Cheyco Leidmann’s solo exhibition of TANTATRYSK is scheduled from 03 February to 17 March 2012 at La Lune En Parachute Contemporary Art Space, spanning an area of 6500 sq.ft(600 m²) on two levels in Epinal.
The vast contemporary art gallery La Lune En Parachute presents local as well as the greatest international contemporary artists. Bob Jeudy, founder of La Lune En Parachute, curates TANTATRYSK.
Cheyco Leidmann’s project «TANTATRYSK» consists of 75 works which resemble retrospective,current and unpublished images printed partially in large scale. Cheyco Leidmann creates an unreal world in which he juxtaposes dreams and fantasies with reality. His nightmarish vision of strange situations sets up an universe of a delusional and apocalyptic world, sometimes with a notion of cynicism and black humor.
With new images he continues to tackle social demons; he observes reality and exempts it from its trickery to reveal the absurdity and perversion of the time. Cheyco Leidmann is accompanied by his creative collaborator Ypsitylla von Nazareth.
La Lune En Parachute art contemporain, La Plomberie 88000 EPINAL
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TANTATRYSK
Exposition solo de Cheyco Leidmann, programmée du 03 février au 17 mars 2012 à La Lune En Parachute art contemporain , un espace de 600 m² au deux niveaux,à Epinal. L'immense galerie d'art contemporain La Lune En Parachute présente parmi les plus grands artistes contemporains internationaux .Bob Jeudy, fondateur de La Lune En Parachute, est le commissaire de cette exposition.
«TANTATRYSK» le projet de Cheyco Leidmann se compose de 75 œuvres qui recueille des images rétrospectives,mais essentiellement des images actuelles et inédites ,tiré en autre en grands formats. Cheyco Leidmann crée un univers irréel ou se mêlent rêves, fantasmes et réalité.Il peint une vision cauchemardesque, les situations étranges et mis en scène une univers délirantes et apocalyptiques, quelque fois avec une notion de cynisme et d'humour noire. Avec ses nouvelles images il continue de s'attaquer aux démons sociaux, il observe la réalité et la débarrasse de ses artifices pour n'en révéler que la perversion et l'absurdité de l'époque.Cheyco Leidmann est accompagné par sa collaboratrice créative Ypsitylla von Nazareth.
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Tantatrysk
Teetering along the razor’s edge, we face the duality of choices. Which is better, which is worse? On this magic carpet ride, who is caged, who is free?
The bluest of blue skies cannot obscure the perverted beauty of desolation, of desperation as the glossy, bloodstained lips of the cracked-out prima ballerina bend into a smile while the rubble piles up. The beauty queens wrapped in barbed wire must know the questions before they can seek the answers.
Ora pro nobis.
Don’t be blinded by the lust in the foreground to the fact that armadillos parade by the windows, marching in neat virulent rows, whispering, snorting, shedding their armor behind them.
Life whizzes by as fast as the zebra gallops; we waltz around in our brazen masquerade: red, passionate, vulgar display of life. From whom do we hide?
The birds of prey, the unapologetic angels with their stilettos made of steel, and curled bloodshot talons, scream as the stigmata oozes from their skins, their souls. The hidden traumas manifest in the blood of life. Leather and latex protect the phallic cactus spikes.
Ora pro nobis.
The ghosts of the New Orleans jazz funeral wail an elegy of sorrow and glee. The saxophonist ushers in the dead, the near-dead, the stalwart, crucified masses pulled out of the muck and mire of capitalistic greed. Not everyone feels the pull of gravity.
Ora pro nobis.
A man worships the sunworshippers, beached goddesses on sandy towels. The sun tans us, bleaches us, fades us like the graffiti that we are. While we wilt, others observe, testify, turn away. Voyeurs peer through the windows, witness our most intimate moments, our tantric rituals.
Eyes are tools. Eyes are weapons. Eyes expose one angle of reality. The closed doors and windows hide the truths. Open the doors, seek truth, if you can, if you dare.
The deafening keen of the sirens diminishes in the aftermath of the neon night, when bodies separate from corpses. The bells toll in the distance, the inescapable clanging.
Ora pro nobis.
On the dark side of the alley, the fluttering wings of an angel resemble, too closely, the pigeon’s flapping wings in the choreography of her dance of death. Death is the ultimate performance. Oh Wow. Oh Wow. Oh Wow.
Ora pro nobis.
Melissa Burley,writer
