To Surfian’s remarkable taste

I crave, I long for Abstinence from Images, for every image is bad. – Roland Barthes

If I have the ability, in the near future, I would write for you and those who left an art exhibition opening with distaste. Writing in praise of your reaction, the bad aftertaste lingering in, not just your mouth but around your respiratory system, the noise from their laughter, the sight of them posing, and flashes from the cameras. You overheard their conversation. You told me you are sure now, ‘Maybe, I try to be an average art student, but never a fucking artist!’ I smiled and repeated how I prefer to know someone from what they hate than what they like. Their embraces and handshakes put you off. Therefore let us get drunk on their free wine and puke into their mouths when they are about to utter more shit about ideas, issues, beauties, feelings, or B-grade philosophy. But you told me your wish to remain as a Muslim who does not drink. I might be able to understand why ‘the artist standing next his/her work for a photograph puts you off as much those photographed in front of landmarks or next to a posh car parked outside a hotel.’

We have mentioned, ‘Publication is Prostitution.’ But we did not say how an exhibition could be as well. Walking pass any red light districts, it would often be disturbing, disturbed by either the field of temptation or field of repulsion. Girls sell their flesh, and they admit it – except to the anti-vice squad, perhaps. Exhibitions to trade or circulate images, but of course, of supposed cultured and artistic geniuses… It is the difference of admitting and denying, being aware and unaware. If I am confident enough, my thoughts coherent enough, my grasps of grammar and vocabulary strong enough, I would write about how ridiculous they socialised, forming little circles, how you told me the artworks, reduced to decorations for these social events, piss you off, how the assortment of accents had raped your ears. Then you forgot you are telling this to an aspiring ‘pimp’. It is nothing at all. You are too serious. They are merely things if not commodities. Save your reverence for other moments and objects. So what if they have reduced it to decorations? No big deal.