{"id":12584,"title":"Ilad of the Bic Art, the Bic Art Room","dimensions":"3 days and 3 nights","date_begin":"1981-01-01","material":"","art_status_id":13,"legal_status_id":47,"category_id":128,"platform_id":1,"deleted":false,"asset_count":9,"stream_count":0,"collection":"","cached_tag_list":"47, actie, Jan Fabre, action","publishing_process_id":1,"annotation":"","date_end":null,"reference":"","stream_count_app":62,"permalink":"ilad-of-the-bic-art-the-bic-art-room--2","description_ca":null,"short_description_ca":null,"description_it":null,"short_description_it":null,"cached_primary_asset_url":null,"cached_actor_names":null,"hide_from_json":false,"prev_platform_id":null,"description_uk":null,"short_description_uk":null,"description_tr":null,"short_description_tr":null,"mhka_works":false,"category":{"en":"Performance","nl":"Performance","fr":"Performance"},"poster_image":"https://s3.amazonaws.com/mhka_ensembles_production/assets/public/000/027/093/large/1981_BIC_ART_ROOM_BLUE_LH_003.jpg?1425502747","poster_credits":"(c)Angelos bvba, photo: Fred Balhuizen","translations":[{"locale":"en","short_description":"","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e22 - 24.1.1981\u003cbr /\u003eLeiden, Salon Odessa\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJan Fabre lets himself be locked in for three days and three nights in an entirely white room, with white clothes and white food. He cultivates boredom as a source of art. During this period he covers the room and himself in words and signs.\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u0026#39;My room, the Salon \u0026#39;O\u0026#39; Gallery, is almost ready\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003efor three days and three nights without sleep\u003cbr /\u003eand with no difference between day and night.\u003cbr /\u003eEverything is white, even the food.\u003cbr /\u003eThree cameras will film me day and night.\u003cbr /\u003eNo privacy.\u0026#39;\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e(Jan Fabre, Leiden, 20 January 1981)\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u0026#39;(Noted down in the Bic Art Room, copied\u003cbr /\u003eafterwards.)\u003cbr /\u003eI think it\u0026#39;s night.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026#39;m losing awareness of time\u003cbr /\u003eand can\u0026#39;t sleep,\u003cbr /\u003ebut there\u0026#39;s nothing wrong.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026#39;m starting to draw more and more out of boredom.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026#39;ve even drawn a rug on the floor next\u003cbr /\u003eto my bed.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI think it\u0026#39;s the early morning.\u003cbr /\u003eThe notion of art as cultivated boredom\u003cbr /\u003eis starting to take hold.\u003cbr /\u003eMy concentration is enhanced.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026#39;m covering my clothes with drawings, a mixture\u003cbr /\u003eof war camouflage and chameleon motifs.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026#39;m covering my body with drawings\u003cbr /\u003eof nonexistent organs.\u003cbr /\u003eI look like a Flemish aboriginal.\u0026#39;\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e(Leiden, 21 January 1981)\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u0026#39;I think it\u0026rsquo;s the next day.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;m very alert and lucid,\u003cbr /\u003eprobably from not sleeping.\u003cbr /\u003eI note every sensation in my body.\u003cbr /\u003eMy body is like a laboratory\u003cbr /\u003eon overtime\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI think it\u0026rsquo;s evening.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;ve started drawing a big Dali moustache\u003cbr /\u003eon the white walls.\u003cbr /\u003eMy skull is overheated\u003cbr /\u003eand sometimes I cry for no reason.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;m drawing constantly\u003cbr /\u003e(it doesn\u0026rsquo;t matter what I draw, as long as I\u0026rsquo;m drawing I\u0026rsquo;m alive).\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI think it\u0026rsquo;s night.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;m drawing a big Ilad moustache\u003cbr /\u003eon the wall opposite my bed.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;m drawing rugs on the floor under all the\u003cbr /\u003efurniture.\u003cbr /\u003eIt\u0026rsquo;s as if I were an Indian\u003cbr /\u003e(one with no wigwam or tribe).\u0026#39;\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e(Jan Fabre, Leiden, 22 January 1981)\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u0026#39;I\u0026rsquo;ve lost all sense of time.\u003cbr /\u003eI masturbate, I eat, I shit and I draw.\u003cbr /\u003eThere is no mirror, but my face is covered\u003cbr /\u003ein patches of blue Bic ink\u003cbr /\u003ebecause my hands are completely blue\u003cbr /\u003e(an Indian preparation for war).