Manifesto Page #2
- NOT RATED
- Year:
- 2015
- 95 min
- 5,013 Views
future, I proclaim today,
to you artists...
Painters, sculptors,
musicians, actors, poets-
to you people to whom art is no
mere ground for conversation,
but the source of
real exultation...
My word and deed.
I have transformed myself
in the zero of form,
and have fished myself
out of the rubbishy sloth
of academic art.
Objects have
vanished like smoke.
I have destroyed the
ring of the horizon,
and gone out of the
circle of objects...
that has imprisoned the artist,
and leads him away from
the game of destruction.
Forms move and are born.
And we are forever
making new discoveries.
What we discover must
not be concealed.
into the forms of a bygone age.
Life must be purified of
the clutter of the past
so that it can be brought
to its normal evolution.
Art should not advance towards
abbreviation or simplification,
but towards complexity.
The Venus de Milo is a
graphic example of decline.
It's not a real
woman, but a parody.
Angela's David is a defamation.
All the masters
of the Renaissance
achieved great
results in anatomy.
But they did not achieve
veracity in their impressions
of the body.
Those artists were officials
making an inventory
of nature's property.
a motionless, dead state.
Come and find me.
Got you.
You're cheating.
Here, we
cast anchor in rich ground.
Ghosts, drunk on energy,
we dig the trident
into unsuspecting flesh.
We are a downpour of
maledictions, as tropically
abundant as
vertiginous vegetation.
Rubber and rain are our sweat.
We bleed and burn.
We thirst.
Our blood is vigor.
I say unto you, there
is no beginning.
And we do not tremble.
We are not sentimental.
We are furious wind, tearing
and prayers, preparing the
spectacle of disaster, fire,
decomposition.
We will put an end to
mourning, and replace
tears by sirens screeching
from one continent to another.
Pavilions of intense
joy and widowers
with the sadness of poison.
To lick the penumbra and
float in the big mouth
filled with honey and excrement.
I spread demoralization
wherever I
go, and cast my hand
from heaven to hell,
my eyes from hell to heaven.
One dies as a hero or as an
idiot, which is the same thing.
The only word that is not
ephemeral is the word death.
you've got some bad habits.
You're too fond of what you've
been taught to be fond of.
Cemeteries, melancholy,
the tragic lover,
Venetian gondolas.
You shout at the moon.
If you weren't so cowardly,
sinking under the weight of all
non-existent abstractions
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"Manifesto" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Mar. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/manifesto_13321>.
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