Urmeer, "De ti, hace 2000 años”

Hope exists, primordially
in those who find no consolation

Adorno

Imagine waking up one day and the world you remember no longer exists. You are trapped in the whirlwind of your worst nightmares. The end of yesterday and tomorrow is approaching, all that remains is to become an apocalyptic voyeur of your own desire. You choke on the poisoned air, smelling of rubbery plastic and fluorescent detergent, while the Earth's ass explodes on the other side of the mirror. You ask for permission to enter, but it's too late. All times are present at the hour of the end.

guadalajara90210 presents the solo show by Israel Urmeer, De ti, hace 2000 años [From you, 2000 years ago], composed of a sculptural drawing and six acrylic and oil pastel paintings that seem to be made to be seen. It is said that for mass production, there must be a standardization of desire, but in the artist's case, the saturation of visual consumption is not an obstacle to imagination but the drive to map its symptoms. Urmeer is saturated with sensitivity; his paintings seem to lean towards compulsive accumulation where something is always happening. The images do not exhaust themselves; they multiply, drip, shrink, hide, and deform over and over again. Each layer serves as support for another to say something else. For this exhibition, Urmeer summons his characters into a retro-apocalyptic-cyberpunk landscape full of sinister anguish that is hot and cute at the same time. Nothing matters anymore; it's the end, but we can still blindly buy the remnants of the lost world.

The West is not in the west

Even a deity of eternity can feel the desire to live pleasure to the fullest, which always tastes like death. Hail religious fetishism, the triumph of commodities!

Drugs bought slaves, and slaves made drugs, which were used to buy more slaves to make still more drugs. They say that if you make a wish to the market, it will surely fulfill it.

Coke Particle

I would only believe in a god who drinks Coca-Cola,

who asks me to stick out my tongue to receive its body and blood of sweet poison.

I would only go to war for a god who drinks Coca-Cola,

and who as a reward gives me a lifetime supply,

to give to all my friends

so that we can pray for world peace while toasting with a cold glass of Coke.

From you, 2000 years ago

Ask Batman to take off his disguise and lend it to me,

it's been many days since I could see myself in the mirror.

The grand promises of the modern dream

turned into prayers for those of us who could only see the fracture.

No matter how much you scream, you became your ruin and were left at the world’s end

the scavenging eyes, ready to make the greatest spectacle of you.

The last Coca-Cola in the desert

I want everything, the selfish mania of those who break the stone to find gold:

You think you're the last Coca-Cola in the desert, but no, that's not true, you know what? Before the desert, there's a valley where oranges grow, and I prefer, um, orange juice instead of coke which would do me harm, you know?

It's easier to imagine the end of the world than the end of shopping

Let me escape the immediacy of life,

it doesn't matter if it's more expensive or tastes the same,

the function of things being themselves is already surpassed.

I want to look one last time to invent my last wish.

Let me see how the hours of my life rot away in pure flirtation while I choke on my shiniest cravings.

The world looks wandering before my eyes; lend me yours as a luminous lighthouse.

There is no alternative!

Chronicle of a foretold death.

Invite me to the movies and buy me a Diet Coke,

I'll wear my best dress.

Neither Freud, nor your mom

Capricious and selfish, the princess of pop distances herself from limited spirits.

Whomever loves themselves immediately and moves away from others

does not deserve to enter the kingdom of heaven or be our friend.

Tragicomic delirium of an emo-punk in distress, while Beli sings in the background:

"I gave you one more second, and that was your selfish ego's end."

The monster that screamed love from the center of the Earth

Experience the crisis as you prepare to reproduce it.

Tomorrow will be too late; we will all have been devoured and then spit out in a radioactive stream in front of the eyes of someone richer or more perverse.

"Capitalism sharpens the pornographic process of society as it exposes everything as merchandise and delivers it to hyper-visibility".

For friends and enemies alike.

We had no choice but to laugh at ourselves and at the laughter of others, deny death in order to then deny life, cry in secret, and then blame someone else. I write to you 2000 years ago; tomorrow will be another day, an impossible future, a perfect present.

— Jimena Cervantes

Translated to English by Sebastián Antón-Ojeda

*: Byung-Chul Han, La agonía del Eros.