Stilllife, dead nature, quiet life, a line-up of something that doesn’t move is a genre with a lot of interpretations. I can find more or less grotesque things and stack them, so they form a symbolist whole. Or I can go out and observe the quiet life already out there. That which is waiting to be taken for granted for the messages they postulate. The quiet life that lies unnoticed and does not make much fuss of itself, but by which we’re led so that it doesn’t go wrong. If it has not gone already.
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