INSIDE artzine #15

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Cover: Aegis Strife - „Closer“ ........................................................................... (spain) 02 __ Jeremy Russel - „Skull Hires“ .............................................................(canada) 04 __ R.S. Connett - „Antagony“ . .................................................................... (usa) 06 __ jenz - „Blue“ ........................................................................................ (germany) 07 __ Scott Wilson „Untitled Owl“ . ................................................................. (usa) 07 __ Sybille Lengauer - „The Awakening“ . ............................................ (germany) 08 __ Seth Siro Anton - „The Martyr - Still Life Synthesis“ ...................... (greece) 10 __ „Vienna Crawling“ - Ralph Manfreda/Joachim Luetke .................. (austria) 16 __ Yan Arexis - „Megatherion“ ..................................................................(france) 18 __ Scott Wilson „Cancer mouth“ . ............................................................... (usa) 18 __ Axel Torvenius - „Centipede Smoker“ .............................................. (sweden) 18 __ Urs Böke - „Phases“ . ......................................................................... (germany) 19 __ Stitchpuller - „Flesh pod 3 v.5“ . ............................................................. (usa) 20 __ Navette - „Hail to the King“ ..................................................................(france) 21 __ Karezoid - „Fragments of a Prayer“ . ................................................. (poland) Poster: Sam Van Olffen - „Pax via bellum“ ...................................................(france) 24 __ MxNihil - „The Apes“ ........................................................................ (germany) 25 __ Hell in Hell - „Salvation“ ...................................................................... (brazil) 26 __ The Art of Suffocation 30 __ jenz - „Antiganesha“ ........................................................................... (germany) 31 __ Shann Larsson - „Borrrland Dark“ ............................................. (hong kong) 31 __ Johannes Witek „Scene of Crime“ . ................................................. (germany) 32 __ Dan Verkys - „Curlicue“ ..................................................................... (australia) 33 __ Yan Arexis - „Forest of N Gai“ . ............................................................(france) 34 __ Reviews 37 __ Contacts/Editorial 37 __ Anathema Photography - „Ode to Love Object“ ............................(canada) 38 __ Darth Hell - „Organic Abstract“ ............................................................. (usa) 40 __ Kris Kuksi - „General Heinrich von Howitzerhead“ ............................ (usa) 41 __ jenz - „Zweifel“ ................................................................................... (germany) 42 __ jenz - „Farewell from Within“ ........................................................... (germany) 43 __ Robert Bauder - „Selfportrait“ . ........................................................... (usa) Back: Beb Deum - „Bunny Girl“ .....................................................................(france) Images and text © the artists / contact page 37 Translations © 2011 Ni Gudix, www.gudixtransliterarix.jimdo.com

INSIDEartzine

International Artscum Magazine - Summer 2011 www.inside-artzine.de (Backissues, Poster, Shop)

2 · Jeremy Russel „Skull Hires“

WELCOME

This is a „light version“ of the INSIDE artzine #15.

Paintings, (Digital) Collages, Sculptures, Stories, Reviews from Europe, USA, Australia, Brazil, Outerspace, +++ (A4, 44p., full color, full sickness, quality paper, english) Order your printed copy on: GERMANY/EUROPE/WORLD: www.inside-artzine.de >>direct shoplink: http://terminalart.shop.wosbee.com USA: PROFANE EXISTENCE www.profaneexistence.com AUSTRALIA: POLYESTER www.polyester.com.au Contact: jenz@inside-artzine.de

4 · R.S. Connett „Antagony“

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6 · Seth Siro Anton „The Martyr - Still Life Synthesis“

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Joachim Luetke „Winddemons“

T

he ring tone of my mobile made me jump. It was not like starting from sleep but like waking up after 20 years of numb suffering from a hopeless, screwed-up life and realizing with a blinding certainty that only a shooting spree could change this decline into victory.

Reality was back. This endless, tiring tape. Recording and winding. Learning and forgetting. Breathing and shitting.

