A JOURNEY INTO THE MIND

 In the realm of contemporary art, where creativity knows no bounds, and boundaries are meant to be pushed, few artists command attention like the enigmatic German visionary John Bock. His work is a kaleidoscopic journey through the realms of the absurd, the surreal, and the thought-provoking. As we prepare to delve into the psyche of this avant-garde maestro, one can't help but anticipate a riveting encounter with the unconventional.

"The range of Bock's artistic means is remarkably diverse. In fact, it is impossible to pin him down at all since so much is ambiguous, cryptic, obscure, and enigmatic," writes art critic Jens Hoffmann. "What is already known, spoken about, seen, or heard of is of little importance to Bock."

Born in Gribbohm, Germany, in 1965, Bock has carved a niche for himself in the global art scene with his distinctive approach that defies categorization. His multidisciplinary art blurs the lines between performance, installation, sculpture, and film, creating an immersive experience that challenges conventional norms. Bock's universe is a collision of chaos and contemplation, an intersection where the bizarre and the profound engage in a dance that leaves spectators both bewildered and enlightened.

His work has been showcased worldwide in museums such as the Prada Foundation in Milan in 2018. His more recent solo show was Ex-Ego-Gynt held at Sprüth Magers gallery in Berlin.

Each of his pieces is an invitation to the viewer to confront the unexpected and question their preconceptions.

His installations are intricate and puzzling, often resembling a chaotic assemblage of different elements that somehow coalesce into a meaningful whole. Bock's performances, characterized by their spontaneity and unpredictability, leave audiences questioning the boundaries between reality and fiction.

To use the words of Swedish curator Daniel Birnbaum: "Bock's art is a form of speculative pedagogy; he delivers lectures, constructing a discourse in front of his audience and revealing his somewhat bizarre identity."

In this exclusive interview, collected for Stella Magazine on the occasion of his cover photo shoot, we aim to unravel some layers of John Bock's creative mind in his own words. Words that are often deep and metaphoric, delving into the realms of metaphysics.

It is difficult not to wonder what drives an artist to embrace the unconventional and how Bock's unique perspective shapes the narrative of his art, but some of these questions remain unanswered. The aura of the art is strong, and so is its mystery, almost in a literal sense, meaning "something that must not be revealed."

What memories do you have of your educational years in Hamburg? What aspects of the cultural landscape back then left a lasting impression on you?

I got there. Dry and naive. Main-brain-drain soup flowed over the stone stairs into the foyer. Here the brain cake was dissected and cut into pointed wedges. The tangled art-me-minds sat conceptually minimally in the cafeteria and Ms. Red, behind the food counter, shouted pieces of food into the fragrant dining room. I delved into the differentiated art-me-minds, selected them and stuffed them into the compression mixer. Then shred and stuck together again with spit. Astutely, I hit my head on the liquid pillow with peach scent.

As a teacher yourself today, at the State Academy of Fine Arts in Karlsruhe, how do you perceive and engage with education?

Teacher with teaching. No. The juicy problem begins when the artist teaches by setting up a wallpapered home in the head hut. It's better to approach the essential presence in slow motion with not knowing how. Place a wink in the eyeshadow. Turned off all pale with lights on/lights off. ON TOP peach flavor.

Do you believe in the concept of artistic genius?

The concept of genius is an illusion.

As a quasi-me, I stick my head through the sawn-out hole in the table top. There is a metallic instrument in my mouth with which I transform material into actions. Crack an egg. Egg lubricant runs over two Plexiglas sheets. Then I knead two misshapen offspring. Insert an ear bud into the UN-FORM. Blow cigarette breath into the red balloon. Then let air escape with a squeak. Sound neurosis becomes plastically ill. Balloon puffs swirl a pile of feathers in the light-filled corner. Cream leaks over the flexi track and floods the UN-FORM offspring in the dirty juggernaut. My left eyelash is sticky with egg goo. The view of “everything” is limited in a milky way. The gaze is caught between two curly peach hairs.

How has the idea of art expanded in your perspective, and how would you define an "artwork" in today's context? What role does it play in society?

