MIG (Mihai Iepure-Górski) was born in Alba-Iulia, Romania. He currently resides in Cluj-Napoca. After successfully graduating with a master’s degree in arts from the University of Art and Design, Mihai started working in a variety of mediums. Some recent shows include a solo show at White Cuib in Cluj-Napoca, another one at Sandwich Gallery in Bucharest and one at :Baril Gallery in Cluj-Napoca curated by Diana Marincu; participation in the following group exhibitions: Command Alternative Escape, Venice; 1st edition of Art Encounters, Timisoara curated by Nathalie Hoyos and Rainald Schumacher; Survival Kit 4 Festival, Riga, Latvia; European Travellers – Art from Cluj today, Műcsarnok, Budapest, Hungary curated by Judit Angel.
CRIPPLED THOUGHTS – about
I started writing the journal with the intent of recording the most meaningful happenings during my participation in the biennale. More specifically, I was determined to only take note of what caught my attention, what would make it to the level of becoming exciting for the mind, an aesthetically hungry mind. As it usually happens with journals or so I believe, as the biennale/excursion progressed my attention gradually moved from outwards to inwards and most of the final notes became focused on thoughts and mental responses, disregarding the outside stimuli that initially ignited them.
I indeed find it interesting now, taking a closer look, how my initial entries, filled with observational sentences, slowly developed/metamorphosed into recordings of personal responses to outside stimuli and eventually ended up into a digression of personal and nationalistic pathetic lament.
Crippled – a significant number of people encountered along the way; we, in the effort of getting something meaningful to emerge in the midst of what was an inconsistent group of people; I, while trying to produce proper and free thinking and instead found myself engulfed by limited, nationalist ideology.
29.07.2017 (Saturday)/ Cluj-Napoca Dead drunk father with daughter outside Cluj train station; might be a 10-year-old, tucking him into bed on a bench while standing herself 30.07.2017 (Sunday)/ Dolhasca Approximately 13-15-year-olds smoking in front of a bar outside a train station that seems lost in time and somewhat abandoned. Accordion players join the party Paşcani No lawn mowers in these parts of the country 30.07.2017 (Sunday)/Iaşi Around 8 o'clock, just saw the second man with missing hands after 20 minutes in town Had to return to the train coach for a last check of the cabin in case I've forgotten something Going around this traffic circle trying to get across, no visible way for people (pedestrians) to do that 2nd couple of Jehovah's Witness missionaries that passes me by. This time no invitation. Some congress on "Hope" this week Beautiful "old times" bridge left to disintegrate in the center of town Romanian language sounding like Russian from afar Macho talk on river banks, girls pretending to laugh 3rd man with hand issue using mobility helper. No missing limbs here though Déjà vu – 2 mothers each with her own daughter pass me by 30 seconds apart, mothers with purses, daughters with backpacks, heading same direction Seems to be today's issue – hands – just saw the 5th man with hand afflicted pass me by Old lady hiding her hand in the jacket, looks like it’s missing (6th) Trying to connect or at least bring to tangible distance something rather unreachable and seemingly impossible to experience All the towns gold seems to be buried under those churches downtown The thought that contact between different individuals is even possible brings to mind images of rubber balls trying to melt into one another Drinks in a former Securitate torture house feels a bit surreal but kind of works none the less Watching stupid comedy back at hotel 31.07.2017 (Monday)/Iaşi 2 individuals (man and woman) pass by with difficult, slightly affected walk No hands lady (7th) Iron cast foundry – master caster with arms the size of my legs making beautifully coordinated movements while lifting and maneuvering casts. Amazing precision Heavy sorrow in the middle of what looks like a scrap heap site but is in fact a running business Dark thoughts revolving the mechanics of how determined by external factors our life really is Waiting for something important to emerge, something abstract enough that it has the power to properly excite the mind 01.08.2017 (Tuesday)/ In motion, Târgu Neamţ area Everything seems church owned around these parts, brings Middle Ages to mind Impossible to preserve this lifestyle or the mere understanding of it, it is surely doomed What the heck is national identity anyway? The beauty of the landscape is almost painful, feeling condemned to love and forget it Trying to fill in gaps of understanding with