après moi le deluge
My name is Milena and I am fighting against the time, against the history, against all the authorities that exist in fixed and scared forms, I am one of the millions who does not fit into the world, who does not have a home, no family, no rules, no stable place in life , there is no known beginning and an end, woven by the threads of my mistakes and fears.
I only know the current moment and duration of that moment.
I am free as much as I am constrained in my actions.
And sometimes I do not see my horizon line, the one that takes the creator away from the game of destruction and numerous small catastrophes.
I am made for art that is not in museums. I was created for art that develops, art does not know what it is. Most of my life I serve and I think is what art is.
After all, I was created for the art that absorbs the crap of everyday life, stinking of cigarettes and dirty shoes and thrives despite this that imitates humanity. No more retrospective or futurism, there is only here and now. Every day I renew myself and extract myself from the meaningless academic art, as how can it be considered as something permanent in the world of constantly changing humanity?
The speed of our time does not leave time for a turn and today is already yesterday.
How can I move forward if I can only watch the action, how the forms move and are born?
What could be the simultaneous response to a dormant world and an emerging new era?
Everything that was before seems like a parody of what we are doing now
and maybe vice versa.
And who said that a parody of a parody is not art?
In the end, does parody not exist?
Maybe it’s better to believe in nothing and be happy?
An ideal system should have nothing — no memory, no logic, no future, no madness, no wisdom, no irony — this is nothing and we are idiots created from skimmed milk, an empty paradise of idols and empty politics, those who kill unborn children yet to merge in dirty ecstasy again.
We praise the revolution, tireless inventors, and they are in return just tired of the remains of the past, including the history of the art and literature.
We are no longer the products of traditional creativity, we are not people of cathedrals, palaces and cat walks, we are people of straight roads, people of hotels, mobile in every detail and our houses are gigantic mechanisms.
Or is the old world ceasing to exist? the capitalist system based on politics, economics and cultural life is dying and therefore new destructive wars arise. The all-consuming economic crisis brings more and more difficulties for those who work with their hands or brains. Capitalism has revealed itself more than ever as a system of robbery and fraud of violence, unemployment and terror, but the main reflects on its culture. the political and economic apparatus of the bourgeoisie began to disintegrate, it’s literature, philosophy and its arts are not consistent. And on this basis, the role of art has now become revolutionary.
the duty of art at this time is to destroy the old debris of empty tiresome aesthetics by awakening the creative instinct still dormant in the human mind. we love exclusively what we have been taught to love — foolishness taken for dogma and we are afraid to lose our beliefs.
Every day we move forward. sometimes we admire the beauty of not everyone, but the day, thanks to our Will. It creates the real value of life. Yet life itself has no value and the poetic parallels thrive only on the inner dimensions. We are no longer looking for the truth in reality of existence, but in reality of thoughts and feelings.
This is where the era of great spirituality begins
It will affect everything: we will free ourselves from legends and myths, instead of creating temples for the gods, we will create temples for ourselves — for our feelings. The sublime is now present — and it is the only thing that matters.
It is necessary to leave man and nature alone to restore naturalness. This is what means getting to the natural state without external world barriers. Get back the stupidity, thirst for new things, feelings and dreams.
The instinct for creativity comes from naturalness. Reasons don’t create. The creation of forms depends only on the subconscious, and the subconscious is an amazing source of imagination created by the mind. This is the biggest harbor of one’s own opinion, which reflects the true nature of the human creator.
Simple freedom of speech and of thought is all that worries me. I truly believe in the sincere joy of a person who moves along the chosen path, guided by the subconscious and conscious.
I have no right to direct any stranger along my path, only if this person found me to make a change.