Die Dialektik der Tattoos—Brian Kellys The Cut-Ups: Tattoo Flash from the Third Mind

2008 entwirft Bri­an Kel­ly sein erstes Tat­too Flash-Set und bringt immer neue Ideen zu Papi­er bis schließlich ein Buch mit den Zeich­nun­gen der let­zten Jahre entste­ht: The Cut-Ups: Tat­too Flash from the Third Mind (2022, Schif­fer Pub­lish­ing). In The Cut-Ups bietet Bri­an Ein­blicke in die schöpferischen Tech­niken, die sein­er Kun­st zu Grunde liegen, faszinierend nicht zulet­zt, weil sich sein Kun­sthandw­erk unter anderem der Lit­er­atur bedient. 

A M N E S I A VII—IX

“There is an uneasy silence in the pod rac­ing toward sec­tor 22. Onyx and I sit silent­ly next to each oth­er while the south­ern and east­ern periph­eries rush past us. Every now and then I notice his eyes on me. Sud­den­ly, I am a glass house and he can see right through me, into the hol­lows and the attic of my pres­ence, reach­ing beyond my map of myself. Or per­haps I just want him to.”

A M N E S I A IV—VI

I see flash­es of her face in front of me, big, daz­ing green eyes and skin cov­ered in debris of pain. “I see only dark­ness, dis­placed in me instead of the night.” She’s my God. She knows of our begin­nings and our aber­ra­tion. She killed her­self so I could live. I might as well try.

Zusammengelegte Kleidung

“Diese Zeit­en machen mir Angst.
Weil sie unerr­e­ich­bar scheinen. Weil meine Zeit­en in alle Rich­tun­gen zer­fließen. Ich ver­suche mich wieder einzuord­nen ins Sys­tem. Ins Leben.”

Die (Un-)Ordnung der Bilder

Wir sehen, was wir sehen sollen. Seit­dem das Orig­i­nal eines Kunst­werks beliebig repro­duzier­bar ist, wis­sen wir nicht mehr, was wir sehen. Manch­mal sehen wir eine Frau. Und meis­tens sehen wir eine Frau, die gese­hen wird. Und das ist nicht dasselbe.

The Entropic Lighter

“Now, the fire can come back at any time, and it will not be as trau­ma­tiz­ing as it was before; flames will be noth­ing but old lovers wel­comed back into a house haunt­ed by their absence. His ther­a­pist her­self said it: mean­ing can be found in chaos. It is, after all, nicer to see the glass half-emp­ty than to admit that there is no glass anymore.”

A M N E S I A I—III

I had spent my life won­der­ing whether bro­ken love could be mend­ed when I saw my par­ents drift apart, from secret dances in the moon­lit kitchen to becom­ing strangers, vio­lent­ly and abrupt­ly fight­ing for divorce. Like a glued-up vase. I refused to see it then, but a frac­tured vase still expos­es its porce­lain fragili­ty even after it has been reassem­bled. Even with the finest glue and the hands of a ceramist, it reveals the truth in the cracks between the pieces.

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