I had the unfamiliar sense that, for the first time in a long while, there was sun on my face. Wind. With a feeling of resigning emptiness I sensed the traffic noise infiltrating me. The smiling face of the autistic within me sagged, as if overstretched in an endless slow-motion, below the surface of a silent puddle into the pitch-black asphalt of an inaccessible wonderland.

As usual in these moments of return I was completely disoriented. As usual I tried not to let it show. It was everything as usual. Chaos. Usually. No need to change the plan.

I extended the acuity of my watery sight on the closer proximity. I was sitting in a street café at a round table with an awful, red-and-white chequered tablecloth on it. Above me there was an edgy, darkly pulsating late afternoon sky.

Grey, ancient concrete block facades were heaving towards idem, far off, just like hastened away through reversed binoculars. This place was corroded by the morbid will of innate disinhibition. That was obvious. The surface impression was the crucial one for fallen drop-outs like me. In the moment of return, experience withers away and becomes a useless burden. I had to improvise again.

On the sidewalks and streets, adjusted to the bending of the globe, there were the usual brain-carriers shoving busily to and fro. Their dead faces seemed familiar to me. In the next moment, their crooked extremities, their endlessly long, thin teeth bowed towards me and disappeared again in the faceless passing-by.

Where the fuck was I? There was a metallic taste dumping in my mouth. I tried to remember anything.

Drug accident, kidnapping, core meltdown, diarrhoea… then I gave it up. In the end it didn’t matter anyway, did it?

Again, the mobile phone in front of me on the table rang. The time fence around me seemed to be strangely stretched. Or the processes in my mind had accelerated to nightmarish speed. My fate was: the never-ending, wearing emptiness was creeping through the eternally treading halls of monotony in a merciless viscosity while the sizzling brain spark of my desperate ingeniousness raced past me with the high speed of a falling suicide. Not really a sustainable combination. At least there was enough time left to the next ringing of my mobile.

Obviously, I was in Central European ambience, my clothes were not puked all over, and no one seemed to come on to me. That boded well. I began to relax. A mistake.

My mobile phone oozed its next ring tone. The gaps became shorter. The caring slow-motion in whose warm, meaningless cosmos I had confidently laid my shattered mind, had left me.

It was all useless. I had to deliver myself up to the forcing hand of what would happen. How was I to know that this conversation on the mobile would dump the evolutionary level of the upright walking protozoon, which I had only just regained, forward into the screaming darkness of the primeval soup again?

“Hello?!”

“What the fuck are you doing in Vienna, you dickhead?!”

“How do you know where I am?”

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“Mate, two days ago you’ve called me from the nick pending deportation in Manila and begged me to get some junk smuggled in there to bribe the guards. Since then there was silence. Therefore I will be fucking allowed now to put a trace on yer mobile, won’t I?!”

Briefly I thought the spark of recollection would sag on me. But the apathetic staggering of my virgin memory put me right.

“Ah, well… did you send the stuff then?”

“What do you think? Art-Rectum cares for its editors!

Even for losers like you!”

A dry feeling of affection trickled into my mind. An arts magazine as an emotional vanishing point. How miserably. But, after all, I had been their best editor once. And now I knew where I was. Even though this knowledge didn’t really improve my situation. The lapses of my memory sometimes seemed to me like a slow, thankful powering-down of audio and video material.

Down, down to the lowest, darkest focus of a silent sojourning without any memory. While I was desperately trying to listen to the quiet echo of these calming thoughts, my chief editor’s voice again cajoled my ear: “Now, since you’re hanging around in Vienna just now, you bugger…I’m gonna text you an address right away, the man is called Helmut Wolech, and he’s quite a big shot in the Viennese art scene,” gorblimey, fuck it, “so go try and find him, suck up to him, and suck

up to the rest of the whole city as well, that’d be best. If you don’t show up here with at least 4 pages about Vienna, then that was it!”

The worst threats are those you don’t understand.

No idea what he meant by “it.”

