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This exhibition is a proposition. That art should be more like cabaret, a category optimistically defined as a risque entertainment that absorbs and harbors the fringes of culture, an ideal art that would dissolve lip-service to post-modernity still aggressively holding on to the autonomous work. It's like championing spaghetti to replace diamonds. We would have to give up the authorial subject for the carnival. A radical happening transferring art to artifacts of a scene, and the entrepreneur as author. Maybe.
Satirizing the rules of production in the present isn't that difficult, even the mildest flatulence breaks gallery decorum. Turning the house topsy-turvy, the curatorial address of throwing it all in and letting god sort 'em out with song and dance.
