What pisses me off mostly about Thierry De Cordier is his ostentatious loneliness. He shouts out his wish for others to be silent, he seeks out an audience to tell that he’d rather be alone. His personality seems so artificial because of this to me and I find it hard to take his art seriously. He is so outgoingly depressed that I nearly feel his suicidal tendencies come upon me. De Cordier also uses images heavenly laden with mythology and meaning. He uses his bilingualism to show that every person is basically split, and his refuse to use one or another language should show us that no one really knows who one is. Now, I don’t disagree with Thierry’s thoughts and images but the layers and layers of “meaning” and his strange attention seeking irritates me. And that makes me sad because I truly appreciate some of his work.
With this he invites his audience to come and sit in this box of loneliness. Truth be told, I’d like to recluse myself in this for some minutes, and I find this a nice representation of a deep-rooted sense of loneliness.
This, Trou Madame, is once again a representation of the aforementioned solitude and he depicts to us a primitive desire to return to our mother’s womb and the Sadness Of Birth. (Yawn, vulvas!)
Here a nice quote is applicable: “De Cordier stages in his writings and images the figure of a walker who dresses to leave, like a snail who wears its house on his back, who travels in a landscape or in his head, to finally end up in a tent, a box, house, or inside one’s own skull and repeatedly relives the Great Sorrow of Birth.” Thierry takes these thoughts and literally makes them or draws them. And it’s gorgeous at times yet…
… some things he does or says make me want to burn his entire oeuvre. But most of all I loathe what some others get out of his work.
Here I can attach a lovely anecdote. In an exposition in ’88 in a small town in Southern France he put the sculpture of this drawing, De Lijdensvanger, next to the church. At night the villagers threw it down a cliff because they felt a repulse of the human body in it, they felt it was unclean. Bart Verschaffel, a Dutch journalist, says ‘Because the villagers know nothing of art they understood precisely the archaic meaning of De Cordier’s work.’
But what might enrages me so much about this pretentiousness and artsy fartsy-ness is that I actually agree and relate to it. And I simply don’t want to be affiliate with such thoughts. It’s sad to realise I’m still confused and averse to modern art.