Beuys wanted to push people into a block of light. I, as a confused sound-creature-player, work with sandwich-tricks. I make the recipient believe they are in a shadowy world. The shadow juice penetrates the recipient's milky-me-mind via the senses. A black monochrome presses on the chest and takes your breath away. Exhale the peach stone.

In your recent exhibition, Ex-Ego-Gynt in Berlin, amid the diverse sculptural elements, one particular element caught my attention: the wooden carvings of your grimacing head. Self-portraits by artists often carry a revelatory message. Do you have a specific message you aim to communicate through this?

A DHL courier with a brown box tucked under his arm rings my doorbell. A cardboard box. A message inside. After a few steps—it was seven steps—I'm standing in front of the door buzzer. Mold caked on the door buzzer. To buzz or not to buzz. Message received or total confusion in the living room. The tip of my index finger, which I usually use to press the door buzzer, remained in front of the door buzzer as if struck by lightning. Slight index finger tremor in close up. Eye the peach shape.

How would you describe your connection with Berlin, the city you call home?

Conclusion: Peach-IDEAL.

Could you share more about your perception of language and its use in your lectures? Do you think digital media has accelerated the evolution of language and communication in general?

I tell, I don't inform. Digital media prevents language welfare. Digital media do not model thought bubbles in language; rather, they build concrete commands of consumption. Digital media do not tell stories, they produce consumer-friendly data information with the sole purpose of revving up the capitalist drive of consumption.

A story is a differentiated, tasty vegetable soup. Digital information is a puddle of water in which a moldy meatball corpse floats. Corpse poison in peach shade.

What insights can we gain from chaos as opposed to cosmos?

There is no nothingness in chaos.

If there is nothingness in chaos, we cannot recognize it.

If nothingness exists in chaos and we can recognize it, we cannot explain it. Everything is seen under the premise that the QUASI-EGO does not transform into the EGG-EGO. The second premise is that a shadow man with a smoldering cigarette butt on his face has absolutely nothing to do with everything and everyone in the peach orange.

As a magazine focusing on art and fashion images, what is your relationship with fashion? Do you think it is possible to be cutting-edge and provocative through the medium of fashion today?

Fashion and plastic?

The recipient stands in the sculpture. The recipient is in the outfit and becomes part of the sculpture. Fusion-plasty. It transforms the recipient into a modeled quasi-person. This modeled quasi-person radiates his essential presence and strengthens his gravitational force. He is clearly present with peach skin.

Fashion photography often involves a fusion of creativity and aesthetics. Could you share with us the emotional journey you went through during the photo shoot for Stella Magazine?

At a photo shoot, you find yourself in a self-representation with an image creation. There is a solo-for-two effect. The photographer and I melt a snapshot into an image. A fusion between finger click and camera and the gaze pose of my self. Step by step, time on time. Trip and top. Click and clack. The beam of light trembles along the right side of my face. Knick-knack, traces of light slither along the branches of the head structure and sink into the brown jute sail.

Would you say that new beginnings are cathartic?

The idea of catharsis is a waving mass of emotions like a jellyfish. It lingers on the polished pedestal of the action-urge drama and produces an EGO-EGG-will. I contrast the idea of catharsis with the theory of the Kleinodtotsod. The little thing is resting in the warm shade of the base. It places a blue blotting paper on the will-produced jellyfish mass.

The EGG-EGO-will is absorbed by the blue blotting paper. There is some residual EGO-EGG-will dust left on the shiny base. And—of course—the experiment takes place in sticky peach juice.

How do you see your artistic journey in navigating the complexities of existence?

The end ends with the beginning. Here's an example. A pile of cooked peas is placed next to the mashed potato mess on a white porcelain plate with an analytical tension. I juxtapose the chaos of confusion with the counting of the peas. The picture creates order through numbering. My cerebral convolutions rest in contemplation. Contemplation seeps into every pea and creates a floating on the cloud of well-being. Recognizing the last number, the end of the counting process, makes you experience the shock of existence. Neurons criss-cross. Hit in bits makes your face fall into the facelift of the mashed potato.