thoughts
The messiah of the hopeless
On the facet of a burnt out block of flats, trough a nitric deposit appeared an anthropomorphic stain, which can evoke prophetic figures, silhouettes in people receptive to religious experience.
It's a reflection on Dr. Michael Persinger’s (Laurentian University, Sudbury, Canada) experiments, who searched for the biologic, neurologic basis of the belief in and the experience of God.
Although the scientific community declared his results as inconclusive, he artificially created a spiritual impression in many of his subjects. He achieved this with his machine called the God Helmet, which stimulated the subjects’ right temporal lobe with magnetic pulses. The man’s left temporal lobe is the center of language and self-awareness, and can forecast the inevitable, his own death, which causes anxiety. To relieve this anxiety new concepts emerge in the right temporal lobe, like the image of a loving and caring deity.
So it is possible that God doesn't exists in the cosmos, but in the human mind, generated by the right temporal lobe in order to relieve the fear of death, obeying the necessity of rudimentary survival instinct.
Are we predestined by the structure and function of our brains, to the revelation of the burning bush, the smile of the Madonna on the cheese toast, or the figure of Jesus on the crumbling firewall?
This uncertain existence is invoked by the violent pencil gestures, the struggle of the visceral being is in contrast with the indifferent gray of the concrete, which is the realization of the social apathy for the suffering subjects. The ascetic limitation of the colors doesn't distract attention of the message, on the other hand it's empathy for the inhabitants, that long since moved out from the pictures dimensions, whose everyday fate was deprivation.
Past tense, present tense
Attempt to represent the chaos which is our actual world image, achieved by the premeditated neglect of all compositional order. The protagonists are sentenced to damnation, the same as in the apocalyptic mass scenes of Hieronymus Bosch, not by a divine authority but by their own callousness and bloodthirst.
The paintings epic narrative is reaching from the past to the present, time and space tangled, bent in the gravitational singularity of human futility. We are advancing in the blood-clothed canal of history, to cataclysm by nuclear fusion. Only one figure testifies passive resistance to the atrocities committed to himself and his fellow-beings, in his disillusion he turns his back to the world and becomes a hermit in the depth of the woods.
Bearing in mind his own insignificance and inertness breaks into a bitter pipe song, even so summoning hope in the effigy of a small red bird.