KICKING MEANING INTO TOUCH, A FEW WORDS ABOUT A ROCK’N ROLL ART
I find something akin to a refuge in Guillaume’s work. He takes us away from over-referential art that makes do with the sad truth of the infinite play of masks of the logos (when we remove the layers of onion skin but never reach reality, like poor Patrick McGoohan in the series The Prisoner who unmasks all his adversaries but never finds Number 1). This fascination for the void always hidden behind a referential jumble more or less mined by artists who are more or less knowledgeable ended up boring me. Guillaume’s art comes as a sort of remedy to this disease, the disgusted cynicism of reduction to language (the “cultural”) to the point of absurdity. Guillaume has produced a more or less desperate attempt to dispense with mediation. He acts like acousmatic musicians : he masks his sources to unplug the analysis.
Clément Rosset has said of the real that it is idiotic (from the Greek idios – oneself), meaning that it is merely itself. It has no double, no false bottom, no meaning, no name, no laws. It is unreadable. It is a meaningless chain of singularities. So, in his art, Guillaume approaches a “Rosset point”. This is not a cop out, it is the contrary. This insignlack of meaning is not the end of civilisation, but its beginning. Where the logos has struck, meaning everywhere, it is necessary to invent escape strategies, off field. Utopia is there, potentially everywhere, everywhere in the (by definition) ungraspable fold.
It is in this sense that Guillaume makes rock n roll art : nothing refers to rock in his work (apart from guitar amplifier that appaeared in the mirror in “Hors-champ”). But rock makes the Alimoussa. Iggy défait the mediation of the music he regurgitates as a raw, idiotic reality. He attacks symbolic and abstract heritage with raw matter. He dissolves the culture in the real. He assumes a pure contingence to matter. The noise of the guitars is nothing other than an implementation of entropy, the destruction of any form, however pure and perfect it might be. A destruction from which emerges not so much a new form to be grasped, as the possibility of the new, heavy as air.
Guillaume Ollendorf, 2013.