a one-off. Normally I don\u0026rsquo;t work with found objects, but if a thing takes me to a certain medium, I have to accept this. Of course, you cannot be a fucking great painter and a fucking great sculptor at the same time. That\u0026rsquo;s another thing we have to accept. (Laughs.) One day I took this dentist material to the Rodin Museum and I made moulds of certain hands. The moulds were turned into plaster casts. (He shows me one of these casts. A beautiful sculpture. He also shows me photographs of Rodin\u0026rsquo;s sculptures with buckets covering hands.) I didn\u0026rsquo;t want to harm his sculptures. I only made moulds from the bronzes. I was not trying to reproduce, I was trying to make new objects. My practice consists of developing materials and stuff. It really bounces around. Mmm. I never talked so much about myself, except in French classes\u0026hellip; I would like to place big wedges under some sculptures on Easter Island. In my drawings and paintings this is possible. (He shows me an aquarium filled with water. On the bottom of the aquarium, protected from the water by a glass recipient, a little plant in a pot dries out.) I\u0026rsquo;m obsessed with control. I\u0026rsquo;ve always liked the idea of home improvement. Not to create a place to live in, but to create absurd objects\u0026hellip; For a while, my work was like people who create an arrangement in their front garden, with a plant, a little pond or any other object. Today sculptures are more meaningful to me and I learnt to trust my drawings more. Now I\u0026rsquo;m no longer trying to create a perfect home, but a perfect installation: an environment that corresponds to the atmosphere of my drawings. All the stuff of my drawings is happening in the same place. I would like to be able to construct this place and make a film inside of it. I would live in it and continuously add new sculptures. I\u0026rsquo;m very much attached to this place, where all this stuff goes on. I don\u0026rsquo;t feel like explaining this to anyone. I love rain. I never get bored of it. It\u0026rsquo;s difficult to paint rain. I think I succeeded in this painting, but then I ruined it by adding the landscape. Sometimes your mind is like a stingy dirty corridor with fags everywhere, sometimes it\u0026rsquo;s nicely lit. Kafka\u0026rsquo;s world is frightening, but it\u0026rsquo;s also fascinating. In Orson Welles\u0026rsquo; film \u0026lsquo;The Trial\u0026rsquo; there\u0026rsquo;s this great scene where K. leaves the house to go to work. These photographs remind me of this scene. (He shows me photographs of a building that looks like a church and of a staircase hewn out of rock. Juxtaposed, they create an incongruent ensemble. On another photograph the interior of what seems to be a church looks like a cemetery\u0026hellip; While looking at these photographs, I notice that the image on the desktop shows a painting of Philip Guston, representing a vomiting mouth.) Kafka gives you so much pleasure\u0026hellip; I don\u0026rsquo;t know if I\u0026rsquo;d cope if I were stuck, but I\u0026rsquo;d love to be trapped and try to work it out\u0026hellip; One type of control against the other\u0026hellip; I like this bit in Beckett\u0026rsquo;s novel \u0026lsquo;Molloy\u0026rsquo;, where a guy keeps sixteen stones in groups of four in four pockets. When he sucks on a stone he replaces it by a stone from another pocket, which in it\u0026rsquo;s turn is replaced by a stone from another pocket, which in it\u0026rsquo;s turn is replaced by a fourth stone, which is replaced by the stone that comes out of his mouth. However, following this system, he can never be sure he\u0026rsquo;s not always sucking on the same four stones. And even if he would have sixteen pockets, he wouldn\u0026rsquo;t be satisfied because\u0026hellip; And so on\u0026hellip; I\u0026rsquo;m trying to create a sculpture with melting metal that drips like rain. I don\u0026rsquo;t want to justify my work. Secrecy is very important. I admire the way Bob Dylan changes accents, sings in different voices. Nobody can pin him down\u0026hellip; Nothing against hopping around. We should be allowed to surprise people. I\u0026rsquo;d like to come out like Urs Fischer. I like this kind of appearing. He offers open access to anybody on his website, but at the same time he\u0026rsquo;s protecting his secrecy. By giving everybody everything, he makes it clear that we will never know where he will go. I love his clay cats on San Marco, washed away by the rain\u0026hellip; A friend of mine once told me that while waiting for a train at some station, he suddenly stepped into an adjacent room full of fruit machines. The room was empty, except for an Asian guy, who was sitting on a chair. Slowly he rose and went from machine to machine, just pulling the arms. It appeared he had already put money into each machine\u0026hellip;\u0026rdquo;\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nMontagne de Miel, 27 August 2015\u003c/p\u003e\r\n"},{"locale":"es","short_description":"","description":""},{"locale":"el","short_description":"","description":""}],"actors":[]}