what are rather platitudes This is a vacation – art happens elsewhere Compelled to put down anything depressing I can think of The misfortune of being born in a marginal country and one that does not feel obliged to export and implicitly conquer other lands with its cultural product, specifically art, even more specifically me Animal prison visit around 2 o'clock in the afternoon Funny lady's skirt pulled by dogs playing, a wonder to watch Seemingly deep spirituality surrounding the Voroneţ Monastery as it stands above the trees and is properly embedded into the lines of the forest. The place is spiritual, not necessarily the people Purpose a bit altered as people choose to ignore suggested activities Big thought, big knowledge, little understanding Overwhelming history crushing the present 02.08.2017 (Wednesday)/ Vama, Liteni 8 o'clock AM – somewhat noisy sunny morning, animal (bird) sounds melting with cars and electrical saws Inter-regional rivalries make everybody's loss. Another uneventful day ahead, somewhat worried looking forward at having spiritual mushrooms at the Zidaru family refuge Well written choreography that catches the spiritual eye and treats/pleases/fools the mind. Credible to a large extent but none the less choreography Lifestyle mimicking the primitive, the simple, bare – ambiguous in what exactly it transpires The intellectual artist – a parasite playing the part of the village super skilled artisan – commanding respect and repulsion at the same time The human aspect of it feels compelling, makes me want to come back for a second look/chance 03.08.2017 (Thursday)/ In motion, towards Chişinău Noisy music, voices, the road and a lot of yawning. Bad road infrastructure affecting the mobility aspect of the story I am silent while moving towards Moldavia, a country that feels both troubling and intriguing Feeling compelled to disregard history and take this country as my own – "Basarabia e România" Stop being such a calm/scared/boring entity! This has to do more with an inside/internal/personal journey than anything else Discovering a different perspective, merely touching the surface though "În galop, călări, un grup de artişti şi operatori culturali intră în ţara Moldovei pentru a o lua de la cei ce trăiesc într-însa", just joking The national vein instantaneously filled and pulsating as the border closes Dreams of a larger, stronger Romanian land awake in an instant as if genetically present in my own DNA Chişinău Not much to say more than the obvious – an experience none the less – simultaneous presence of opposites, looks and feels like a dreamland 04.08.2017 (Friday)/ Chişinău An abandoned communist city left to its own scruples Dead purposeless ruins inhabited by crazy zombies walking around in circles 2 more individuals missing limbs (8th and 9th) 05.08.2017 (Saturday)/ Chişinău, in motion back to Iaşi Thinking cliché – art is larger than life; life, even if tempting, must stay in the shadows as art unravels its mysteries An art scene that resembles a dry desert with timid European funded flickers of life Nation waiting to be conquered economically and culturally kept in a stale state by the old empire, drowning in its own piss and blood, taking its last gulps of air, down to its last heartbeats Financial precarity seems coupled by incompetence, ambiguous ideology and greed The few last lighthouses will be soon swallowed by the fog of cultural insignificance and incompetence, impotence will roam There is impotence on the other side of the Prut river to a large extent, still rare signs/arrows of life are being delivered with precision towards the great monster of the western cultural army Like in the "Sobieski and the Romanians" story, there is still resistance, there are still alive country men inside the walls of the wounded citadel Soon to fall and it will soon fall – still the only thing left to do is to battle and cause the enemy pain as death slowly takes over With broken hands and in a state of impotent exhaustion we return towards what we used to call home. We left an eternity ago I evidently blame the empires as they destroy diversity in their attempt of anticipating any sign of independent thought and resistance We have accepted our defeat long before the fall of the last man. We profit from the benevolent hand of the master in detriment of our own country men My mind is overwhelmed by stupid nationalist ideology and I must solemnly accept my incapacity at delivering proper and free thinking My art sounds/looks like a blunt dead composition but is instead full of subtle harmonies. As the trap closes it gives birth to a horde of unusual noises born in the pits of unending fear Closure line – lost my train of thought while forcefully trying to put myself in a state of reasonable, proper thinking.