Aw, I’ve always been a romantic.
I fancied the skunk from Bambi, I love Sade— as in Diamond Life, not Justine. Once when I was sick, I watched The Age of Innocence five times in two days. This romantic tendency may also manifest in the fact that I’ve always found reality weirdly [ . . . ] unfinished. This is why we have art, probably, to make up for a certain lack of imagination in the external world, or from “God.”
All those thoughts play out in Flowers of Romance. I wanted to make a dissociative zone where all kinds of magical objects could flirt with each other and seduce you, like a fucked-up Disney version of the Garden of the Eden, full of wild animals freaking out, weird music, hallucinogens weaved on the breeze. Dreamy and dangerous.
“Freaking out?” You bet. I mean, falling in love is disorientating and scary just as much as it makes you feel like you’re skipping across the sky or whatever. Your heart melts. “Romance” is a rabbit hole into thinking about heartbreak, weird kinks, extremely gorgeous animals, ecstasy and depression, angels and demons.
When the idea of the show was just beginning to bloom in my mind, I was thinking about a lot of luscious simulations of nature, too, the hyperreal fruitfulness of baroque painting coupled with Spielberg’s Hook. Something good enough to eat. Heathers is also a big deal here, of course: “lick it up, baby, lick it up.”
I’d tell you something kind of meaningful about John Donne’s poetry or “post-Koons aesthetics of cuteness” or the best way to appreciate the fantastic purple watermelon balls on George Kuchar’s portrait of his beloved dog. (R.I.P. George and Bocko) but it’s way more fun to just get lost in the jungle. OK, I will say that almost everything you need to know about the show is contained within the video for “Kiss of Love” by Sade: Skittles-tinted colour, chronic longing, roses on fire.
Love is the drug.
—Charlie Fox
at Lodovico Corsini, Brussels
until December 21, 2024