Ich m�cht ein solchener Reiter werden wie mein...

removed when exhibited in a painting show at Deutsche Bank. There is undeniably something disturbing, not to say disgusting, about it. �Don�t open the Trap Door!� went the song from the kid�s TV programme, and when it was opened by as much as a crack, dozens of Plasticine worms would wriggle and crawl out in a split second: the id, �the horror!� And the sublime blank canvas holding back the uninhibited libidinal drives, a very product of this repression! Except here the monochrome comes as a cheap piece of hardboard, the nails are protruding, the masterpiece is missing. It seems that what could not be abided at Deutsche Bank was the fact that its staff kept going up to The Artist�s Hand and squeezing the squishy paint-skins! Whether the authorities were worried about damage to the �painting� or damage to

drives, a very product of this repression! Except here the monochrome comes as a cheap piece of hardboard, the nails are protruding, the masterpiece is missing. It seems that what could not be abided at Deutsche Bank was the fact that its staff kept going up to The Artist�s Hand and squeezing the squishy paint-skins! Whether the authorities were worried about damage to the �painting� or damage to the �painting� or damage to the walls of the building is unclear. But infantilism must reflect badly on a bank and on art. In Paul McCarthy�s film Painter, the obnoxious Abstract Expressionist artist has huge, fat foam-rubber fingers that seem detached from any central nervous system. In Brogan�s piece, the paint itself becomes big, dumb, floppy objects, squashed against the wall like a bunch of chubby fingers run over by a cartoon steamroller. �A pile of little arms�the genius!� as Marlon Brando once said. In Brogan�s work the sublimated terrors of castration become pathetic figures of fun and pleasure.

Dean Kenning 2003