Cryptonaut/Ralph Manfreda „No title“ Joachim Luetke „Nurse“

Along with the descending of his voice into the digital groundlessness, the sound ot the receipt of a text message milled itself into my staying mood. What a fucking shite. I didn’t mind being at different places of this universe at the same time; I didn’t care that most processes in this universe conformed themselves to the God of Chaos, I didn’t give a shit that there were artists who painted pictures with their gallery owner’s shite and got millions of dollars for that. But what really bothered me was coordinated working. The interests of others descending upon me like an attack. My misery.

While I routinely checked whether I had my suicide vest on, the collected perdition of Vienna was materializing directly in front of me on the table.

The houses around me redoubled their height and stretched their maliciously veiled heads towards a darkening sky whose clouds seemed to tumble down on me like stones. This damn city began to swallow me.

I looked up in confusion and before I knew what was on, her look had nailed my eye balls to the back of my fragile calvarium. “The Sacher torte, good sir.” Her voice sounded like the noise of planetary motions far away, like the end of a bad disease, like the canonization of punishment. The time fence around me seemed to collapse again, I enjoyed the hours we stared at each other. The noble East European face architecture of an illegitimate Hungarian princess of the 17th century trickled down on me in pale, arrogant grandeur. Her black hair was shimmering like the steely skin of a rocket car on the glistening crust of a saline lake in the central desert of Kazakhstan shortly before the fatal record breaking bid. Her viciously sparkling, dark green eyes isolated the radioactive peeping particles from my look and made them stagger into her traditionally garbed cleavage in the course of an optical core melt.

I hummed the speech melody of her phrase to myself for a few times before I wretchedly gasped, “Sorry, I haven’t ordered that.” The ozone hole behind her head filled with liquid blackness. It was getting dark in Vienna.

“Haad yer gob an’ eat,” along with the message even her voice had changed to something threatening, what, in the presence of her melancholic Viennese dialect, made it sound as unhealthy as a sung march 9

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Opposite page: Navette „Grasshopperblues“ / Karezoid „Fragments of a Prayer“· 11

Tom Banwell „Pachydermos jill close“

I

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web

think all of us know the feeling. Like when, as a little kid, you put your hand into the drainage hole of the swimming bath, didn’t get it loose again and wretchedly got drowned. Or later, in the trench, when those who were still more alive than you stomped you deeper and deeper into the sludge consisting of corpses and mud. Or when, as rockstars, we almost popped off completely drunk on the back of a rented mini van. All these experiences were gained under the influence of one of Grim Reaper’s meanest helpers: the compulsory stopping of the oxygen absorption, briefly known as “suffocation.” In addition to the possible loss of every subsequent activity, it is the very moment of experiencing which is especially feared. A deep-rooted, primeval fear, a tumbling, panicking rush. It’s in the nature of Man that he forever strives to increase intensive feelings. That’s what Art is for.

Ever since the protozoon was able to think, he created pictures, objects, and songs of things he didn’t understand, hoping that everything would get some meaning then. Whether there is a meaning behind suffocation might ostensibly be queried. But it’s a fact that, alongside with the greatest artist, Reality, there are innumerable creative heads trying to approach the subject by one means or another. Be it in the “face” of suffocation, the gas mask, by musical scores for those suffering from lung diseases, or by a calculated descending into the abyss of mortal fear for the purpose of an increase in pleasure: the physical experience of suffocating.

What’s behind all this? To come closer to beauty in the shape of horror at death’s door? Paltering with panic as the ultimate game of power and surrender?

Questions to ask an expert. The state from hypoventilation to apnoea is commonly known as asphyxia (Greek for acrotism). His name therefore makes clear where it’s at: Dom Asphyxierer. He has squeezed innumerable throats yet, runs workshops on the subject, and is a connoisseur of the topic in other ways as well. So let’s draw one last deep breath before we plunge into the cosmos of fear and lust.

Bob Basset „DRTM 11“

XETuseer „Gasmask“ web

Inside Artzine: The deliberate inducing of dyspnoea for the purpose of passion increase consists of various different practices. Can you give us a short survey on them?

