I do not emit Carbon | The Manifesto

I do not emit Carbon is a manifesto and the act of perception is made on many levels. The coarse, obvious and almost literary perception, accompanied by a strong image, strangles. The rudimentary and powerful perception of the mistakes society makes at one point. The toxic cellular perception doesn’t seem dangerous – since it is beautiful – yet it is just as toxic, malignant and problematic. In every hall meaning plays at both ends.


Carbon is already established. It may be black. And all the things that flow from the depth that is equally evil and profound in the black works and the black sculpture come up to the surface like the oil film over the bath of sins. The shirt in the green environment is a utopia that covers, a veil that resembles defense, yet it is not that. It Is camouflage. Impure black is not a masking. It is an assuming of all black emissions, gathered together in a blind map. Projectile fragments, archived and conserved, keep the memory of war intact. A cold, long and unstoppable war. An acid, chemical rain on the background abandoned in warm greys, printed in latent remorse. Anxiety was born urban: being and lack of being. The anthropomorphous and zoomorphic mélange, like razor-sharp cuts, slide surgically towards nowhere, on an ice slide with no beginning and no ending. A never-ending loop. What is ahead, the end? Or is there hope in washing away the evil? With how much caustic soda and in how many waters should the washing be made? How do you save yourself?


The “Seven” utopias, the seven sins of humanity? Do they predict just the new or the apocalyptical? Can we hang in there for 200 more years, or will we find our end in the shock wave of an asteroid? There are some new uber-cool sneakers at the mall; and some awesome jewelry. The end of the world is no longer on my mind.


Conceptual evil is a precise mechanism. Its geometry and structured clarity seem very precise and rational, yet they are not. Danger can be very precise. We are still on the edge of disaster. Let’s not delude ourselves. We live in a perpetual utopia and we are under the impression that we somehow manage to balance things. Danger can reside in all thigs that seem colorful and friendly, but problems are just as big. The suffocating urban anxiety turns into depression. We prescribe counter treatments. We take pills but do not exit the vicious circle. Music therapy, visits to the doctor, appointments, then pharmacy. We are under the impression that we have time. But we don’t. Dreaming in the grass. There are pharmacies in every building. Once upon a time, the animal and vegetal kingdoms governed the gods. They were our gods. Today, we are the gods. The gods of the air, of kerosene; the gods of war and destruction. We have our smartphone and social media platforms to communicate between ourselves, the lesser gods. What is real and what is not? You can’t see the truth anymore. Fake, fake news. Online, the world seems colorful and very positive. In commercials. Scroll down in your feed: bombs in Aleppo, victims, cities erased from the ground, sandwiches and burgers, crooked presidential elections, hand-made jewelry. Our daily disease looks like a story, yet it consumes slowly and implacably. The man is finished, yet it has become acceptable to be finished. We have made a classical monument to celebrate the dead, finished man. Anyway, you live in a space and time where the animal and vegetal states are as affected as you. Plastic is the absolute winner. Now we co-exist with plastic. Carbon and ozone settle in colorful layers, in an intoxicated mixture of hallucinating forms. Up, down, sideways, the impressions of an oscillating world that hurries towards a new abyss on the rhythm of an eclectic festival burns our insides. Welcome to HALUCINARIUM!