Shafts
Johan Bech Jespersen
07.02.25 - 02.03.25
He works without the light. It’s not a rigid principle, rather it’s an unplanned circumstance, almost a coincidence. In fact, he lives to shine, but dirty industries do better under tuxedo-colored skies, under restricted access, under the ground. A certain amount of darkness is required, too, for the street to really pop. For the holes to really open. It’s not a matter of revealing anything private, he’s just convinced about the spiritual value of hungry holes.
He’s headed to the palace. He’s working at the palace tonight. Undecided about whether he pre- fers to take orders or to give them, but what he knows is that he really likes to be involved in quite committing group dynamics. Orgies during office hours or vice versa. A workday is mainly about serving and fixing and then he gets off. A question of opening gates and closing them again before too many enters.
Beneath the palace is the black-dotted sidewalk beneath the black-dotted sidewalk is the shit beneath the armor is the skin beneath the skin is the g-spot. Come and smell. It’s not really a con- crete scent, but it keeps you awake. He enjoys to stroll, he enjoys rushing forward and going down. This whole city used to be wet, he thinks, as he guards his holes. Moist and moldable like wax or infatuated hearts. Very similar to societies, the heart is most stubborn right before it melts.
He has these fantasies about being illuminated. About glorious ascends from the gutter or about outshining nobility crackheads depending on what type of day it is. He is one big invitation, that’s what he gets paid to be, and he is one big hideout, that’s what he can’t help. His conscious thoughts are buried in black shafts, he needs to get rid of them to properly enter the stage, shower in its main-character-beams. The fact that he looks gorgeous and secret is due to vast amounts of vanity. He is eager to stay matte, shiny surfaces are usually less enigmatic and he wants to be scrutinized (but fully never disclosed). He has these fantasies about living in a street-sized fish tank.
Like a club or an ass, he was born to tempt. Streets keep welcoming him, rubber keeps enclosing him, dandies keep craving him, they can’t decide if he looks more like peak perversion or a sunrise. What is sealed is always tempting.
Text by Nanna Friis
The exhibition is kindly supported by Statens Kunstfond and Nørrebro Lokaludvalg.
