zegervetters-blog

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More progress on the sneezer, peut peut.

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The ever elusive, greek nose, sleazy sippin, alter-ego king: Kevin Vergult. At last put on record for graduating fart school. Congratulations my soldier of love and diddling. Never struggles always bugles! Mi no lob dem!

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An encounter with a familiar image. This peeled of paint in Kontich-Lint train station made me remember 'Eglises Du Monde'

This book exists among a series of things i did in the past for which I still do not have a clear 'why?'. It has been a topic of conversation at a couple of psychoanalysis sessions lately.

I love this book and the emptiness of the images.

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A base to build bridges.

My mother is a fantastic teacher. A project about architecture led us to the future plans for the first bridge gapping Antwerp's river: Schelde. I made a baseplate on which the students were allowed to envision this bridge and build it too. These are some results.

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Mark van Hoek and the bird he gave me. Mark is one of the most poetic friends I have, his presence has been a bonanza to my life. In this scene we were putting wax birds on dutch soldiers graves in Düsseldorf. Not much later Mark and I started creating the Partytent Art Center.

https://www.instagram.com/partytentartcenter/

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Don Johnson

There’s this period in time where everything was or could have been Don Johnson. Every outburst of energy and it’s effect was a supposed product of Don Johnson. We created this cult figure with a couple of friends and it served as a beacon for boyish wonder.  A fearless way of doing things, because it could be framed as something Don-Johnsonesque. Essentially having religious approval. Although most of it was just the following of intrusive thoughts and pattern recognition, there has always been a focus on the visual. On beauty and finding it in chaotic messes. Or in destructive acts, destroying something that once had a lot of value and took a certain amount of care was hard, but liberating. It’s the dismissal of the idea that everything of value needs to be taken care of, letting go is freeing oneself of this burden. But one could argue that this is no other than hippies who are afraid of responsibilities? True, we often resembled those. I don’t want to be like a hippie so I take full responsibility of my actions whether or not they were in the name of Don Johnson. It became a reason to just do things. Without the need to have a conceptual framework or a ‘why are you making this?’ It was meant to be funny and at some point that becomes beautiful too. The sharing was crucial and it’s spirit still lingers in every person involved. My favorite Don John moment: https://zegervetters.cargo.site/In-the-flesh

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The importance of taking pride in that which you do is high. I feel ashamed to tell people that I’m an artist, I prefer to tell them I do a little bit of everything: Cooking, transport, technics, entertainment, music production and when I feel like it I squeeze In a little art making. I tell them and myself that’s a justifiable way to use time. Because the chingaling ding ding money, always comes first. In reality, I, like many others, just want to make stuff. Make it with others near me, them making things too and be left alone as well, undisturbed by anyone and just go at it, live life. Go to parties (the intimate kind because I can’t handle too many strangers, not even necessarily strangers, just too many.), eat good, make, love. The good sort of things.  Yet as of late I haven’t been feeling like anything me or others are making (those things we consider artworks), is of any value anymore. In all violence and ratraces, fires and politics, barb wires and ethnic cleansings, exploitations and trust funds, …

How can I not be discontent with my contributions to the world, if all suffering is up for grabs, visible for anyone, how can I make a cutesy painting and read a story on weed and wishing wells in a funny voice? In what world is that enough? I wonder how and why others still want to make things. Because belief me my ideas have not stopped coming, my ingenuity hasn’t faded and my hands still work exquisitely. It is therefore that I want to assist people, to find out how and why they still feel the need to produce things. Also because I like helping others.

