Top, screen capture from Les Rendez-vous d’Anna, directed by Chantal Akerman, 1978. Via. Bottom, Justin Matherly, The Terror That So Often Accompanies Involuntary Defacation, 2009, Concrete, medical foot stool legs, rubber crutch tips, 25 x 28 x 30 inches. Via. More.
But the fact is that the crime is never perfect, for the world betrays itself by appearances, which are the clues to its non-existence, the traces of the continuity of the nothing. For the nothing itself — the continuity of the nothing — leaves traces. And that is the way the world betrays its secret. That is the way it allows itself to be sensed, while at the same time hiding away behind appearances. The artist, too, is always close to committing the perfect crime: saying nothing. But he turns away from it, and his work is the trace of that criminal imperfection. The artist is, in Michaux’s words, the one who, with all his might, resists the fundamental drive not to leave traces.
Jean Beaudrillard, Le Crime Parfait [The Perfect Crime], 1995, translated by Chris Turner. Via.
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