(link)
The question of the body, in Nagle's as well as Price's, exists in the limbic state, between base impulses and the brain's higher orders' attempts to suppress it, the libidinous uprising of nether regions in seeing cream relax. Brown leaking out your chocolate bar, on the edge of your bedspread. Hard things and soft things. It's exceedingly risky, committing language to such ambiguousness, you sound like a perv while the tight-lipped get doubt's benefit; let the decorous attempt it, the tension of many a comedy artwork, and everyone in the gallery saying no I'm sorry you're mistaken it's not so much that the artist is off-gassing it's that his technological reliquary is valorizing but your interpretation is valid, sure. We say part erotic instead. Not, a sensuous candy loosening over pink erection, over swollen tongue, glossitis. And the other one with the tree, it looks fecal. The words that assign more meaning to us than the sculptures which reflect them.
See too: Torbjørn Rødland at Henie-Onstad Kunstsenter, Torbjørn Rødland at Kunsthall Stavanger, Alice Tippit at Night Club
