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Premiered at Jo Derbyshire's Loft Space
Femmes du Futur
One Man Show
Kofi Fosu Forson
“I made love to you last night. You were sitting in a hotel lounge in Hong Kong. I was reading “Flaubert’s Parrot” a continent away.”
Do men desire women for their vulva or do they aspire to read them as text? Introduce me to a man who lived his lover as novel or cinema and I’d be the first to tell you that the vulva should be removed from the commercial sense.
We’ve managed everything from cave paintings to stick-figure pornography. There isn’t a more true explanation for coitus than the need for sexual pleasure. What happens to the body when it’s prevented from enjoying such desirability due to illness or impotency?
Could there ever be a replacement for the body as it floats through time and space? Modern lovers will be quick to prove that much is desired in the stroking of the hair, continuous eye-contact, acquired smell of the lover’s body to embrace, foreplay and finally fit into each other with a romp.
If the body is deformed, as in an illness and it takes on different exaggerated and horrific physical forms; much attributed to a diagnosis, what then is beauty? How do we make that decision to name some one beautiful? Isn’t beauty a part of that conscientious element to recognize a quality in someone? Perhaps, it’s physical, spiritual or universal as in a smile?
Can we redeem beauty within the intellect? I personally believe beauty and intellect are traits of a rather exceptional people. With intellect comes imagination, color, Technicolor, hypersexuality and hyperrealism.
The figment of beauty which many can’t ever rationalize is in the dirt, the ugly. Indeterminably, the visceral is particularly filled with pangs, fear and lust. To commit to take a bite out of an apple is justified. The look in your eye and the thought on your mind as you bite into that apple is personal.
Beauty is madness. Beauty is the intellect. The ugly is beauty.
If and when the vulva is removed from the commercial sense, each and every one of us will be able to love as people, pets and animals.
At the moment love is the color of cholera.
Art as Philosophy
Kofi Fosu Forson
New York City as an urban landscape makes provisions for a proper schedule within the realms of art and philosophy.
Given the differing prospects for philosophy, Jewish as well as Black intellectualism refine what is secured as a city of many influences. They can be at times radical or driven by academia. With respect to the many colleges and universities that define New York City, the common man and his willingness to have an opinion on a variety of topics, whether at a bar or a cocktail party is an example of the modern day thinker and peruser.
The evolution of the artist in a city like New York, giving much deserved honor to the flamboyant Warhol-inspired 1980’s, stemmed from an art community. Perhaps one studied at The Metropolitan Museum of Art or S.V.A. and the public high schools that devoted attention to literature, music and art.
The East Village defined the bohemian culture. Art was significantly a means of existence and financially it was affordable. Despite the disillusionment that framed the minds of many, it was acceptable to be an artist.
Art and philosophy stems from a psychology that defines the individual. It is best addressed as a societal and emotional disease. Much of this can be attributed to advertisement, pressure among peers, personal evolution and sexual management.
Disease can also be devalued in persona, hybridism, biochemistry and lineage. Those that are body conscious are forced to maintain habits they can’t keep. Overall health is a factor in every sense of maneuverability.
Psychosexually, heterosexuals and homosexuals encourage a lifestyle dependent upon decisions made driven by the libido. This stretches from vernacular to the eventual partners they form a relationship.
In the given modern day, sexuality has undertaken a guaranteed attempt at satisfying the ego, more so than replenishing the need for love.
The artist as a philosopher is then free to manufacture a quantitative and qualified understanding of universality.
White Park Intervention
(Liverpool/New York Exchange Programme)
Kofi Fosu Forson
We debuted at White Park last night (Oct 13, 2007) on 106th street. It was the culmination of the Liverpool/New York exchange programme curated by Gaynor Evelyn Sweeney featuring Daiva Gauryte and myself, Kofi Fosu.
The exchange programme appropriately titled Gender, Space, Art and Architecture began this summer of 2007. Daiva and I established this project all in cyber space. Week after week for ten weeks, she and I responded to captions set aside by the curator, Gaynor Evelyn Sweeney. They featured topics on everything from Identity to Societal Semiotics and Urban Environment.
My impression was that it helped me evaluate the difference between the person and the artist. Something I’ve worked with all of my practice. Only this time in doing so, I had a partner to achieve the very goals we were both assigned to do.
I walked into Media Noche with Judith and her two friends gathered, Antonia, a painter and video artist from Mexico and Ursula, a performance artist I believe from Austria. I sat among them and enjoyed a nice conversation about time and how it prevents us from fulfilling all of our dreams.
Judith's friend, Freddy and I helped pack up for the very brief drive to White Park. At the park, Judith, Freddy and I set up. We were then ready. A white wall stood in the middle of the rather spacious park.
It was a Saturday evening and there were several people gathered in what was a spectacular setting. Our spirits were livened when the video lit up the wall as we stood in the dark with the street lights offering ample lighting. Judith's impression of the whole evening was that it was an intervention. The whole purpose was to stand by the fence watching the video, inspiring people to do the same. We attracted the casual onlookers and were ready with flyers with information about the project.
