Saturday, March 29, 2008

Strange Beautiful
(for Donna Benfatti)
Kofi Fosu Forson

Venus fell before my eyes in black leather pants
Her hair was blonder than blonde like the girls in the band

I watched her desperately while biting into a fruit
That aura of Venus left me with a citrus tongue

Always thought she was Scandinavian
Found out that she came from a place in Brooklyn

Venus is strange and beautiful

My German doll had left me open to see
What I could find since our love was broken

Venus was waiting one day among a pigeon parade
She had a face of cream-colored vanilla-shade

Courage cradled a comb that I served through the air
My lips formed to speak the words of an innocent child

Always had a word for the pretty ones
Swallowed my lame bar-room line made me see

Venus is strange and beautiful

My German doll had left me open to see
What I could find since our love was broken

I went to the movie show with Venus
Did not know why the sky was opening

Could it be the heavens had sent me an angel
For the days when my colors went dry

Venus is free now; she has her own little world
She comes to me from Queens now

Calm as the sea with a set of fiery curls

Copyright Barking Dogs Suicide Music

Monday, March 17, 2008

The Whitney Biennial 2008
Point of Saturation

Kofi Fosu Forson

Were we at once included in this the thinning of the process, named marketability, programmable means of entertainment, celebrity and fame, art would be a nuisance.

Was it not those who found favor with art programs at an earlier stage, pushing fundamentals of art appreciation that conclusively felt the establishment Whitney Museum of American Art catered to a sophistication best defined as a quandary?

What has become of The Whitney Biennial is neither a revelation nor should it be a renouncement of what is American art and more so the burgeoning linked to art overall as privilege, class and whitewashing.

The Whitney Biennial 2008 was plainly and simply an effort that met its desires and pre-requisites. Ironically I was in favor of it as an acknowledgement which out-rightly removed any notion meant to reprieve the forecasting made vocal by a public which continue to express a vilification about art’s end.

Seemingly art has been transferred from an allocation of genres and or movements to a disciplined philosophy. This can be estimated as the systematization and method by which language and semiotics has manifested.

The Whitney Biennial 2008 in my eyes was successful as an understatement. Without any repercussions it can be said biennials never gratify what in terms is desirable as fine art. Progressively The Whitney Biennial has reached a point of saturation as compared with the several years past which left more of an impression on me.

This is due to the transference of intellectual light justifiable within marketing, advertising and art not as product but reviewable in conscientious output. Much of this can still be found in genres such as video, film and installations.

I think back to a show at The Jewish Museum in the late nineties made by Israeli artists in the post Rabin era.

Will art ever make us bleed intellectually ever again?

I think so. Just render a notion of class, philosophy and pate.

Monday, March 10, 2008

Dismemberment of Night

Kofi Fosu Forson

I adore dismemberment of night
Cancer free done in by euphoria

Seldom do we grope in cession
While painting pictures of November

Aristotle ignite this passageway
Place in each square a high-heel shoe

Comb her tresses with silent knife
Keep hidden locket for broken heart

Separate rooms for separate brooms
Tall tales of electrifying men leaving

Pelosini’s garden, champagne water
Your eyes softly inspiring Buscemi

Painterly, after-hours, counting them:
Black boys turning over leaves

Blame each one our times together
How do they ever channel Somalia!

To dream fisherman in high-waters
I fondle Catherines of Montauk

Misery and faith has found me here
Dismantling subservience with pastel

Paper skin forming from dress to dress
Floating, white turmoil masquerade

Shalom, I digress, eternal muse
Your disguise hangs above melancholia

Diebenkorn woman, her many faces
With reason she poses, coquette to chique

We will not make love, she says
Break a leg before and after midnight