SEIZE 2 (Fox-Racer Bomber), 2013
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| SEIZE |
SEIZE 2 (Fox-Racer Bomber), 2013 |
 SEIZE 4 (Bauer Vapor XVI), 2013 |
 SEIZE, Þoka Gallery, Reykjavík, 2013 |
 SEIZE 1 (Gore Windstopper), 2013 |
 SEIZE 3 (S-Line Gants-Pilot), 2013 |
 SEIZE 3 (S-Line Gants-Pilot), 2013 |
| A story. Of inner necessities merging into pairs. It starts from inside and stretches – the right word: tendons, pulling, pumps – from an endoskeleton, yours say, a stranger’s, as they’re reaching toward another. To contain what’s in front of them. With adjustable velcro closers, lycra forchets, kevler thread, all marking out deltas of life’s tension. We’re talking about life’s problems in seizure then. Capturing a hand capturing a ball without the hand and without the ball. Skidding then, catching hold of a future criminal tainted with hereditary disease: these are spaces caught in the grip of a scream then. Aggressive full knuckle coverage. And the story continues with something you see every so often throughout winter. Perhaps there’s nothing sadder than seeing one alone on a wet pavement on Friday evening, devoid of form, potential and life’s tension. But fuck that. Grab whatever you want, or try to, and caught in the middle with suspension extending from inside is a volume, again in seizure, a spastic opening, caught in a scene of life that may become in every detail individual and great. Breathable and lightweight. Let’s pretend to apprehend what we’re taking hold of here, we’re taking hold of an expanse that forces lines down through super fabric (ceramic) finger tips to points beyond these silent pairs of gauntlets mapping out the finite species of air that is two hands closing in on each other. Bodies without hands: the story is of the same Friday night and finally the hand is laid on another’s thigh and belongs no more to the body from which it came – from this aniline avatar and from the object which it touches or grazes something new originates, such that novelty can exist in a place as old as the opposable thumb, ergo thumb itself, man himself, a new thing nevertheless in the dark corner of the night, and it has no name and it belongs to no one. This story is part of an inventory of these items that has yet to be fully written. John Holten in Darri Lorenzen’s temporary Reykjavik studio. Vesturgata 14, Iceland, May 16 2013 |
| Photos: Ingvar Högni Voice: Ásdís Hermanowicz |