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Banger retrospective, rue du Jour

Fotos from the opening on agnès b. facebook fan page www.facebook.com/agnesb.officiel

agnès b. has the pleasure to present works of Banger, Parisian period, on 1989-1995.

"Once upon a time

There was a man, in white and black, and so thin that on his edge, he could cut light, colors, the shapes of night.
The nights he haunted then, the New York nights, with all those shooting stars crossing downtown, in that wild, that dangerous time: the Eighties, East Village, NY.
Yes he collaborated on canvas with his compadre Jean Michel Basquiat, and yes he was from that strange aristocracy, that poem, that uncompromising voyage to the edges of some truth, some life, some art.
The difference with him is that he was there long before, and long after. He survived. And he painted. All along the way, under the radar, he has given us a sharp, formidable story of these times. Leaving thousands of images in his wake, everywhere, in galleries, private collections, forgotten in basements and attics.
Wherever he was, in comfort or in misery, in New York or in Paris, he painted. He/It couldn’t be otherwise.
William Burroughs said it for them all: not possessing genius, but being possessed by genius. That cuts deep, these days.
We have seen him, his face pale and the rest black, erect, striking the pavement with his silver-knobbed cane. We have seen him, like a dangerous question, unpredictable, putting to the question the great love story of art and commerce, consumption.
By being consumed, and consuming everything around him, revealing the glowing, pulsating sinews, veins and filaments. For, even in the blackened ruins where his quest sometime took him, he was seeking the heart within.
His hand and his heart are one.
On the canvas.
War: “Peace be with you”.
Yes he has crossed into the mirrors of these times, walking then barefoot on the ambers and shards. These times, our times, we who still dream of salvation on the edge of the abyss. He has crushed them, dissected them, torn them to join and [... ] +

Fotos from the opening on agnès b. facebook fan page www.facebook.com/agnesb.officiel

agnès b. has the pleasure to present works of Banger, Parisian period, on 1989-1995.

"Once upon a time

There was a man, in white and black, and so thin that on his edge, he could cut light, colors, the shapes of night.
The nights he haunted then, the New York nights, with all those shooting stars crossing downtown, in that wild, that dangerous time: the Eighties, East Village, NY.
Yes he collaborated on canvas with his compadre Jean Michel Basquiat, and yes he was from that strange aristocracy, that poem, that uncompromising voyage to the edges of some truth, some life, some art.
The difference with him is that he was there long before, and long after. He survived. And he painted. All along the way, under the radar, he has given us a sharp, formidable story of these times. Leaving thousands of images in his wake, everywhere, in galleries, private collections, forgotten in basements and attics.
Wherever he was, in comfort or in misery, in New York or in Paris, he painted. He/It couldn’t be otherwise.
William Burroughs said it for them all: not possessing genius, but being possessed by genius. That cuts deep, these days.
We have seen him, his face pale and the rest black, erect, striking the pavement with his silver-knobbed cane. We have seen him, like a dangerous question, unpredictable, putting to the question the great love story of art and commerce, consumption.
By being consumed, and consuming everything around him, revealing the glowing, pulsating sinews, veins and filaments. For, even in the blackened ruins where his quest sometime took him, he was seeking the heart within.
His hand and his heart are one.
On the canvas.
War: “Peace be with you”.
Yes he has crossed into the mirrors of these times, walking then barefoot on the ambers and shards. These times, our times, we who still dream of salvation on the edge of the abyss. He has crushed them, dissected them, torn them to join and unfold them anew, and give us the signs, the « book » that can help us read again, along the pages, sometimes savage, sometimes sweet as lamb’s love
Painter, he is of no school.
Burning bright, he is telling the story of these times, exactly, for all times.
The story, maybe, of the mutation, the impossible choice, toward love, or toward death.
His heart on his sleeves, he has given us the signs he carved out of the blinding night where we no longer see.
He gives us that story, a tarot, a mantra, a PRAYER that, maybe this time we will not turn into a lie. A prayer that is nowhere and everywhere, out of reach of those who flatten and devour.
Yes, the lines, the strokes, the colors are here inseparable from the heart, from the eye,
All for us to see."

Jean-François Vallée, New York, september 2009 -

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