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Memories That Smell Like Gasoline

door David Wojnarowicz

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Four savage and remarkable autobiographical stories from one of the most acclaimed and controversial artists of his generation, each illustrated with powerful ink drawings by the author himselfFor most of his life, David Wojnarowicz considered himself the ultimate outsider and a true invisible man. "I'm a blank spot in a hectic civilization," he writes in this fierce and unforgettable collection of four blistering autobiographical pieces, illustrated with his own arresting ink drawings. Wojnarowicz, who died of AIDS in New York City at the age of thirty-seven, left behind a body of work that was staggering in its variety and originality. Painter, writer, photographer, performance artist, and filmmaker, he made an indelible mark on virtually every stage of the national arts scene. Yet nowhere does his anger, love, or compassion show itself as strongly as in his writing, which prompted critics to call him the Jack Kerouac of his generation.The horrors of Wojnarowicz's past inform his literature--his years spent as a child prostitute and living homeless on the New York streets, his outspoken, very public battle against the disease that would eventually take his life, and the entrenched government bureaucracy that sat by and did nothing. The world as seen through Wojnarowicz's eyes in these four masterful short works is stark, cruel, and cold--and yet gloriously alive, ennobled by surprising acts of heartrending humanity. "Memories That Smell Like Gasoline" is a celebration of sorts: of sex, of love, of art, and of having truly lived.… (meer)
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Not content to be a tremendous photographer, painter, filmmaker, performance artist and activist David Wojnarowicz (1954-92) was also the author of three classic books: Close to the Knives, The Waterfront Journals and Memories That Smell Like Gasoline, now back in print from Artspace. This volume collects four tales--"Into the Drift and Sway," "Doing Time in a Disposable Body," "Spiral" and the title story--interspersed with ink drawings by the artist. "Sometimes it gets dark in here behind these eyes I feel like the physical equivalent of a scream. The highway at night in the headlights of this speeding car speeding is the only motion that lets the heart unravel and in the wind of the road the two story framed houses appear one after the other like some cinematic stage set..." From these opening sentences of the book (in "Into the Drift and Sway"), Wojnarowicz lets loose a salvo of explicit gay sexual reverie harshly lit by the New York cityscape.
  petervanbeveren | Sep 1, 2023 |
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Four savage and remarkable autobiographical stories from one of the most acclaimed and controversial artists of his generation, each illustrated with powerful ink drawings by the author himselfFor most of his life, David Wojnarowicz considered himself the ultimate outsider and a true invisible man. "I'm a blank spot in a hectic civilization," he writes in this fierce and unforgettable collection of four blistering autobiographical pieces, illustrated with his own arresting ink drawings. Wojnarowicz, who died of AIDS in New York City at the age of thirty-seven, left behind a body of work that was staggering in its variety and originality. Painter, writer, photographer, performance artist, and filmmaker, he made an indelible mark on virtually every stage of the national arts scene. Yet nowhere does his anger, love, or compassion show itself as strongly as in his writing, which prompted critics to call him the Jack Kerouac of his generation.The horrors of Wojnarowicz's past inform his literature--his years spent as a child prostitute and living homeless on the New York streets, his outspoken, very public battle against the disease that would eventually take his life, and the entrenched government bureaucracy that sat by and did nothing. The world as seen through Wojnarowicz's eyes in these four masterful short works is stark, cruel, and cold--and yet gloriously alive, ennobled by surprising acts of heartrending humanity. "Memories That Smell Like Gasoline" is a celebration of sorts: of sex, of love, of art, and of having truly lived.

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