\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;ve become a drawing machine.\u003cbr /\u003eMy heart beats in my temples.\u003cbr /\u003eMy fingers are tingling and my muscles are tensing.\u003cbr /\u003eBut I\u0026rsquo;m on a lucid trip.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;m gone.\u003cbr /\u003eSometimes I disappear and come back and I\u0026rsquo;ve done a drawing\u003cbr /\u003ethat astonishes me.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI talk to myself out loud,\u003cbr /\u003eI scream at the living\u003cbr /\u003eand whisper to the dead.\u003cbr /\u003eI don\u0026rsquo;t have any music,\u003cbr /\u003ebut I still dance a lot while I\u0026rsquo;m drawing.\u003cbr /\u003eMy skull is burning\u003cbr /\u003eand my mouth is constantly dry.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;ve made my tongue blue with Bic ink\u003cbr /\u003e(I wanted to change from a street dog into a pedigree dog).\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI wake up with a start,\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;ve been asleep,\u003cbr /\u003eno idea how long.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI carry on drawing.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI want the white room to be full of blue drawings.\u003cbr /\u003eI also draw various butterflies and insects in every little corner.\u003cbr /\u003eArtificiality know no bounds\u003cbr /\u003eand the imagination is hot and burning\u003cbr /\u003elike my body.\u0026#39;\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e(Jan Fabre, Leiden, 23 January 1981)\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u0026#39;It\u0026rsquo;s one o\u0026rsquo;clock in the night.\u003cbr /\u003eToday was the opening of the Bic Art Room,\u003cbr /\u003efrom 11 a.m. to 6 p.m.\u003cbr /\u003eThere were lots of people.\u003cbr /\u003eI was physically present, but mentally totally absent.\u003cbr /\u003eI still haven\u0026rsquo;t fully realised what I\u0026rsquo;ve created.\u003cbr /\u003eI need to stand back.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;m too tired.\u003cbr /\u003e(Perhaps to me art is a matter of the physical\u003cbr /\u003eexperience. To be understood mentally afterwards.\u003cbr /\u003eWill these words become the intellectual alibi\u003cbr /\u003eor the artistic discours?)\u0026#39;\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e(Jan Fabre, Leiden, 25 January 1981)\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u0026#39;I don\u0026rsquo;t feel the difference between a Wednesday\u003cbr /\u003eand a Sunday.\u003cbr /\u003eAll that exists are the dates when the projects start\u003cbr /\u003eand finish.\u0026#39;\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e(Jan Fabre, Leiden, 26 January 1981)\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e"},{"locale":"nl","short_description":"","description":"\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e22 - 24.1.1981\u003cbr /\u003eLeiden, Salon Odessa\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJan Fabre laat zich drie dagen en drie nachten opsluiten \u0026nbsp;in een volledig witte ruimte met witte kleren en wit voedsel. Hij cultiveert verveling tot een bron van kunst.\u0026nbsp; Zo zal hij heel de kamer, zichzelf incluis bekladden met teksten en tekens.\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u0026#39;My room, the Salon \u0026#39;O\u0026#39; Gallery, is almost ready\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003efor three days and three nights without sleep\u003cbr /\u003eand with no difference between day and night.\u003cbr /\u003eEverything is white, even the food.\u003cbr /\u003eThree cameras will film me day and night.\u003cbr /\u003eNo privacy.\u0026#39;\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e(Jan Fabre, Leiden, 20 January 1981)\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u0026#39;(Noted down in the Bic Art Room, copied\u003cbr /\u003eafterwards.)\u003cbr /\u003eI think it\u0026#39;s night.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026#39;m losing awareness of time\u003cbr /\u003eand can\u0026#39;t sleep,\u003cbr /\u003ebut there\u0026#39;s nothing wrong.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026#39;m starting to draw more and more out of boredom.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026#39;ve even drawn a rug on the floor next\u003cbr /\u003eto my bed.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI think it\u0026#39;s the early morning.\u003cbr /\u003eThe notion of art as cultivated boredom\u003cbr /\u003eis starting to take hold.\u003cbr /\u003eMy concentration is enhanced.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026#39;m covering my clothes with drawings, a mixture\u003cbr /\u003eof war camouflage and chameleon motifs.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026#39;m covering my body with drawings\u003cbr /\u003eof nonexistent organs.\u003cbr /\u003eI look like a Flemish aboriginal.