EXHIBITION: PHILLIP BIRCH - MASTER DYNAMIC: FRONTIER
"All of us were in the future, where we belonged. It actually was the future, a period of time that so embodied what we thought the future would be like that the government had to replace the term with a new one, fufier, in order to designate the grim, impending series of events that had not yet occurred. Those were the years of corporate oligarchy, of videophonic telephones, meal tablets, and robot hearts. Years of silver foil and mass, private flight. We were observed, things were expected of us, a green pill was created to help us remember to take a certain blue pill. We did all the important things and let the old and the sick work in the factories. This was a time of sadly predictable oppression and digital surveillance. What was most vital about our lives was recorded and stored on a government database, which was looked upon with such utter detachment that we often forgot it was there. We were, above all, children, barely fit for the sort of lives we led.
When we wanted meant, what we got was meat. When we wanted a morning constitutional however, what we got was also meat. Meat, it appeared, was all there was left; great, heaping stacks of it, stored in icy towers at the center of the city, tended to by large men in white masks and rubber boots who wielded pitchforks and prods. We learned to shape the meat, to flavor it in such a way that we might not forget what it was like to taste an apple, say to bite through the ruddy skin, which gave way to the sweet, tender center. We could achieve this effect with spiced, cured ham, stuffed into a tough intestinal sack. Chocolate was hard to eat for those of us who could remember the real thing. Children, though, loved to chew upon the hard, brittle cubes of browned beef that came wrapped delicately in gold foil. Cheese was meat. Juice was meat. Porksicles. Beefsicles. Baconsicles. This was the fulcrum from which our lives precariously swung.
Chocolate milk was still milk, but the chocolate was made from hard, shaved splinters of seasoned loin. It had a sour, syrupy aftertaste. Those of us who remembered call it simply "chilk" in an effort to preserve the dignity of the earlier, more substantial drink. But the children took in chilk whenever it was offered. How greedy they seemed, always clamoring like blind puppies to take the nozzle to their trembling, puckered lips.
The meat made us look different. We got fat for a while - years, actually - but then the fat left us, so that what we were left with were baggy flaps of limp, oily skin, whole bolts of extra body. We gathered this loose flesh in long, flat clips at our shoulders, so that the worst amongst us appeared to have wings."
- from Super Flat Times (Fufier) by Phillip Birch
PROJECT: JOHN ROEBAS - IN ADVANCE OF THE BROKEN ARM
Contribution by Domenico de Chirico.
Philip Birch - Master Dynamic: Frontier
John Roebas - In Advance Of The Broken Arm
Lyles & King, November 20 - December 20