Head to… head.
Not seeking a sense of the past, of what we were, but what we are today, lived-relived.
The elegant autonomy of a head; it certainly has a sense of history!… “Head to head” faces I recognize, lone heads, isolated in a state of anticipation.
Acquiring beauty for a head is dangerous. It loses its solitude, its melancholy, its vitality, its seduction, its clear sensation.
Sensing the forces within a head, perceiving its thoughts, its invisible realm, the things never ever said, with the figures lined up, the heads provide, unbeknownst to them, for a clue. Their arrangement, while random, creates an energetic void… an alarming silence. The security valve has blown. Devoid of logic, it risks everything at its disposal, with references to various cultures.
Some heads are inoffensive, others are functional, others are produced by a short circuit in anticipation of the… trap, another instrument already blunted.
Some heads are a personal urgency, others are unprepared for the role, consciously risking marginalization. Others function as protected icons, other enigmatic heads observe critically, while others again are projected into an uncomfortable position. Wide-eyed and hypnotic stares, some severe, others highlighted by intense cosmetic colors: gentle bragging.
Some are divinities, perhaps decadent and impotent: ridiculed icons. And other tarry, incinerated heads are self-expressive, others are impenetrably masked.
These heads are a fragment of our experience of the world. We must intensify it. Heads painted and re-painted. Clarifying why many heads band together is in reality not very difficult.
Perhaps they want to reconcile what needed to be reconciled. Conflict brings reanimation.
All the heads look at you, even the intrusive and indifferent.