We don't look for a critic of art, in truth we look for so many of it.Exactly twenty-three.
The figure is chosen alone.
A collective critic.
A collective of critical.
Beyond the authoritativeness and ability (or less) of a critic professional, the true critic is the spectator, he who observe the work and he record the enchantment or the disenchantment, the taste or the disgust of it.
The sense that has brought us to the realization of the works, the instant and the circumstance of the artistic conception, few they care.
This blog serves to all those among you that they love to write, to see, to judge but above all to write.
To write judgments.
To spit sentences.
To exalt or to slash.
The true power.
Two lines or long interesting pages.
You choose a picture and you discharge on it your disappointment or participated it your respect.
Set you questions and furnished answers you.
Section it with the words or sew up it with conceptual threads.
Snatch it the most hidden meanings or invent you of it of new.
Hurt it with dialectical weapons or take care of it with your linguistic vivacity.
Not improvised you critical, be seriously it.
You are one of the twenty-three critical.
You write for doing you light.
And then you sign, with true names or with false names, with quotations or with games of words.
Your writing will be published in our respective catalogs and we will be used the name with which you will have signed, true or false (posting here your thought furnished automatic acceptance to the possible publication, of which we will give news on this blog).
And we in advance thank you to us.
Can we ever thank you enough?
Rossorame e Guido Tasselli
READ THE COMMENTS and WRITE YOUR CRITICAL TEXT there
1 commento:
The works are inconstant investigations, that cleverly cross unconscious and predestinate bodies.
They gain you oniriche you influence interfered by the reality and not contrary, with a tenacities wish to reveal, and at the same time to safeguard, the playful intrinsic contradiction, like suspect univocal of the same analysis, that loosens him, almost with disappointment, in interpretative autonomy.
As always, they doesn't produce answers on the contrary further questions, that empatiches not only bloom in front of the charm of external nudity, of explanatory shades, of intimate and immoderate openings, through which it is possible to realize its uneasy contained universe.
The complied immobility, minutely sought after, it underlines and it multiplies the intuition of the movement, while it is flowing fluid under the evident surface.
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