TEXT ON THE FLUXUS

Artistic snares in flux where philosophy flutters and fair guerillas wink.

THIS WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED in the 1997 Fluxus Subjectiv catalogue. The formatting here mimics the original version.

Today there is great interest but also great confusion as to the Fluxus movement;

There are those who keep theorizing about Fluxus.

They say that after Dadaism and Duchamp, Fluxus is "the most radical movement"; those who make a fetish of Fluxus. They collect the trouser buttons by Maciunas, the handkerchief by Beuys or the dirty bath water by Ben;

those who speculate with the Fluxus. "If van Gogh's ear is worth 100.000 million dollars and the bottle rack by Duchamp is worth 300.000 dollar, how much will the water glass by George Brecht then be worth on the fair in Basel in two year's time?"

those who say that the Fluxus movement does only consist of spoiled children who make art by stating that they are against art, who expect to win fame by saying "we are against fame", who want to get back into the Louvre by staying in the bistro vis-á-vis;

those who say, okay, Fluxus is something mad, but still it's better than those who produce works of art for the consumer society;

those who say that Fluxus is rather a story of attitude towards life and art than towards products;

those who say Fluxus is individuals and not works of art;

those who say that Fluxus contradicts itself, that it consists of failures who happen to be succesful just now, anti-art stars;

As far as I am concerned, I think that
Fluxus is not a production of objects, of handicraft articles to be used as a decoration in the waiting rooms of dentists and professionals,
Fluxus is not professionalism
Fluxus is not the production of works of art,
Fluxus is not naked women,
Fluxus is not pop art,
Fluxus is not an intellectual avant-garde or light entertainment theatre,
Fluxus is not German expressionism,
Fluxus is not visual poetry for secretaries who are getting bored.

NO

Fluxus is the "event" according to George Brecht:
putting the flower vase on the piano.
Fluxus is the action of life/music: sending for a tango
expert in order to be able to dance on stage.
Fluxus is the creation of a relationship between life and art,
Fluxus is gag, pleasure and shock,
Fluxus is an attitude towards art, towards the non-art of anti-art, towards the negation of one's ego,
Fluxus is the major part of the education as to John Cage, Dadaism and Zen,
Fluxus is light and has a sense of humor.

Snagged off a page created by Ben Vautier and barely modified with just enough impulse to render this recreation pure fluxus, or not...

THE INTERVIEW

Originally published on March 8, 2007

52 O STREET ARTIST extraordinaire Stevens Jay Carter, pictured above, was here today to interview this ruffian for his newsletter. As usual, I was wordy. Emotional. Nervous. Relaxed. Characteristically trapped in oscillation between a strident confidence and that unflattering corrosive excitability I exhibit when shown the least amount of attention. It’s times like this when I feel that the caricaturing aloofness that certain historical artists have postured might serve me better, or suffice in certain awkward situations, ah, a touch of the Steppenwolf…

After all, I liken myself to an open wound, but nature, being its own cruel taskmaster, demands obedience even from its inquisitive slaves, as Jackson Pollack observed in his statement that he himself was nature, so you would pay huge odds on the bet that aloofness in my mouth would ever sustain itself.

My burden is the burden of connectivity. Scattered shards of reflective glass that were once cohesive members of a magnificent window pane are products of a disconnect. Torn asunder violently, clumps of dried blood and rotting flesh that once promoted a promising creature’s thoughtful passion stress our senses, again, absorbing the ultimate disconnect.

Augured by my driving need to connect, to gather, rather than to divide, even when a particular division may be in my own best interests, my own eager nature refuses to allow me to participate in a calculated aloofness beyond an initial shyness a new situation may temporarily impose.

Contrary impulses of course always inject themselves and inform this nature. Hence, the battle. The conflict. The anxiety. The curdling of the milk, and the long scream. But the interview seemed to go rather well, a success, despite any number of competing considerations.

As always, Mr. Carter was charming and professional. It should be interesting to see how he hammers the passionate if sometimes pedantic Gabriel Thy blather into presentable form.