Laurent Fiorentino                         
                            Work - Info

Domestic Exile


All men, replied God, as if imparting wisdom, whoever and wherever they may be and whatever they may do, are sinners, for sin is as inseparable from man as man from sin, man is like a coin, turn it over and what you see is sin. […] the only word no man can say does not apply to him is repentance, because all have succumbed to temptation.

(“The Gospel according to Jesus Christ” José Saramago, 1991)

Domestic Exile is the reification of sin, guilt compacts and exits. Strong the shadows of remorse when they are inside, outside they reveal like clusters of fragile tumours. Asphyxiated, they agonise. From the mass, orifices rise, proboscises hoping to catch, to find a new body to penetrate. Better not to touch them, demons make sweet eyes when they want something.

It is the expulsion of remorse, coming from a Dantesque place, it emerges here to continue to live and suffer in front of the eyes. It feeds the pietism as with a crucifix or perhaps feeds a feeling of superiority. Forced and dependent forms of life, the monsters breathe, barely survive. The machine hidden in the box binds them to itself, the tubes, prosthesis to an unknown, bring to the monsters the sap and the obligation not to die. It is the spectacle of suffering that becomes a memento. Indeed, to what extent are we different from these creatures, how can we say that we are freer than them?

Plunged into a pharmacological coma, the unconscious creatures affirm by their presence a guilt and an impossibility, ours? The rigid and mineral creatures are plunged while floating in a sap, an amniotic liquid, a body fluid. Something inflates and deflates, a heart perhaps a lung, creating the organic breath that comes from a membrane and escapes through long orifices, blows and agonises.

The machine continues its movement and the noise is followed by a breath. Out of empathy, trying to imagine the suffering, the viewer will perhaps try to follow the tempo. What is the feeling on the cross, what is it doing in the basin? Three embryonic entities isolated but linked together. These creatures are like a writhing organ, a cancerous mass that lives by sucking energy from the body. They steal energy from us who are here, or perhaps we steal what little they have left to breathe. The air is their only remaining attempt to smell what is outside the prison. They could escape but that would mean death, nothing around is life for them anymore.