about Franco Hüller
Over the years, Franco Hüller has transformed his own impelling artistic urgency into prêt-à-porter solutions. Over the years, he has launched paper airplanes from windows and filled shop windows with hair, he has cut out thousands of indecent and bewildered glares to create wallpaper for grandma’s dinette set. With an unprecedented , light gaze (like heavy feathers) he has put together the works of six disabled people, accompanying the public into a completely white universe. He has invented pornographic magazine covers for Beatles songs, assembled and dismantled digital and Polaroid photographs. He has constructed a collective exhibit in an entirely white room – empty, with three mp3 players hanging from the wall. He has had friends and colleagues die. He has painted walls, notebooks, tables, theatre posters, socially, for friends. All this with a roar of lightness. It is with this lightness that Hüller provokes – in the etymological sense of the word – the spectator of his work. And the inevitable, sly smile, a wink of an eye…there is nothing to explain. Details, shadows, allusions emerge. There is nothing to explain. The contours between sense and senses, between mockery and evocation, fade. There is nothing to explain. In this same way, each time he has had a chance at discovery (for obstinacy, desperation or spontaneous exuberance) of the existence of a journey yet to be travelled, Hüller has caught a glimpse of a solution. To his own desperation or to his own urgent desire for a playmate. And he admits this, sincerely: “When an artist behaves freely, his surroundings play with him.” Hüller plays with the world, with emptiness, with people. He plays with his own precariousness, suspended between a sense of intimacy and colourful commotion. But, mainly, he plays just to play.