DUBLIN.- “You know that thing when you’re driving, out of the city, and it’s as though everything goes limp except like this urge to just relinquish control and ram head first into a tree?” No, I don’t drive, don’t know how- never needed to.
There’s an intentional slovenliness to everything, like leave it to fate and see where it falls. Rawness of sensibility…willed for ignorance, sure like a gutter naïveté. “Right it’s street urchin’s caviar.”
What time is it? “We are deep. Cherry and Pike I think, ugh the sun is up.”I’m just so tired but I can’t sleep right now “Yeah, I’m very up, no sleep.”
Music in the next room, sirens’ songs of an after hours. In there, all saints and sinners coursing along on this blighted carousel, and yet there is nowhere else to be but here. 2016. 1966 or so. Shulan is still here because he lost his keys again and is babbling about how he was kidnapped by a cab driver earlier in the night. They took him to Jersey instead of China Chalet.
A girl sitting alone in the corner, everyone staring at her because she is chanting, (with perverse determination:)
“We are impermanent, we are important, we live the life you dream about!”
And we all laugh at her. Yet when walking home as dawn is breaking, my hands are shaking but my head is shining- floating stories above. There I am in plainsong chanting with her. My audience of dancing rats, flirting with the dumpster, bob along in time as though it’s their national anthem.
And when buried up to my neck, bound by silks and braids and furs and polyester, my nose and mouth stay free for the taking. Again in this same place across time, we cheer each other on with raucus applause.
Run out of the apartment because the neighbor says she is calling the police, and it’s 8 a.m, and what is wrong with us. DeSe pretends she’s very drunk because she invited people over and they were mad when they weren’t allowed in- they set off the fire alarm. Run around the corner, hiding until cabs come to take us somewhere else.
“Does that street sign still say Bowery,” Patia says it does and sings “is that all there is to the circus.”
Joseph Geagan (b. 1987, USA) lives and works in New York, USA. Geagan is a documentarian of sorts depicting his social scene and surroundings through an analog lense. Working in both painting and sculpture, the artist’s works are intuitively handmade, yet they are, paradoxically, suited to contemporary forms of social media such as Instagram aligned to a fleeting account or record of one’s immediate social circles. The diaristic tone of his practice creates a strange intersection of autobiography and allegory. His figures transmit a wide range of characteristics; erotic, creepy, hilarious, evil, promiscuous, or incandescent. The artist has had recent solo and two person exhibitions at Romeo Gallery, New York, Bed Stuy Love Affair (with Jake Cruzen), New York, and Shoot The Lobster (with Jessi Reaves), New York. He has also recently participated in group exhibitions at Ellis King, Dublin, Lodos, Mexico City, The Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, Greene Naftali Gallery, New York, and James Fuentes, New York.
