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Ah to spew smoke, to spit smog. Our off-gassing, our hot-air. Your body's continuous pollution, waste, a machine for expenditure. You are net negative on the biosphere. Like hanging "Everyone Poops" on your wall, things no one wants to be reminded of, Schulze's painting are generally cruel things, stuffed with aggressive lashing. Paintings not really for seating polite company. A lot of art today with its biomorphic and anthropoid rotundity desperate to remind viewers of their bodies but Schulze seems willing to make it painful, reminds us what happens in our more porcelain moments, your exhaust pipe. This is the new moral nature of painting, look at the painter's, the writer's exhaust, self to the wind.
See too: “Ungestalt” at Kunsthalle Basel, Andreas Schulze at Sprüth Magers
