3rd – 17th March 2011
12 ASSEMBLAGES ON THEMES OF LOVE, WAR, NATURE, MORTALITY, ART, CONSUMERISM AND THE POLITICS OF BEING, EACH WITH A UNIQUE, SPECIFIC ACCOMPANYING POETIC MUSICAL SOUNDTRACK.
Gavin Bennett, Royal College Of Art, 1972 describes himself as “the old master, known but not wanted, non-narrative multi-screen film maker, ghetto grotto installation performance artist, musesickall wordsmith, street clown, barely human stink bomb, gatherer and disperser of crowds, the loud hoarse whisper or garrulent rantor”.
GAVIN BENNETT (a.k.a Fegooish Ennym)
In a posterior era of eco mass Bennett’s messianal prayers to contemptorealities holy rubbish beat on to garbage like a dead heart or a flea from a heaith rug bugged to err rants. Visual + verbal phononyms big it up in outsiders’ neologisms + abound in a bun dance sounding off as symbols clash in Ali’s chemical cash clamour for glamour’s gash in it beggars belief, almost comical, the debtwriteus well to the left unenamoured off Brick Lane in the square mile of pretense of win doze pain.
Can good sensé preveil on Redchurch St., with chav angels again above lost leaders + the plod gods’ own goaled love of data’s conned trolls out of control below? The madam in the poet’s mind @ moz fears the slums. Can a normal I hear it to see it go so?
Like a ghost aghast gormless given form passed over in a choiceless voice, or a now disgusted, disguised geyser on fool’s fire extingwished iré in an east end boozer. Cool as hot can not get insighed, like insight’s bard code pissing on its own goat skin shoes in the barber shops of desire.
Bennett’s nuts are monk keys to the shape of the emperor’s bones to atone for the joy of his misery + genderus in the mute banality of neuter in between feather + fur their bricks kick ass some wear else, anon now + how like poise on extreme is equilibrium. Like a relic’s ease to seemen gone. Rock on!