It’s official, baby:
Opening Dec 10, 2011 – Jan 29, 2012 (+ Tues 17 Jan) 11am Wed – Mon.
And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father) full of grace and truth. – John 1.14
Wim Delvoye has turned a man into a work of art. Maybe. Come with him – the art work, Tim – on a tour of his progenitor’s exhibition.
Museum entry fees still apply.
Buy Tickets: MONA Shop
I keep repeating myself. Same thing over and over again. Such is life. The reader and the writer. Children coming of age and nothing ever changes. Let us share more mediocrity. Undeserved vanity. Self inflicted little death. Occupy whatever. I am stunned by the speed of it all. The first i-Phone came out in 2007. Now you no longer need a homosapien to communicate with, there’s always Siri… Ask me anything about the Kardashians. Clinton is a hero. I am hypocrite. I am product. I met one man under the bridge and seen plenty of dogs. Free all animals, choke their owners. I am Royalist. Cider is the new blonde. I’ll be there for you in about twenty years, but not now. Sure as shit. I was gutted. The amber nectar. You wasted my time. Not much you can present here without the black bunny already knowing or at least guessing. Singing to myself without lessons. And no one calls. Farewell to you, last true decent contender. “I was raised in a strictly catholic family, so naturally I don’t believe in God.” My mentors are pains in my spiritual ass. But there still are plenty of surprises. Expect the expected. Recycle. Lord Sleepyhead left behind 523 and missed 2. After 16 years of combat. There were no bullets back then. Only mines. Golden limb mines. Anne Will became Jamie Oliver. Discipline is a foreign tongue piercing. Occupy more of whatever. Fukushima Effect. Ronald Jenkins was clean before the Internet. Now she likes amputee sex. This is where they used to hang them. All of them. But there’s always art and opinions. Nothing for all. The mutton horse guys were my church moment. The best joke cannot be told. Jump off the bridge funny. Loyalty is a myth. Ready to go? Can you live up to your own vision of yourself? Disappointment 3 – The Prequel. Richard called him once a week, hoping that his mom would pick up and tell him that he’s dead. Fertigprodukte. Bad back = bad shoes. They said she was almost empty.
Luca Gansser, Lugano 2011
Bill your idols. Where’s the crushed ice?!? Wee and put your life in the repeat gear. Watch him become a hog. Caesarean lie birth of truth. It will never get over the following: The emotional wrath of Obama / Fozzie’s addiction / Sweet Baby Terror / Weekly weak / Daily daze / Howl of the pathetic / Imagination Umsetzung / And there she goes. Suck her. Empty original. When did Dr. and Mr. become Dr and Mr? Pathetic. Fritzl’s Cellar Funk. Inbox isn’t good enough anymore. Do you wish you could be your Avatar? Becum. My roof crumbles, they could walk in any time. Foreign is not the right term for an alien. Must die a little and then eat. A history of junk. I was always too old. Even when I was far too Jung. Do not mistake sunlight for a rubber skeleton. You might end up really disappointed. Break more self-destruct time… Waiting for Deliverance. Put on my walking shoes and open those ears to all them silly willies. The thrill of failure. Einsicht. Double standards and lack of seasoning. Could you go on forever? You could have a growth on it. Ant is appating. Heard a nice new word last night. Her phone rings once. It’s what I asked for. And the walls shake and the saw dusts. Mutiny. Finger bleeds, hairline recedes. Impossible combination. 11. It hasn’t even started yet. Everything is the way it should be. If it were any different, that’s the way it should be. Do you realise that you’re always making the same mistakes? In spelling and being.
“Halt! Ganzer Zug Daher! Mini Herre! Isch das Irre Ernscht? Hammer gfresse? Tinte gsoffe? Die Elite? Läck mer am Arsch! Gopfertammi, läck mer am Arsch! Sauhuuffe! Gsehn ich uus wiä än Schafseckel? Huäräsiech! Gsehn ich uus wiä än Schafseckel? Sit 13 Wuche schlan ich mir dä Tamponverein umd Ore! Lütnand, ich han Buuchweh. Lütnand, ich han es Zügnis vom Truppearzt. Lütnand, ich bin Vegetarier. Lütnand, ich han ckei Eier! Huäräsiech! Oisi Zuäckunft! Fütz sind er! Kahl rasierti Fütz! Binnere Inschpecktion! Ich chum Fögel über! Uusgang? Figget eu! Dä Divisionär! Dä focking Divisionär! Und ir dumme Schlampe bringets nöd ufd Reie! Ich bin sprachlos. Eifach sprachlos. Mer söt oi allne de Arsch versolle. So richtig de Arsch versolle. Aber warschinlich würd oi schwuli Affe das so richtig uufgeile. Ich chönt mer über d’Stifel chotze. Eifach sprachlos. Ziel: Underchunft. Wäg is Ziel: Direckt. Verhalten im Ziel: Figget eu! Usführe, MARSCH!” – Lütnand Undersachs
Another interpretation by friend and artist, Franticek Klossner.
CLICK ON THE IMAGE!!!! CLICK THE FUCK OUT OF IT!!!
