Tuesday, March 2, 2010

The Hills Have Thighs

The Hills Have Thighs ; Mr. Jamali Hills Center is a newly developed artist-run space located in the depths of Chicago Western corridor. And includes music and history as a place to install loft under the heading of art with artist studios and sound recording facilities and the hills of aesthetic opening of the center is the latest project; white walled exhibition space.
There is space to promote the constant change in the challenge and undervalued contemporary art hosted in a non-commercial, artist-controlled Watch environment.Come and we have to throw a hat ideals (hat beer) in the Chicago gang alternative spaces.
Campbell Street, Unit G, in Chicago. Show “the hills you thighs,” features a mini-retrospective of Michael Claus’ pen fiction and saddened ink drawings, sculptures colored residues, and the minimum of collages of Jurisprudence. Curated by close friends, this exhibition sifts through a pile of deep Claus’ work and presents a powerful presentation of his unique style. Claus’ scourge of the excavation despair emotional, social and cultural rights, in an attempt to shed the light of hope and sense of humor on his own. This sludge from prehistoric lost love and the temptation of drugs and alcohol, fear of society, and dark forests north of all the work in order to shed light on the love, lust and purity found in nature, in the tropics, and humor more than pop culture.
Figures are scattered everywhere, cardboard, such as dots, and animals fixed in close ‘imaginary landscapes that reveal themselves to be alive. Rocks and mountains andhills development of breasts, eyes and thighs, he founded Clos’ acid soaked visions of the world around them. Through the development of training, the root sense of humor, and sharp attention to intuition, it grows in the dark (grimly and hope) the world. With darkness there is light.
I was sitting in a bar by myself, in a bleak drinking a pint of local beer stagnant. This man approach me, and rubbing his face vigorously. He says that happiness is not far away, and this calm can not be achieved over a pile of stones in sight. He takes me in and out points to a hill called Bill Tor. He forces me up the hill, until we reach the halfway point.
Tells me I must be alone, to banish the sadness in myself. Until then, I did not think needed guidance, but it seems to exude the height, some promises are evangelical. I have passed up, so I had almost reached its peak, and then I saw the same man. I was sure it came out in the other direction, but nothing has changed in appearance. He looked groomed less, and more brutal. He’s got to break their necks. I noticed a pile of picnickers and tourists dismembered and beyond. He lunged at me, even without thinking and pay more. Wear a head in the rocks, while the body rolled behind the dead. He landed in a piece of thick Heather.
Before we see whether he had disappeared, I ran down the hill, and return to the pub. I saw the man again, and I asked him what he was doing there. It was not only his brother. Then he asked if I gave him what he wanted. I looked down at my hands to see all my fingers are missing. “That will do,” he said with joy.


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