Last week, I followed the reveal of Filip Mirazović's solo debut with Plan X gallery in Milan, Cryptomnesia, and noticed they were making me feel naïve, even stupid. I’ve been talking about how strong his concepts are and how masterful his technique is for a few years now, but these works make me feel like I fell for it too early, went ahead of myself, and spilled all the appreciation for his twisted brilliance a bit too soon.
The body of work comprising the presentation is continuing directly from Black Marble, Gold Veins he showed w Lazy Mike in Seoul last year. But somehow, the concept now feels more refined, more elegant, and more convincing, making the entire body of work feel like a milestone of sorts. Through his process, Mirazovic repeatedly "falls into the trap" (or better dives into it) of being influenced by the painterly masters of the past, as well as by the objects, materials, and narratives that marked his youth. In particular, the furniture, appliances, and the popular-culture language of his childhood in Yugoslavia are mutating under the influence of masterpieces seen in the museums of his adopted home, Paris, into a kind of work I can best describe as Baroque Mad Max.
Within such a framework, the familiar Western culture or aesthetics seem somewhat upgraded, while its society and technology have clearly passed their prime. The developed ideas are now used to the point of becoming part of an individual, and commonly pronounced and celebrated demeanors or features are now hidden under the layers of newly developed shells. With faces covered and bodies armored, the standards of beauty seem to have been replaced by ways of protecting the inside, the emotional self. But regardless of how imposing they appear when portrayed in an 1980s-90s comic style, everything still shows signs of wear, imperfection, and vulnerability.
Their empty backgrounds might seem like the memory void from which these visions appear. Equally, they suggest the actual presence in the space they're observed in, rather than offering a look somewhere, sometime. The ways they're rendered, from the slightest tear in the crackling surface of a skin shield to the faintest line of the porcelain illustration, make them feel tangible and authentic. Captured that way, the figures, although proud and established in their inherited attitude, feel hurt, dark, and edgy. Such presence transforms the canvas into a theater of sorts, making the depicted furniture serve as props and drawing everything even closer to familiarity and intimacy while remaining fantastical and somewhat quasi-futuristic. —Saša Bogojev
