Menu
Menu
Menu
Epilogue
While there is not a specific order to view the works in the exhibition, Slater Bradley’s fabricated Kurt Cobain portrait can be regarded as the exhibition’s discourse’s conclusive point. This portrait has the potential to transport the Gen Y audience back to the 1990s because it reminds on of the collective or personal memories linked to the popular culture of that era. Nonetheless, this portrait can be a deceptive indexical reference to reality with its complicated multi-layered performativity. Indicated by its original 2003 title, it creates the illusion of history repeating itself even though the narrative is entirely fictional, which stirs our distant yet intimate cultural memories. Twenty years later, the artist produces a new edition for this exhibition and alters the title, seemingly affirming the cinematic immortality of the rock singer who tragically took their own life at a young age.6 This transition from the evidential to the textual indicates that images are not only resurrected, but also granted immortality within fictional histories.
Notes
6. In 2003, Slater Bradley created a photographic work titled after Nirvana’s single, “I Hate Myself and Want to Die”. When Kurt Cobain wrote this nihilistic song, he intentionally played into the stereotypical image imposed on him by the mass media, imbuing the song with an implicit message. Slater Bradley used this title to recreate the imagery associated with Cobain, adding an additional layer of meta-perfomativity. Twenty years later, this work was included in the exhibition Memory Palace in Ruins. For this occasion, the artist made a significant revision, presenting it to the public for the first time with the new title, “I Love Myself and Want to Live”.
As the audience gazes upon this enigmatic portrait, the ghostly three-piece rock music waft from behind the wall. However, the historical scenario to which they belong remains shrouded in mystery. This ever-repeating epilogue with the slightly skewed, time-delayed, and fictious portrayal of historical memories exists almost like a prologue to the exhibition: upon entering the exhibition space, visitors are greeted by manufactured ancient artifacts, images emitting a sense of déjà vu, a bewildering monumnet overlooked after its apex, cultural homages of amateur creatives, a Parthenon temple featuring titles columns, two versions of sunsets, adn an array of pirated DVD mock-ups. The exteriors of these apparently outdated yet profoundly significant mediums bear the imprints of history; however, they remain susceptible to the deterioration in the physical world. Much like Cheng Tsun-Shing’s eloquent portrayal in The Anxiety of Silver Halides, a palace of memories is destined to crumble into ruins.
