Terrorists in Ostrava

Pierre Daguin recently displayed his collection of art weapons for the first time. His project in terrorism took place in the Ostravian pub/ gallery, Černý Pavouk, where the shadowy atmosphere made it feel like terrorists were just sidling in for a beer.

As an artist, Daguin walks the perilous line between the acceptable and unacceptable, the division between art and reality. He manipulates both himself and his surroundings with great joy and sophistication. The weapons on display were made of various found and bought plastic objects and toys. With nearly mad effort he composed them into weapon shapes and wrapped them in sticky tape. Despite looking like ridiculously childish fakes, the weapons still bristled with danger. In one of his series of photographs Daguin himself, dressed up in unbelievable costumes, posed with the filthy weapons in his hands. In another series, he struck an obliviously child-like pose with the weapons.
The project in Ostrava, however, was bolder and more dramatic: no poses, no games. Only the beautifully colored artifacts, alone. They were not paintings of weapons but “real” weapons in their awkwardness, uselessness and temptation. It is this moment of temptation that is the most essential part of Daguin’s project. The will to resist competes with the pleasure and fear of being seduced. Judging by the title, Children of Marcos, it might after all seem like hyperbole. But at Černý Pavouk the concept opened up in all its raw nudity. Everybody must have noticed that the weapons were loaded.
Lenka Lindaurová

01.01.2001