Is there any relation between certain actions and the desired results?

Dom Asphyxierer: In the sexuality and eroticism field, there are for example the strangling, the choking, and the bagging method (with a bag) which are very popular.

All of these methods cause an increased rush of adrenaline and have therefore an intoxicating effect. During the sexual intercourse for example, strangling is very popular because it has got a disorienting effect and is very aphrodisiacal. The result of bagging, i.e. with a plastic bag, however, is rather the borderland one as it is accompanied with panic. As an activist, though, you have to pay attention that you won’t lose track in all your passions and lusts.

IA: For an outside observer, dyspnoea at first means panic, rapture, and ultimacy.

How would you describe this state?

DA: I have experienced all sorts of breath control myself because otherwise, as an activist you don’t know what the bottom is at. For an outside observer, it is a rough intervention into life and almost a violent act yet. In the upper range, every little second counts; otherwise it’s indeed an ultimate thing. Here are the different methods:

choking: squeezing of the aorta = rush and increase of passion; strangling: total arterial occlusion = rush with subsequent fainting;

bagging with a bag over your head: dissociation of the outside world, claustrophobia, warmth, oxygen minimizing, dyspnoea, panic; drowning underwater: total oxygen deprivation, with the danger included that the body’s own breathing reflex cannot be suppressed anymore what may lead to inhalation of water = mortal danger.

IA: Breathing is a basic instinct, a reflex. In certain circumstances, e.g. meditations, this reflex can be subjugated under the force of will. How useful can it be for one’s consciousness to control one’s breath?

DA: In meditation, it can be possible to suppress one’s breathing reflex. This is exactly what freedivers do. But the moment will come, as sure as rain, when the reflex prevails.

Without oxygen one can experience one’s own body and what happens inside of it more intensively than usually.

IA: A very crucial aspect in the subject seems to be the distribution of roles into the passive and the dominant parts. What appeal has breath control with the particular participants? (What role do you personally prefer?) Does it go so far as it’s about the power of life and death (respectively the submission to this power)?

DA: As an activist, all I can say is that it’s a state of a controlled rush for both the active and the passive part. For the active part, it is unquestionably a control of life’s basics. You undergo all possible reactions, both the psychic and the physical ones; the expecting, the enjoying, the happening of the moment, and the abandoning of yourself to the rush. Passive users also try and keep themselves with enjoyment under control, then surrender themselves completely, lose control of their bodies, and just enjoy.

IA: What do you say when people call the whole topic just “sick?” Is there, just like in Art, a paradox relation like “beauty in ugliness” – here it would possibly be called “passion in fear”, wouldn’t it?

DA: It can happen even on BDSM parties that breath control isn’t accepted because participants complain. It’s rather fear out of ignorance. When you don’t even try, no matter whether as an active or a passive part, you will never know the meaning and the feeling behind it.

IA: How large is the scene dealing with that subject? Are there websites or books where the gentle reader may get more information? Is there a fashion scene for this rather special topic, for example (gas) masks, fetters, gags? Where can one learn things like these?

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14 · Dan Verkys „Curlicue“ (left) / Yan Arexis „Forest of N Gai“

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Atonement Matt Lombard 80 pages, 8” x 10”, English Soft cover $30.95, Hard $40.95 Short Story by Aimee Lombard Purchased on: www.blurb.com/ bookstore/detail/183631 Contact: www.mattlombard.com/ The cover of this book beams at you in an innocent white. White like the emptiness which will dominate over your brain after having finished reading. Since this phat art book of the American absurdographer absorbs every spark of the body’s defence you have ever managed to develop against ugliness, decay, and abysses, and leaves you completely defenceless. However, you have to say: after this sinister torrent of upsetting and disoriented photos and photo-collages there is nothing left to shock you anyway.

He says about his book that we ought to rethink about the term “beauty.” So if you always knew that beauty is no more but a naive, luxurious illusion of our dying-out species – here you are proven right!