From a we’re-all-cogs-in-a-large-timepiece-perspective, easing pain, instilling awe, a moment of tenderness, contemplation or sense of connection with your surroundings is all great. But what is it worth outside this very niche small bubble of ‘the art world’ because let’s face it we are marginals, we fester and feast on the margins of the ‘real, hard, working life full of dignity’ and respect through suffering. If I walk into a truck rental shop in working clothes with splatters and dirt I am respected if I were to walk into the same place with a fur coat and eyeliner there would be scepticism leading to stricter control. Pulling on the brakes here before I roll down another hill. We live on these margins where toil and trouble is respected yet we haven’t got anything to show for it at least not to the ‘real, hard working life full of dignity’. They do not get to see our toil. They are too busy with their toil and trouble and respecting others for theirs. Leaving only those other marginals to wonder at our creations. It reminds me of online Minecraft servers. Especially the Factions kind of servers. There is a notorious one 2B2T that illustrates my analogy quite well:

The importance of taking pride in that which you do is high. I feel ashamed to tell people that I’m an artist, I prefer to tell them I do a little bit of everything: Cooking, transport, technics, entertainment, music production and when I feel like it I squeeze In a little art making. I tell them and myself that’s a justifiable way to use time. Because the chingaling ding ding money, always comes first. In reality, I, like many others, just want to make stuff. Make it with others near me, them making things too and be left alone as well, undisturbed by anyone and just go at it, live life. Go to parties (the intimate kind because I can’t handle too many strangers, not even necessarily strangers, just too many.), eat good, make, love. The good sort of things.  Yet as of late I haven’t been feeling like anything me or others are making (those things we consider artworks), is of any value anymore. In all violence and ratraces, fires and politics, barb wires and ethnic cleansings, exploitations and trust funds, …

How can I not be discontent with my contributions to the world, if all suffering is up for grabs, visible for anyone, how can I make a cutesy painting and read a story on weed and wishing wells in a funny voice? In what world is that enough? I wonder how and why others still want to make things. Because belief me my ideas have not stopped coming, my ingenuity hasn’t faded and my hands still work exquisitely. It is therefore that I want to assist people, to find out how and why they still feel the need to produce things. Also because I like helping others.

From a we’re-all-cogs-in-a-large-timepiece-perspective, easing pain, instilling awe, a moment of tenderness, contemplation or sense of connection with your surroundings is all great. But what is it worth outside this very niche small bubble of ‘the art world’ because let’s face it we are marginals, we fester and feast on the margins of the ‘real, hard, working life full of dignity’ and respect through suffering. If I walk into a truck rental shop in working clothes with splatters and dirt I am respected if I were to walk into the same place with a fur coat and eyeliner there would be scepticism leading to stricter control. Pulling on the brakes here before I roll down another hill. We live on these margins where toil and trouble is respected yet we haven’t got anything to show for it at least not to the ‘real, hard working life full of dignity’. They do not get to see our toil. They are too busy with their toil and trouble and respecting others for theirs. Leaving only those other marginals to wonder at our creations. It reminds me of online Minecraft servers. Especially the Factions kind of servers. There is a notorious one 2B2T that illustrates my analogy quite well: see top image.

This picture is a high quality render of what it’s map looks like. The middle is utter chaos and destruction, it is a vast sea of nothingness, obsidian blocks and lava pits. Nothing to see or explore. It takes an enormous amount of time to get out of these planes of boring senselessness and one is usually killed before they get out of there. If another player, lava or starvation hasn’t killed you a wrong step might still do the trick. The more one gets out of this hellish landscape, the more actual biomes start to appear. These biomes are still stripped bare and contain huge almost unscalable objects since one cannot build or destroy on land someone else has claimed. In order to survive on these servers, one must somehow find a way through all obstacles and get lucky to even be able to build a house, grow some stuff and make something nice. Everything on these servers is man-made. A server, when opened, always starts fresh with nothing but natural biomes.

