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I’m an old guy, a quick a

artist, and mainly a lover

this book was designed and published in March 2018 by John Rindpest for Waf Books all shackles, inaccuracies and falsehoods are his responsibility Š Waf Books & Rindpest



Man is vaguely alive, partially dead, tendentially emerging and presently resurrected.

Time forces us to make false choices. The inability to think what the blind knot of time is in a convincing way calls for adjacent aporias and a generalized sense of error. We choose because we know that life is a cocktail between our false choices (as burlesque bluff ) and the indeterminacy machine that is nothing less than the incarnation in mutation of the complexities.

You seek to eliminate the theatricality of influences. Too many words? Lots of pomp? Detachment is a paradox and a machine that cynically reappropriates all attachments. Do we want to be effective or light? Destructive, instructive or constructive? Ironic and emotional at the same time? Millions of misunderstandings do not seem useless. It is thanks to these misconceptions that we manufacture the paradisiacal comedy of the present.

I’m careless about my writting, about my life (“nasty ethics”), about “my” style, about “my” ideas I’ll write in a bad international english (Googlish) I’ll get rid of any intentions, as fast as I can — intentions should disappear before I use them If there is something that looks like intentions is just bulshit I’m determined to make books in an easy, lousy way My mottos are: why not this, let’s try it, O gosh, hurry up!

Printing these works is not my issue — if you want, please, do it! It’s all easiness and jobless Everything has allways been hybrid — I´ll go on and on with vulgar hybridation I’m enjoying to work in this kind of pretencious, but joyfull, sort of visual poetry I want to be famous without efforts, without wasting time with business, without any kind of prostitution, without the disgusting aspects of fame I hope all your jugements should divinise me one day


people with whom we are here and with whom we can do almost everything the mutant around the immutable earth-to-earth concerns important things you say and you do not realize poetry is only made by those who write it or say it where do you want to go with the revolution? do you want to change faster than the world? do you want to be the vanguard of what future?


my work must be interpolated (in beauty ) while I am alive

Les seules bonnes copies sont celles qui nous font voir le ridicule des mĂŠchants originaux. (La Rochefoucauld) Copys of conceptual art have a great chance of being better than the boring originals.

I’m a Conceptual-Conceptist artist

We must understand the concept, and the use of metaphors in a wider scope. The concept etymologically entails predation and manducation. The concept, following Nietszche, is a case of cataclysm, of dead metaphor, or dry, somewhat like ham and chorizo (it is part of the words subject to the smoke that dry and preserve them). Concepts are the networks of dead metaphors that constitute abstract thinking. This thought is dethroned (it is a form of prose) and largely discorporalized (or if you prefer, it sublimates the corporeal in the theoretical bait). In Conceptism, the concept is the flame of verbal encounters, not only essentialist analogy, but also in philosophy, as a relation between metaphors and metaphors, concepts and concepts, and metaphors and concepts.

I want to explore the lode of baroque aesthetics in relation to American serial-conceptual aesthetics.

I’m a bed conceptualist — it’s in the morning, when I wake up that most of my ideas pop up while I do not get up. The thought while lying down. The thought as a daydream. The thought when you walk. The thought when you write it down. The thought when you’re parodying and refuting.

I accept the lode of dictionaries and encyclopedias as a parody of Kosuth’s pretentious work. Kosuth offered me an eraser. It’s okay to delete dictionaries. I like defenitions (tautological too), condensed knowledge, verbal and diagrammatic relations & illustrations that accompany the dictionaries. I always liked illustrated dictionaries. It was the gift I asked for when I fstarted to read. This witnessed a drive for the allegorical interface between images and defenitions. I like the Larousse,the HobsonJobson, the Encyclopaedia Britannica, the Monier Williams, the Bleauteu, the Johnson, etc.

The visual-literary character of Picasso’s writings may well be applied to conceptualist tools. Somehow Picasso is related to Arno Schmidt in Zettel’s Traum. Make a Zettel’s Traum in architectural interior — follow in the footsteps of Bernardete Bettencourt. Or in another way, make a Merz Baum less complicated and more ornamental.

Abstractions are tumultuous even in it’s grave. They organize our phenomena as dead trying to influence living through underground magic.

