ARNAUD EUBELEN
SUPER DAKOTA
NOVEMBER 9, DECEMBER 24, 2024
It is difficult to enter the exhibition space with a neutral gaze — if such a thing even exists. Descending the stairs to reach the first floor, I am confronted with a multitude of curtains, probably hastily hung in an attempt to mask surrounding noise. A confusing choice, since curtains are anything but neutral and, furthermore, it is also unclear whether or not this is a deliberate scenographic intervention by the artist. Once I escape from curtainland, I find myself in a narrow corridor leading to a door, which is the passageway between the two exhibition spaces. In that narrow corridor, the table and chair are standing. The aforementioned attraction to this ensemble probably has something to do with the discrepancy between the endearing recognizability of the everyday and the obsessive way in which each aesthetic choice is a very incisive one, executed with industrial coolness.
In the second room, among a few other works, is a deconstructed car about which I was told upon entering that I could sit in it and turn on music through the CD player present. Initially, my body felt an aversion to sitting in this installation. Too bad it can be done, I thought. Too bad I can actually plop myself in that chair to press my carnal reality into this work. Possession often means the end of desire. Of course, I did it and seized my opportunity to temporarily release this installation from its untouchable state. And paradoxically, this submission to the creator's script gave me a sense of power and autonomy. I can now direct not only my own experience, but also that of the witnessing spectators around me. They see me, silly that I am, sitting dazed in that chair. And I am reminded of people with VR glasses on their noses who spontaneously lose all intellect and transform into unaccountable fools. Meanwhile, I am sitting in an installation whose creator allows me to enter it, making it an inherent part of the work. And that occupied space is both physical and mental, according to the explicit explanation in the exhibition text. 'Being in a car, listening to music, is a fundamental memory - an experience most of us can relate to. Growing up in Brazil, long drives were an important part of my childhood.' Despite this imposed experience, in which both my body and mind are employed to re-enact a subjective memory, I remain under the delusion that I am true to my self-determination. And the fact that it involves a car — the pinnacle of individual freedom — no doubt helps. This feigned sovereignty is further cultivated by the fact that I am encouraged to decide for myself what music plays. I like to disc jockey. In a lighted bin between the driver and passenger seats, some fifty CDs are ready to be used. The music carriers are fully in line with the implemented aesthetic where each component is a clear choice of form. They are stripped of their original boxes and have all been given a sober, uniform aesthetic. Reduced to their common characteristic; the nostalgic overtones of a bygone era, they stand neatly arranged like white memorial stones in a British cemetery in the Westhoek. Only individually fragmented to the inevitable moment of eternal unification.