Kris Kuksi Divination And Delusion Hard cover, 140 pages, 12 x 8.5 inches, English, USD 39,00 Contact: www.kuksi.com Purchased on: www.lastgasp.com Publisher: Beinart Publishing

Yeah, everybody knows them, everybody loves them: the sculptures, skidded into an ulterior dimension, of the American artist Kris Kuksi, a nightmarish stickler for details. They are as beautiful in their noble dignity as they are threatening in their manic accuracy. From the beginning you let yourself in for the tempting variety of details you’re lost. This book sucks you into the decaying cosmos of ultimate overstimulation. The naïve attempt to find a meaning in all the guises, stories, and shapes that are floating past is punished with brain haemorrhages of at least 2 days. Topped off with the brilliant “churchtanks” and some drawings / paintings of the master, this is a visually stunning trip with no return.

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Dark Inspiration -

Grotesque Illustrations, Art, Design Paperback, 271 pages, 170x220mm 6 ¾ x 8 ¾ inches, English, 21,95 Euro Contact: www.gingkopress.com Purchased on: www.amazon.com You can’t get enough of dark inspirations.

So when your daily walk into the supermarket isn’t sufficient anymore for refreshing your negative battery: here are plenty of motivating supplies. Whether it be strange “real” objects like things made of bones, digital silhouettes of kids with machine guns, or brain eating zombie collages: from all these the reader is grinned at with the blatant mischievousness of an allegedly harmless lunatic. Seldom it’s really hurtful for the soft tissue, but it’s often strangely cranky and weirdly twisted.

It’s rather the grotesque atmosphere of an abandoned psychiatry in the moor than the stinking breath of a cold chamber full of skinned sinners. Just something for the gentleman who knows how to enjoy life in its quiet way.

Twisted Mind of 1000 Tentacles

Hard cover, 270 pages, English, 39,90 USD Contact: pkok@1000tentacles.com Purchased on: www.1000tentacles.com Grrrrrrrrrrrreat. The twisting, lunatic optical hammer of this book strikes you directly between the cerebral area for unknown colours and the brain reservoir for crazy ways of living. The collected works of the two bosses of the Malaysia design studio “1000 tentacles” are really quite something: comics, pics, sculptures, 3D, plus photos from the surrounding and / or from the workshop of insanity, and here you are in a phantasmagorical, better counterworld. No wild Gore attacks, no chopped meat, but A1 hallucinatory art, always about the abyss of the bad.

Or already inside it?!

The tentacles?

In your brain, I mean!?

Look at the mirror and if you look like the guy below.... you are lost.

Laurie Lipton Hard Cover, 96 pages, 21x29,7cm, English, 39,00 USD Contact: www.laurielipton.com Purchased on: www.lastgasp.com Publisher: Beinart Publishing Wow. “Extraordinary” would be an understatement. This book imposes new standards as for ruthlessness: one cannot mill one’s art deeper into the patient’s mind. The unconceivable, almost mad perseverance, with which Laurie Lipton commits her ultra-thin pencil style to paper, frightens me.

When these nerve fibre thin lines meet up with irritating motives that sometimes seem like images of saints, then you have to admit: it’s a collision of artistic perfection and ghoulish remoteness. And what can grow out of this unholy mixture is all too familiar for passionate art scum fans like us, isn’t it?! True art!

170 pages, 23 x 23cm, hardcover with foil graphic, english, 24,00 Euro Purchased on: www.unhinged.me.uk

Roadkill - Marcel Ruijters 48 pages, hardcover, 19x14cm English, 14,50 Euro Purchased on: www.zone5300.nl Contact: troglo@xs4all.nl

After we have revealed in the review of the book CARNIVORA in our last issue what kind of car HR Giger drives, we will learn now on which vehicles diverse known and

unknown (mass) murderers have swung their sick arses through town. From all time classics like Ted Bundy or Ed Gain to newcomers like Mark Dutroux or John A. Muhammad there is no face missing. The background knowledge about deed, motive, and car is complemented by Marcel’s fantastic work of illustration. His very peculiar drawing style oscillates brilliantly between medieval woodcuts, padded room expressionism, and undiscovered cave paintings.