Transcript of a voicenote on assistance with lots of eating noises in between lines: https://youtu.be/TmATuo_phXM

Its easy to turn my back on the art world as a whole but somewhere I still believe the artworld does have the power to teach and say things because any other field that tries to do so is discredited I guess. Science is more about who’s putting in the numbers than the actual stuff coming out of It. And also politics Is just own agendas. The trustworthiness of information is a bit low everywhere except for the artworld because I feel like the is now other movement where you can just display things and it can be clouded with your own ideas but you still display things, essentially making yourself vulnerable, which in my opinion is the only way we can be connected, bond. Most of us artists are not mixed with big world politics or corporate debacles. So assisting other artists now especially young ones for me feels like a religious deed almost, maybe? Maybe it’s a sort of last stand, and then I get back to the marginals. Its always the guards at the city walls who protect the city, but what if the danger is in the citizens? Who does the guarding then? We need doctors? It feels very shallow yet deep and noble at the same time to assist. I’m eating potatoes with the peel, small potatoes are really not worth peeling. You see how everything becomes a metaphor once you decontextualize it, so it’s not because somebody uses a metaphor, makes the stance a valuable stance. Something catchy doesn’t make it true, so writing a catchy project proposal doesn’t make my idea the best idea. It is just an idea I would love to think write and talk further about. So yes, I hope that is something I am able to do, until we meet again.

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Crashed my car into another the other day. I got stuck on the tow bar of the guy I rammed, slipped of the clutch and right onto the poor sods knob...

We were standing there watching our cars entangled, not giving any sign of letting go. We both revved so hard there was an unidentified bad smell coming from my motorblock. I slipped myself underneath the man's car, from here on out called 'Baba', and started looking for ways to remove his bloody knob from my sweet child's mouth. I popped the hood of my child and tried looking for something explanatory that might get this situation 'unpickeled'. All the while Baba asked me why I didn't look, all the cars and still you hit me in front of a red light? I was just as shocked as him.

I got to a stop behind his van and saw someone crossing between Baba's car and a truck in front of him. Usually I put my gearbox in neutral and let go of the clutch in front of red lights, the unwise action of this lady crossing a busy street caught my attention and made me forget. I was stumped and couldn't believe how I suddenly kissed the rear end of this car? How was this possible? Me who prides myself in never having hit anything and driving so suave?

I wanted to stay underneath the car and wait for a miracle to unfold. Some magical intervention,untangling both of our vehicles and erasing Baba's memory of my brutal assault. I searched for a garage on google maps since the police didn't want to come over, no wounded, no aggression, 'file the collisions report.' she said.

Just across the street was a garage. They let me use their wrenches if I left my wallet as palladium. I trodded back and forth two times taking the wrong sizes. Once I finally loosened two of the bolts I realized all the others were practically unreachable. My papa came to this peculiar scene, rushed too fast to take any tools himself and Baba's daughter was there too. We stood there, all four of us watching two cars in a sort of coitus?

Eventually a lovely man from VAB came, we climbed underneath the car and undid all bolts. With sweat on our foreheads and legs on either side of the vehicle he asked me: "what d'you do for a livin, you free later?" To which he added: "wanna work for us?"

I hugged Baba goodbye and hope he doesn't press charge, I did a number on his heart, his car was fine.

The picture is me repairing my child's mouth the day after when it bit me, payback time. It reminded me of a small Adriaan Brouwer study I made six years ago, I found it!

Thanks Baba, thanks VAB man, thanks Mortsel car services and most of all thanks to my dad. 💥

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Benjamin speelt Balatro op een bank bij bruine bladeren, zijn bride to be begrijpt het beslist niet. Buitenspelen is behaaglijk.

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Bye bye to a very weird day. 27 jan.

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Jakke Jalink en Ivanna Nejelski live in a house. With an austrian alm on the first floor. Ein Hoch auf Ihr Wohlbefinden aber wie heißt die Mutter von Niki Lauda?

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Working on an amplified nose blower.

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Jacob Lambrecht, a man I trust to represent our generation.

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@paintersarchive kijk een fred Bervoets piecke, hangt bij 'den dikke' zoals hij hem zelf noemt. Tis iets met 7 dwergen, ontbijt, 8 eiers 1 voor haar eigen en een zwangerschap?

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Danny Bamboo fading in and out of the picture.

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Update on the mini string thing!

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The ever amazing Simon Joostens closing his set with a skrillex cover. Drawing of my pov.