An attunement to the finesses of disintegrating shapes and the constant intermix of apparatuses, subject and spirit distinguish the practice of German artist Raphaela Vogel.
Tatters and the thinking of tatters. The impulse to become said tatters and the desire to lick them as they flow in the wind. Scorn is also felt but then, through circuity, through abjection, without direction, becomes unacknowledged attraction. Nailed to the sky as a mocking and a warning, and yet, in that nailing we see a kiss too. Dancing on top of his tomb, stone as tatters, unraveling joy and hiding, curtains of misdirection. It is a very delicate balance, it is the pendulous swinging of the drones, the taming of the furious wooden beast, the butterfly portals of illumination, the slow tearing of the tatters.
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