Since Ruijters has attracted attention before by several concept albums, his reckless abandon to the topic is quite obvious. Even mass murderers are only humans, looking for parking spaces. Unimagined truths.

Yeah, this is how a mad art book looks like! One that, on every single one of its 179 high gloss pages, implants the vague feeling into your mind, “Something is not at all right here.” Regardless of whether he throws classical (digital) paintings, sculpture-like excrescences, or dark photo manipulations onto the viewer’s eyeballs: this vaguely grotesque derailment by which he wrecks the reader’s nerves with rising number of pages more and more is inherent in everything. If only there weren’t all these eyes, staring at you from the book. Sometimes bloated in a surreal way, sometimes cynically retaliating, but always threatening! A large sized kick in the art book arse, wrapped in a noble hard cover with golden ornaments.

One can’t go wrong with this. Except to underrate it!

MAULhURE No. 1 U. Böke, H. Borgerding, J. Götterwind (Hg.), 92 pages, 15x21cm, Softcover, german 8,95 Euro Purchase: www.editionpaperone.de “Here is literature, here is MAULhURE,” that’s what the mouth whore (Maulhure) shouts at you on her back cover. And deservedly so. Who can talk that big must have a say. And the people who, at the behest of the whore, queue at the poet’s bar here know quite well how to nail the words into the reader’s sensitive brain.

Adelmann, Böke, Heuer, Ploog, Bröker, Malorny, Mrosk, Witek, Mohr. Pros! All of them! There is no monkeying around here, no whitewashing, no presuming… instead, truths are committed to paper with such an imposing, self-confident certainty that even the most anachronistic Social Beatnik has to admit: the beat is not dead yet, far from it! Fuck on all the labels that have to be stuck on good literature so that it may find its way into your subconsciousness – in this collection it’s neither name, nor fame, nor annual income that matters but just substance. Pensive texts, like those of Urs Böke, meet up with the reality-brutality of Helmut Schida, the strange things of Johannes Witek are staggering past the poetical word gardens of Stefan Heuer, and Marcus Mohr’s “Frustsaufen” (frustration boozing) ends up in Roland Adelmann’s verbal maelstrom. Pleasantly serene and in an unpretentiousness which is aware of its grandeur they get to the heart of everything, exactly where it works best: in the withered pleasure centres of blathered-up literary nihilists.

With these writers behind you, you don’t have to be afraid of upcoming times of empty phrases. In one of the previous INSIDE artzine issues, I have complained about the death of the literary mag “Rat Riot”, made by coeditor Böke – well, MAULhURE is the revelation of that legendary German word mag. Although I may miss the rude, Winston-Smithesque background collages of Rat Riot, but your cover isn’t bad after all, too... ;-) Obey the whore!

SEND YOUR STUFF: INSIDE artzine, PO Box 2266, D-54212 Trier, Germany or printable press material: jenz@inside-artzine.de 17

Reviews: jenz · Translations: Ni Gudix

Animus Unhinged Paul McCarroll

The Extraordinary Drawings of

18 路 Name

Name 路 19

20 · Kris Kuksi „General Heinrich von Howitzerhead“

jenz „Zweifel“ · 21

INSIDEartzine #15 Aegis Strife (ESP) Anathema Photography (US) Axel Torvenius (SWE) Beb Deum (FRA) Dan Verkys (AUS) Darth Hell (US) Hell in Hell (BRA) jenz (GER) Jeremy Russel (CAN) Joachim Luetke (AUT) Johannes Witek (GER) Karezoid/Michal Karcz (POL) Kris Kuksi (US) MxNihil (GER) Navette (GER) Ralph Manfreda (AUT) Robert Bauder (US) R.S. Connett (US) Sam Van Olffen (FRA) Scott Wilson (US) Seth Siro Anton (GR) Shann Larsson (HK) Stitchpuller (US) Sybille Lengauer (GER) Urs Bรถke (GER) Yan Arexis (FRA)

www.inside-artzine.de