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Alex Jovanovich Quotes
born 1975
Alex Jovanovich (born 1975) is an American artist, writer, and art critic. He is a senior editor at Artforum, where he has written art criticism, reviews, and artist portfolios since 2015.
Random Alex Jovanovich quote
42 quotes
Even in death, the angelic Nozkowski continues to give us life.
The only way to do it properly is to understand that love is some dwelling at the other edge of oblivion.
Death is met by sweetness and light in the ebullient, ethereal work of Agatha Wojciechowsky.
There is nothing more exhilarating than being a pervert.
Queers have always been treated as castoffs, so it makes sense that so many of us, historically, have found solace and communion in cast-off things.
He is healthy, strong, gorgeous, and full of promise—Saint Sebastian before his arrows, an innocent before the fall.
Harukawa's role-reversal erotica offers up a joyously defiant kick to the sad stinking balls of heterosexist orthodoxy and vanilla hegemony.
It seems that Currin's brand of transgression has grown into something banal, inane—what once spit hot venom now only passes gas, and weakly.
I think our culture's forgotten how to mourn, since we're so terrified of death and reflection.
Unfortunately, meticulously crafted objects that are precious, nostalgic, and unabashedly fey have historically received short shrift in the art world.
Jacoby's sculptures look like nightmare hospital equipment (dialyzers, glaucoma machines) unearthed from some Cronenbergian version of the former Yugoslavia.
I believe in things we cannot explain. I have an abiding respect for mystery.
Some hearts miraculously endure. Agosto Machado—artist, activist, thespian, muse, historian, raconteur, and perennial fashion plate—is one of them.
Sad, strange, dull, expensive—these are the words that immediately came to mind when I first walked through an Erewhon.
His world is a heterosexual hell, populated by homely Ice Storm–era swingers, middle-class cretins, and the terminally clueless.
Birkbeck stares right at the viewer as his group of sucklings greedily eat, grope, and fuck. He looks surprised—not because of what's happening, of course, but because you're just standing there and not joining in.
What was once a struggling flame is fast becoming an ember. But if you try to keep burning, then so will I.
It's a profound love entwined with profound fear and profound purpose. It's something about making this life count.
Quick, keen, caustic—wit is the instrument that cuts through the torpor of bad faith, overweening sincerity, and shit thinking.
They should disappear into the background, like helpful little ghosts.
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