neither the tuxedo, nor the glass of champagne would give the characters of michelangelo antonioni's films that purposefulness without which life is, simply put, meaningless.
nor the physical beauty of these very characters.
what, then, is the existential 'horizon of hope' of modernity, as seen through the lenses of people who cannot communicate, who are essentially mute to each other and perhaps even mute to themselves?
if art, in sanskrit, meant bridge, and by extension, god, how would a house for antonioni look like, that is, a house for someone having difficulties to build bridges, really?
how would a house of lack of communication look like? how would an un-bridging bridge be, eternally lost in its attempt to reach the other side?
describe this irking impotence, as brilliantly as great antonioni did.
and then, maybe, something miraculous might happen.
please send your works in any size and in any form, as well as your inquiries, to icarch gallery, 709 washington street, evanston, chicago, 60202, usa, or electronically to [email protected]. competition email : [email protected]
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