gæst
Magnus Frederik Clausen

På en glasplade står de; to vægure af samme model. Gelwane vægur, står der på emballagen. Urene er sorte med et foto af Jellingestenen på urskiven, på fotoet ses skriften hen over stenen: GELWANE.

Folk begyndte at spekulere, var det et angreb på kulturen? Et angreb mod stenen og dens venner, maling mod sten.

Jeg samler sten fra byens gader, Svensk Bohus rød Chaussésten, 3190 Kr./ton, vægten af dem i mine hænder, flyver igennem luften, op og ned af gaden.

Kan man indlevere dem til analyse og finde rester af blod?

Tid, penge, stål og lærred med salt på. 3190 kr. i tiden, jeg er tretusindeoghalvfems kroner i tiden? Den billigste i byen. Jeg presser prisen, men ingen husker mit navn, da det er billigt at glemme.

-Magnus Frederik Clausen, 2012-2015

Today

Every time I venture into the area between the image and the object, I feel like I’m entering a slippery field. I know the artist is the King of this land, but my impression is that it’s the process of creation that rules the castle. As long as the King follows the creative dictation, he can act without being fully aware of where his actions will lead him: the appearance of his work is always meaningful, when its conception and production correspond.

That’s why he is free to choose from a wide spectrum of different attitudes. He can be polished and rough at the same time. He can stand naked in the middle of the room and feel at ease. Everything makes sense to him.

But things are different for those who don’t live in the castle. What if I’m invited and find out the King is naked once I’m there? My first intuition would tell me to react in two ways:

1. Don’t say anything. Pretend I understand why he is strolling with no clothes on.

2. Look around and yell: “The King is naked!” and hope for others’ approval.

But there’s a third option: I’ll get undressed too.

This would not be an attempt to take the King’s place. But my visit will be meaningless if I remain convinced that I understand what’s going on and everybody around me assumes I do. Or, on the contrary, if I demonstrate to everybody that the appointment I’m attending lacks coherence.

Instead of pointing the finger at the King, I point it at myself and start to consider the good side of this weird situation: the possibility to get rid of the distance between what I see and what I get. Today I try to strip down and lose the visual codes, the moral message and the interpretation I usually adopt when I visit the castle. If I manage to do this, I can finally admit that what I see is just coloured salt behind transparent plastic. And it simply looks so good.

-Paola Paleari, 2015