Stilllife inside. From Exuberance Turned to Redundancy series.
Mixed media on paper. 1999. 19,5" x 27,5".
The internal contents of things and their external development are so bizarrely interlaced, that I have got confused after unsuccessful attempts to find out, what follows from what and what goes after what. The emotions struggle with reckoning, subconscious mind with consciousness. I look at life and feel an involuntary desire to reload it, as a computer.
I hate plastic trees in offices. I do not like them for the fact that they are plastic. But I like this world for the fact that it is always possible to find a way out of almost any deadlock. If you throw out from the pot this idiotic plastic palm and put in it a bouquet of sockets, having decurrented by a method of a circumcision all office engineering, for some time it will become easier to live and everybody will remember it for a long time. And the main thing is there will be no feeling of hostility to this cabel -socket "akebono". Because there don't exist natural living sockets.
Do you know, what is the sense of descriptive philosophy? Why on the hell are these philosophies necessary, if they don't let you live?