The artistic practice of Austrian artist Michael Sailstorfer creates a space between humor and poetry, a dismantling of conventions of use that is both evocative and radical.
Although unreachable, at the core of each object the exact story of their destruction is written down, as if each constituting molecule doubled as stanzas of their particular tragedies. These dark epiphanies are mercifully uncommon, for when an old engine or despairing shed learns of this course, they go mad. Hairdryers start to sing and dream up of pop careers as they melt microphones. Electricity poles are catapulted amidst unstoppable laughter, reaching for the sky. Engines consume themselves in furious lust, dervish tornadoes choked in tears of joy.
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