one beloved asked me the other night whyi seem to be obsessed with aesthetics that can be easily dubbed afrikan these days. soso essentialist lately, honey. i shrugged shoulders as we got closer, perhaps itS because i am surrounded by its manifestations these days, i said, and perhaps itS part of the ambiguous identities we walk in. you smiled and looked at the newest find i brought you home like a proud hunter, and as anticipated (we get closer), you as well fell in love with paul sika and his glooming images ripe with life, lust, some more words starting with “l” and this kitsch-sidekicks i so adore –
here’s a snippet from an interview with the artist, to be found at verbal hmmm.
There is a type of art that you just don’t get. And I believe that if art must be explained for 1 hour with a lot of references here and there before you start to enjoy it, for me it is failing art. My art is the art that a kid can enjoy and s(he) who is more advanced can derive a deeper meaning out of it and all that is based on the state of mind of the observer. My art is the art patient enough to let itself be appreciated by the complete novice and guide that person to higher levels of understanding at the pace that person would have consciously or unconsciously chosen.
This is the type of art I love and make.