\u0026#39;\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e(Leiden, 21 January 1981)\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u0026#39;I think it\u0026rsquo;s the next day.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;m very alert and lucid,\u003cbr /\u003eprobably from not sleeping.\u003cbr /\u003eI note every sensation in my body.\u003cbr /\u003eMy body is like a laboratory\u003cbr /\u003eon overtime\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI think it\u0026rsquo;s evening.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;ve started drawing a big Dali moustache\u003cbr /\u003eon the white walls.\u003cbr /\u003eMy skull is overheated\u003cbr /\u003eand sometimes I cry for no reason.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;m drawing constantly\u003cbr /\u003e(it doesn\u0026rsquo;t matter what I draw, as long as I\u0026rsquo;m drawing I\u0026rsquo;m alive).\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI think it\u0026rsquo;s night.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;m drawing a big Ilad moustache\u003cbr /\u003eon the wall opposite my bed.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;m drawing rugs on the floor under all the\u003cbr /\u003efurniture.\u003cbr /\u003eIt\u0026rsquo;s as if I were an Indian\u003cbr /\u003e(one with no wigwam or tribe).\u0026#39;\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e(Jan Fabre, Leiden, 22 January 1981)\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u0026#39;I\u0026rsquo;ve lost all sense of time.\u003cbr /\u003eI masturbate, I eat, I shit and I draw.\u003cbr /\u003eThere is no mirror, but my face is covered\u003cbr /\u003ein patches of blue Bic ink\u003cbr /\u003ebecause my hands are completely blue\u003cbr /\u003e(an Indian preparation for war).\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;ve become a drawing machine.\u003cbr /\u003eMy heart beats in my temples.\u003cbr /\u003eMy fingers are tingling and my muscles are tensing.\u003cbr /\u003eBut I\u0026rsquo;m on a lucid trip.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;m gone.\u003cbr /\u003eSometimes I disappear and come back and I\u0026rsquo;ve done a drawing\u003cbr /\u003ethat astonishes me.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI talk to myself out loud,\u003cbr /\u003eI scream at the living\u003cbr /\u003eand whisper to the dead.\u003cbr /\u003eI don\u0026rsquo;t have any music,\u003cbr /\u003ebut I still dance a lot while I\u0026rsquo;m drawing.\u003cbr /\u003eMy skull is burning\u003cbr /\u003eand my mouth is constantly dry.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;ve made my tongue blue with Bic ink\u003cbr /\u003e(I wanted to change from a street dog into a pedigree dog).\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI wake up with a start,\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;ve been asleep,\u003cbr /\u003eno idea how long.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI carry on drawing.\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003eI want the white room to be full of blue drawings.\u003cbr /\u003eI also draw various butterflies and insects in every little corner.\u003cbr /\u003eArtificiality know no bounds\u003cbr /\u003eand the imagination is hot and burning\u003cbr /\u003elike my body.\u0026#39;\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e(Jan Fabre, Leiden, 23 January 1981)\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u0026#39;It\u0026rsquo;s one o\u0026rsquo;clock in the night.\u003cbr /\u003eToday was the opening of the Bic Art Room,\u003cbr /\u003efrom 11 a.m. to 6 p.m.\u003cbr /\u003eThere were lots of people.\u003cbr /\u003eI was physically present, but mentally totally absent.\u003cbr /\u003eI still haven\u0026rsquo;t fully realised what I\u0026rsquo;ve created.\u003cbr /\u003eI need to stand back.\u003cbr /\u003eI\u0026rsquo;m too tired.\u003cbr /\u003e(Perhaps to me art is a matter of the physical\u003cbr /\u003eexperience. To be understood mentally afterwards.\u003cbr /\u003eWill these words become the intellectual alibi\u003cbr /\u003eor the artistic discours?)\u0026#39;\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e(Jan Fabre, Leiden, 25 January 1981)\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e\u003cem\u003e\u0026#39;I don\u0026rsquo;t feel the difference between a Wednesday\u003cbr /\u003eand a Sunday.\u003cbr /\u003eAll that exists are the dates when the projects start\u003cbr /\u003eand finish.\u0026#39;\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cstrong\u003e(Jan Fabre, Leiden, 26 January 1981)\u003c/strong\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e"},{"locale":"fr","short_description":"","description":""},{"locale":"ru","short_description":"","description":""},{"locale":"de","short_description":"","description":""},{"locale":"es","short_description":"","description":""},{"locale":"el","short_description":"","description":""}],"actors":[{"id":110,"name":"Jan Fabre","category":{"en":"Creator","nl":"Vervaardiger","fr":"Créateur"}}]}