Love Me Knots

The Photography Of Andrew Solomoukha

Death by Party | The Photography Of Andrew Solomoukha 

Every waking moment in our lives is replete with those of others that may inspire us into a slightly more exciting existence. This sometimes stipulates that taboo is commonplace whilst commonplace is defenestrate. Being adventuresome behind our lived-in closed-doors is this calling and the windfall is an extra ‘I love you’ in perpetuity. That being said, it ought be our due diligence to bind our lives with the most amorous of knots, precisely the kind found in our stomachs before that magical first kiss… in a sex dungeon. What if this is our daily dalliance, however, and though we knowingly are supposed to enjoy it our want is for plainer pastures? Anton Solomoukha’s current projects continue this disequilibrium, showing us that both momentary ennui and excitement can be equally blocked and tackled with a bit of bondage.

The French dynamo extracted from the Ukraine possesses an illustrious career spanning decades. I will spare you my findings on his life and prior works, as that onus is on your anus. I won’t, however, spare you my feelings for this present pastiche du panacea. Anton’s advent of the ‘Photo painting’ style is so advantageous to our plight, it’s nearly a bacchanalian orgy in the Emergency Room. We’re already in the sling. Let the wires do the rest. What complements such is his beautiful and ‘colorful’ drawings done in a mélange of Chinese ink, ball pen, marker and pencil on canvas board. These aren’t illustrated pornographic images. For that, may I kindly direct you to the myriad sites showing Tinker Bell’s lilac being cleft in twain by a human sized cudgel or Jessica Rabbit’s prodigious bosom failing to do the same. Anton’s images, oppositely mirror an acquiescence to those whom we feel a comfort towards. We are at times bound to them.. and though we may think it right, it may just feel wrong. This, my comrades, is called cognitive dissonance.

I will end this on a little unknown personal factoid. Solomoukha was born where my surnamesake is derived from, when the territory was occupied by Poland somewhere amongst the byzantine power struggle: Kiev. As of this writing, I still feel no specific kinship in regards to its culture (as I’m adopted: unknown veracity Numero Dos.) Yet I do feel a particular resonance with these pieces. Withering away the clothes, they have me dithering. Every waking moment in my own life is replete with tremulous thoughts inspiring me into a new’rotic art frame of mind. I willingly go when I know I ought stay, and I haphazardly stay when I really should go. Ironically, it is only after I’m seeing double with a bottle of gin and a some cigarettes that things settle into a state of singularity: though the machinations of life may weigh us down, simple machines may lift the weight.. and also tie us up in the process.

-Robert Kijowski

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