Artist: Simon Dybbroe Møller
Venue: Objectif, Antwerp
Exhibition Title: Männer und Moral
Date: March 23 – May 4, 2013
Full gallery of images, press release and link available after the jump.
Images courtesy of Objectif Exhibitions, Antwerp. Photos by Isabelle Arthuis.
1741 kg. Up here, kicking tires, it bears mentioning that the weight of such well-polished impracticality is supported by the three totemic agglomerated figures inhabiting the basement—sokkels, socles, selfless supports swathed in the tiered anonymity of their uniforms. Preoccupied, they perform their utility. They do their job(s), admirably.
It’s heavy because it’s loaded, but ANIMATE V is an anagram with only three doors, and each opens to any number of avenues. “You can look at it […] You can talk about it, discuss it. […] You can cruise in it. […] Let’s think about it.” It’s a convex screen, so if it breaks it has to be special ordered, but with the boot open, imperfection is clearly a sympathetic character. After all, the future’s coupé didn’t roll onto the open road of limitless potential. Form rolled over function, and a generation of intellectuals ended up at the mechanic’s shop—time after time, again.
Meanwhile, in 2011, a man runs but doesn’t get anywhere.
“There’s this joke: an artist, a scientist, and an industrialist walk into a—” Well, they walk into a carpeted showcase, but Objectif Exhibitions is not a dealership. Working in this transplanted office, we’ve set up shop to talk shop and drop stats: DE0T06 (Renault); 2001–3; 4642.00 x 1827.00 x 1627.00 mm; “Aubergine”; the Nutcracker; København; work and leisure; progress and disillusion; foreign food and red wine; bitterness. And the walls are adorned with other conversations. Fleshy images of Labskaus, Gulasch, Boeuf Stroganoff, and other gastronomical assemblies have been pulled from the plate collaboratively. Outsourced and printed in a new substrate, they form a menu served in a denatured commercial language to talk sales in appealingly grotesque tones.
Above all, a chromed logo tilted 90 degrees becomes a mouth, but this medium doesn’t consume—it expels. It spews whatever sweat, wine, motor oil, and cigarette ash could be wrung from a clump of sweatshopped shirts—an ectoplasmic articulation of an often-misinterpreted adage:
“Only what breaks can be truly beautiful.”