Art as drive + process + Idea

An anthology of false conceptual novels, or Selected pseudo-writers. Anthologies of systems, anthologies of artworlds. A Selected Art World. A Selected Art World Fiction as a project.

The translation, free, aided, faithful or misreaded is fundamental. I, Rindpest, assume myself above all as a translator (to live is to translate) - I translate contemporary art into ancient, and ancient or non-Western culture and thought into contemporary.

I’m outside in here. Insecurity never leaves us.

Art is what artists do against other artists.. I’m never at home when I’m in it.


Enter an exhibition as in a complex book that contains libraries

Collections of lives of artists or poets. Gatherings, summaries. The novelistic character. The choice of genealogies and predecessors. The choice by intuition before constituting a real influence. The deformation of the ancestors.

exhibitions-poems exhibitions-covers exhibitions-inscriptions exhibitions-gardens exhibitions-architectures exhibitions cities


I do not know whether anyone has ever written a Fakist Manifesto. Like a Manifesto of Plagiarisms — another possible masterpiece which awaits an actual author — it would brim over with artistic lessons. There is a reason why one thing should bring up the other: a fake is only a visual translation in another author’s (or an anonimous) name. A History of Parodies would complete the series, for a fake is just a serious parody in another disguise. The mental processes involved in faking well is the same as that involved in translating competently. In both cases there is an adaptation to the spirit of the author for a purpose which the author did not have; in one case the purpose is humour, where the author was serious, in the other one a diferent sort autorship. Will anyone one day parody a humorous into a serious art work? Is that the actual rule? But there can be no doubt that many art works — even many great art works — would gain by being faked better into the same medium they were done or in another.

This brings up the problem as to whether it is art or the artist that matters, the individual or the product. Or the faking of both. If it be the final result that matters and that shall give delight, then we are justified in taking a famous artist’s all but perfect works, and, in the light of the criticism of another age, making it perfect by excision, substitution or addition. Guernica is a great painting, but it is far from being a perfect painting. It could be rehandled to advantage. The great interest in faking is doing it when it is really difficult. The system becomes infected whith fiction devices. Large-scale forgery may render claims to authenticity irrelevant. Authenticity is replaced by theatricality, dramaturgy, carnival, a dynamic process of masking and unmasking, a new kind of lyric counsciousness, a gracefull complexity, and, of, course, a pinch of auto-irony. Being the lie, the falsehood and the will to deceive the basis of art since Homer, in a long tradition in which we cannot forget Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, James Joyce, Fernando Pessoa, Jorge Luis Borges, etc., it would be fine to pick up the intensity and learning of those literary authors in the art practice.

Today’s art (and the art world) is no more than its unconscious falsification. This process must be made aware by forging it in extremis. Radical Fakism, heteronomy, pseudo-anonimity, etc., should take care of the system, for the sake of the poetical in life. The rejection of theatrical empathy has led art and it’s networks to the gate of absolute business. “The future of the art system is thus easy to predict: it lies in its fusion with the system of the largest fortunes. (…) The path of art follows the law of externalization, which proves the power of imitation precisely where imitation is most vehemently denied: it leads from the artists, who imitate artists, via the exhibitors, who imitate exhibitors, to the buyers, who imitate buyers. Before our eyes, the motto l’art pour l’art has turned into the art system for the art system.” (Sloterdijk).

So we should produce a joyfull 2º Art World, because a faker who fakes for the fake sake is not faking himself but produces fictions. And fictions cannot be forged because they are never recognize as having a strong link to truth. They are the opposite of legitimation. They stand for the pleasure of illusion. Fictions are sincerely insincere. The opposite of the statesman or journalists who are insincerely sincere. Philosophers see the world without illusions. Artists and poets see the world as the enchantment in illusion. Even in it’s cruelty, pain, bitterness, there is a paradisical drift. Everything in the art world is waiting to be finnely faked: art magazines, museums, collectors, criticism, autorship, legitimation, curatorship, Ìsthetics, artists writtings, news, invitations, selling, current opinions, sociology, art history, colecting, auctionning.

Out of context  

Art, Poetry, Garden, Architecture, Conceptualism, Conceptism, Ornament, Philosophy, Literature, Books, Covers, Travel

Out of context  

Art, Poetry, Garden, Architecture, Conceptualism, Conceptism, Ornament, Philosophy, Literature, Books, Covers, Travel