TRUE BELIEVER

Exhibition: Gletta 17.06. - 10.08. 2023

I saw the city of angels that night in a forgotten dream. Lying in the back seat of a convertible, driving down a deserted boulevard, I saw Los Angeles and gazed up at the singed palm trees and saw that they were angelicas from another life. The plants of the angels that God’s messenger brought at night for protection and healing against the plague. The virtues of this plant then spread out from the hands of the messenger, blossoming wildly in most of the orchards and looked like burnt palm trees to me. Those gardens have actually vanished and only exist in fleeting dreams and fertile oblivion in some abandoned fjord where the world has been turned upside down. According to lost knowledge, its temperament is hot and sweet, and its juice fends off all the ills that afflict man. Sifts out the poison with the heat of the body and liberates the blood from ailments. Frees the spirit, frees beauty, and turns itself into a messenger and guardian angel.

It was these virtues that drew me to it, its ruggedness and sweetness. It appeared to me as an original form of ourselves, a mirror and purpose. I peered through the golden gate into the real consciousness of man, into nature, the dream, the fertilisation and the garden’s contribution to the firmament, which is both wild and uncontrollable. I saw no signs of plowing or human ingenuity there, or harrowed plains and sowing except for those singed palm trees.

I saw that through its inner symbolism the plant depicted the conflict between pleasure and castration in the flowers, but in the root the friction between the signifier and the voice in the Lacanian sense of the act of plowing in the dissection of the soul. I saw that the root was strength, the stem was knowledge, the leaves were protection and the flower was inspiration. I saw that each seed was an unspoken word.

Then I woke up.