‘Robbing Tim 1-4′ – Jonathan Delachaux, Acrylic on Canvas, 2011
Here’s the story: In January of this year I read my first article about the MONA in Tasmania. I couldn’t believe my lying eyes and felt a primal urge to one day be exhibited there. Only there. The Unholy Grail. Period. Wim’s Tim and the MONA were created for each other. This was Art Love oozing through my soul and veins. I prayed to the Lord I don’t believe in and weeks after my revelation I was contacted by MONA’s curator, Olivier Varenne. Short story even shorter: “We’re doing a Wim Delvoye show at the MONA and would like to exhibit you. Wanna come?” “Jawohl!” “Meet me in Geneva next week. We’ll go over the details.” “OK.”
We met at the beautiful Galerie Daniel Varenne in Geneva. We had a quick chat and then I saw the work of Jonathan Delachaux. Now, I love art and all that stuff, but this was something else. “Who the fuck is this guy?” Olivier told me that this was a young artist he knew and supported. He had heard about the Wim tattoo project and wanted to do a series with me titled ‘Robbing Tim’” “Amazing work. When could I meet him?” “He’s coming to lunch with us.” “Nice.”
So, I meet Jonathan and his lovely wife Zoe in a pimp my ride restaurant in the heart of Geneva. We arrange to meet up the next week in his studio and get to work. Jonathan is a true artist. Stupid as that sounds, but he bleeds art in all forms. He is what he does. Mancrush… The session with him, Zoe, Naima, Vassili and Johan was a ride and a half on the jolly wrong side of the tracks. We’ve been hanging out since. Stephanie and I exhibited a series of his work at our Cullen Art Services show in Zürich in August. Seeing the image is one thing. Standing in front of Delachaux’s work is a blessing. Experiences like this take the circus out of art. I feel extremely honoured to be a part of Jonathan’s work now. He is a friend and an inspiration.
Flying on the other side in a few weeks. This is wild shit, friends. I’m not sleeping too well. Big dreams. But everything you wish for happens. Just need to learn to deal with it… – TIM
‘Before dec. 12′ Jonathan Delachaux, 2011
9/11 yesterday. 10 years. Swiss TV showed ‘United 93′. Between bedtimes I saw the World Trade Center collapse hundreds of times. Nice memorial. My friend Angelo and I were hanging out at my place when a new episode of ‘CSI: Las Vegas’ came on. Nothing special. But then the following happened: The old morgue guy and his super model cop assistant dude ended up in a house where a teenage girl just hung herself in her closet with her boyfriend’s belt. Turns out she’s pregnant and the baby’s alive and kicking. Draw the knife, cut open the stomach, welcome the little girl to the World and celebrate next to Corpse-Mommy. Graphic. Too much blood. Wow. Seen a lot of nasty shit in my time. We were speechless. What followed was an excessive, but FUCKED UP acid trip of bad taste. But there was no nudity or cursing. The only thing more awesome on TV is ‘Jersey Shore in Italy’. And they wonder why the kids flip out. I salute the monkeys, again. Bravo.
I was at a birthday/wedding anniversary party in Geneva on Friday. Overnight. Very, very lovely. House parties at two different venues. Great people. Art, circus and generally creative crowd. Civilised/Inspiring. 13 ladies & lads and by the time we reached house 2, the good stuff was being passed around. Plenty of it. Everyone was fucked. Everyone used one toilet. And by 4am I witnessed the miracle. Party was over and I was the last one to hit the shitter. Black stone floor, white marble toliet. Beautiful. There was not a drop of urine anywhere. I lifted the shining white seat, nothing. No shit stains inside. It was all immaculately clean. Almost sterile. I would have eaten off that baby. After five hours where some people believed that they suddenly had eleven fingers and no longer needed to use words to communicate. A motherfucking miracle!
I’ve been to quite a few places on Mama Earth. Men don’t know how to hit the hole. Women are pigs. I’ve been to people’s homes and had to clean the shitter covered in piss and shit stains before I used it. I didn’t want them to think that I was the swine. Respected people in society with children, etc. I’ve scrubbed the floor around my toilet after friends were over for dinner. My baby had a party at her place a few years ago. Our closest friends were there. There were puddles of P.P. around her water closet and Nutella streak reminders in the pot. I’ve been greeted by logs of shit because whoever doesn’t bother to flush properly. And the piss. Everywhere, the piss. I’m not talking after-hour techno joints, but homes. Fuck me. It’s outrageous. But Geneva made me see the blessed light. I need to learn French. Before we save the World, we should learn to clean up after our asses and yellow shower hoses. So, so shameful. Enough is enough. We call ourselves civilised? Digusting fucking pigs. That’s what we are. Goddamn it!
Getting tattooed today. Nicely nice. Very excited. Mr. Nales at the home of the Black Arm. What more could you ask for?
God hates us all, gotta pee – TIM
‘Watersport Vassili 3′ Jonathan Delachaux, 2010
WIM DELVOYE
10TH DECEMBER 2011 – 2ND APRIL 2012
Museum of Old and New Art, Hobart, Tasmania
One of the works our visitors hate the most is Cloaca Professional (2010) the creation of Wim Delvoye. However, the ‘O’ interpretation device also reveals that visitors spend more time with this work than any other piece. Therefore, it seemed apropos to offer a retrospective revealing more of this Belgian artist’s useless, productive art – from his gothic cement truck (1:1) and handcarved tyres to Delft-blue adorned gas canisters, tattooed pigskins, Tattoo Tim, and, yes, more cloacae. This is the first Wim Delvoye retrospective in Australia.
