Dear ALL, Kommt in ‚die box‘!
Es geht weiter mit KNETEN II.
Auftakt für die Herbstevents in der box.
Noch hängt Claes Oldenburgs PopArt Manifest an der Wand: Ode to Possibilities und wir feiern „an art that grows up not knowing it is art at all“.Aber, sind damit alle inneren Fragen beantwortet? Schon längst steht der Beuyssche Geist im Raum.
Kann KNETEN die Welt verändern?
Wir sagen JA!
Radikal greifen wir zur KNETE!
ohne KNETEN keine Revolution!

Ode to possibilities
Claes Oldenburg – l Am for an Art (1961)

I am for an art that is political-erotical-mystical, that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum. I am for an art that grows up not knowing it is art at all, an art given the chance of having a starting point of zero. I am for an art that embroils itself with the everyday crap & still comes out on top. I am for an art chat imitates the human, that is comic, if necessary, or violent, or whatever is necessary. I am for an art that takes its form from the lines of life itself, that twists and extends and accumulates and spits and drips, and is heavy and coarse and blunt and sweet and stupid as life itself. I am for an artist who vanishes, turning up in a white cap painting signs or hallways. I am for art that comes out of a chimney like black hair and scatters in the sky. I am for art that spills out of an old man’s purse when he is bounced off a passing fender. I am for the art out of a doggy’s mouth, falling five stories from the roof. I am for the art that a kid licks, after peeling away the wrapper. I am for an art that joggles like everyone’s knees, when the bus traverses an excavation. I am for art that is smoked, like a cigarette, smells, like a pair of shoes. I am for art that flaps like a flag, or helps blow noses, like a handkerchief. I am for art that is put on and taken off, like pants, which develops holes, like socks. which is eaten, like a piece of pie, or abandoned which great contempt, like a piece of shit. I am for art covered with bandages. I am for art that limps and rolls and runs and jumps. I am for art that comes in a can or washes up on the shore. I am for art that coils and grunts like a wrestler. I am for art that sheds hair. I am for art you can sit on. I am for art you can pick your nose with or stub your toes on. I am for art from a pocket, from deep channels of the ear, from the edge of a knife. From the corners of the mouth, stuck in the eve or worn on che wrist.

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