Tornadoes. Small pressures, placed in small measures, spiral into an atmospheric impulse that create storms out of states of relative calm. Propulsions out of sepia toned realities lead into Technicolor journeys of self-individuation. In this flurry, our desires, temptations, and our shadow selves are uncovered. Sometimes a mere mortal exists behind the facade. Snapped out of the reverie, it was a dream, transforming nonetheless. The temptations along the road are the intoxicating fields that often deflate the escape route and thus, remaining cyclonic in toto.
On September 19, 2015, MAMA Gallery twists itself into a temporary coil, experiencing an equally unexplainable impulse to spiral, if only briefly, out of control. All good trips must be accompanied by a sound experience. One conjured up by the composer and frequent Matthew Barney collaborator Jonathan Bepler will expose dozens of thoughtfully navigate bodies around, within, and through dueling cacophonies, mining for peace and quiet while simultaneously summoning a typhoon. Angeline Rivas lives in a meticulous world shaded in by ballpoint. Adam Tullie merges heavy materials onto a thin plane of paint, while Luckey Remington is lost on the inside of a wooden shrine that was meant to reflect unsettledness. The pay phone screens a James Franco thought from a gutter, alongside a painting to convince you this is not really James Franco’s voice. Henry Hopper articulating a pattern from someone else's mind, lost due to a specific societal pressure, excess or nothingness. And of course copious amounts of illicit drugs. Coinciding not so seamlessly with a Double Diamond Sun Body video work which contains absurd gestures to ignite the randomness of a life lived on shue. Through a portal Galen Pehrson wanders on the precipice of a mind split between rotating into imaginative reverie or drowning in the whirl of a dangerous fantasy-state. This experience places those seeking a bit of escape an arrangement of works representing the beginning, middle, and end of a consciousness spinning.
Cerebral Vortex is a journey of internal expansion filed with finite edges — a contained environment that is limitless for but a small moment in time. Rest assured, in an instant another itch will certainly need a scratch, and a cryptic change of momentum will return our thoughts, attention, and perceptions into a calm-before-another-storm. Who knows what we will remember from our turbulent ride? Perhaps memory will, and should, remain in the canal of that experience. Feel free to go round and round again and again, but remember, the stakes are high when thinking wildly.