One gentleman was apparently very curious. He had been to England and made a stop in Liverpool. His curiosity led him to ask me questions concerning my personal philosophy within the concept of Gender, Space, Art & Architecture. He was smart. We had a nice chat. He further questioned me on my opinion on race. He felt I was smarting quite a bit. I let him know about the prospects of lineage and hybridism...And how that qualifies me individualistically, much the same for him. We said our good-byes, not before I gave him my business card.
It was a brisk evening. We labored around and watched as people stopped to look. All the while, the chemistry between Judith and me was sound. We were thrilled by the project as it was evolving before our eyes. The night was somewhat enchanting. Given the location and its mystery there was a feeling of a high percentage in my heart. It was crucial to have seen the video in a public space bringing to mind Gaynor’s theory of Architecture and identity.
As a New Yorker, I belonged to this setting which defied nature and as a park it was much like a physical space of whiteness. The sight of the video as it improved from the introductions to the hyper-panic images of Liverpool and New York, all the way through to the captions of me, Kofi Fosu and Daiva Gauryte talking about the project, with the end product being the art work featured in the programme, was a spectacle to the eye. To stand and watch it as it evolved was magnificent.
Certainly our (Media Noche/Transvoyeur) intervention at White Park was captured on video. Considering the feeling it evoked, judging by the mood and temperature, color of night, that feeling of Saturday night, it made it worthwhile.
Kofi Fosu Forson
Some would identify with Daniel Day Lewis’ character in Stars and Bars as a true romantic figure. That the Cohen Brothers painted a picture of a dry cinematic hue all adds to the tremor in the heart of the 1980’s as a romantic time.
Choose Me, directed by Alan Rudolph, with its passion for music, dialogue and cinematography is a clever example of modern love. David Bowie is quoted in a song with the very title that “Don’t wanna fall for Modern Love.” I personally feel that Bowie’s music is equivalent of sexual defiance. As a discography, it’s actually the most essential recognition of love and angst in the modern age.
In the current age of celebrity, where actors such as Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie are in the public eye, the modern lover is concerned more with the body as an entity and with money as a source of fulfillment.
An increase in cyber porn and dating sites nullifies any notion of modern love. It’s a hard reality where the purpose is to match personalities based on official reasons not chemistry. This then draws the lowest common denominator where partners are forced to meet sexual demands, eliminating the realm of individual intellect and philosophy.
However said, cyberspace creates a world where people exist in that very intellect and a foundation for love. This is done not as a means where cyberspace represents a web-oriented universe. It’s more so a matter of communication which is encouraged by modern technology.
Modern love in the postmodernist ideology is conscientious. As always, money hastens the connection between two different parties whether they exist in the same country or internationally. Self-love and individual evolvement are of the essence.
Centeredness has all the bearings in courage, confidence and stature. It allows an ability to live a life of love; as in I am sex. I make love. I am love. This then becomes a matter of metaphors. To exist in a literal habit makes little room for what else could be found in the universe or cyberspace.
The difference then is to be original or to commit the gravest sin of imitation. Love doesn’t exist in copy. It does in clay, the origin of man.
A History of Flesh
Kofi Fosu Forson
Love, the damage in every soul! Blessed thing of beauty, we succumb. If goddess, a mountain to climb, from her calves, through to her sexual cavity to touch at teat, embracing the fortune of her face.
Overcoming, bearer of thorns, pricked at skin; buried a death, beginning again. Woman, seduce me! Take this misery, make love of it. Swelter in this cold heat. Divine bosom, I rest my head, listening.
Luna Rose, singing, blues and bloods. House-mother, her body scent, fresh from sand, water and peppermint leaves. Blood sister, tame the female other, and bring her closer to cup. Buffalo girl, lift your arms, wrap it around. Give love in decadent desire. Teach us a dance, sacred dance. Our bodies become one with love by making love.
Devour! Seduce me, sister! Seduce me with your body alone. Take me into trouble. Let us walk through men. I am man. You are the reason for every man. Ravish! Fall onto bed, make these walls remember. Lover! What man doesn’t aspire? Keep them hidden. Save this love for eternity.
Lilith, female, illustrious she, we make love. Tug at hair, your crowning glory, motherly pubis. Celebrated lust, bring to bear potential sin. Fathom a room of lovers brought about by ecstasy, reaching unmentionable moments of pleasure. Imagine at its center, your body sprawled. Male, female reaching to touch! Sense the arousal, causing immediate joy. Intensity, constant stimulation rendered in absolute rapture.
Lovemaking, birth of light, ascending into a holier light! Let the dry wind blow. City streets fill with petals. People gather around, cherishing a new profound love, a woman of sun and moon, fasting, beckoning… becoming Cherie Amour!