→ Creation, performance, texts and songs
Maikon K
→ Collaborators
Interlocution: Patricia Saravy
Costume design: Faetusa Tezelli
Lighting: Fábia Regina
Sound: Beto Kloster
Vocal/sound orientation: Iria Braga
Photography: Lauro Borges
Video edit and camera: Stephany Mattanó
Studio camera: Tathy Yázigi
Scenery technician: André Baliú
Graphic design: Adriana Alegria
Production: Maikon K and Patrícia Saravy
Press office: Victor Hugo Gabardo
→ Distribution/production
Corpo Rastreado
→ Duration
1h30
Neomedieval rite.
Erotic liturgy.
Dark parody.
Exorcism of forms and genres.
There is only one possible sign: chaos.
Grind the clichés until they reach the marrow. Champagne, gasoline, milk and blood. Chainsaw, mattress, nails, microphone. Beauty and terror. The artist is the self-imposed idol, the erotic marionette, the taboo violated.
In this work, Maikon K draws inspiration from the homonymous literary work of Georges Bataille. He absorbs the images of Bataille and creates his own Solar Anus. The anus as everything we reject, the revealing blindness, the opposite of what we want to show. The mysterious anus, despised and feared. A black hole devouring galaxies, radioactive sun, coagulated blood, herald of destruction and beginning.
The performance is established as a field of impure ritual where languages are mixed: song, video, dance and theater, in the search for a chaotic experience, a body in pieces, fragmented in speeches and forms. A revolving machine gun that ejects bullets of all calibers and substances. Evoking collective blindness, empty idols, ecstasy, dens, deities, priests, whores, the myth of the artist in search of the vision, the apocalypse that never comes.
Held with incentive of the Funarte Award of Myriam Muniz Theater, it premiered on April 19, 2017, in a warehouse in the center of Curitiba.
A body will only be a body after being torn apart and having its pieces delivered to the crowd. A body is only a body after being desired, devoured, digested. A body is only a body after it has screamed, shed solids and liquids, convulsed. A body is only a body after being penetrated and abandoned to the solitude of being a body. A body is only a body after feeling the cold, the heat, the fainting, the hunger, the pain. Ripped apart by hatred and love. A body is only a body after leaving the body and coming back. The body can be kissed, loved, rejected, operated, but never transcended. The body is not transcended. It has the final victory. It is the target of all weapons. It is the blood-pouring hourglass, the locomotive, the time bomb of death, the cradle-grave of the now. These pieces that run down the walls belong to it.
A pact of violence is signed in The Solar Anus, Maikon K's performance inspired by Georges Bataille's text. After a first contemplative moment in the space of the furniture store, with the performer present next to a pile of mattresses and the virtual nature of this environment doubled by a huge mirror; the lysergic images of the fiery lava of a volcano, the penis tied to a stone repeating a pendulous movement and masturbation by candlelight merge together. During this rite champagne is offered to the public and the performer starts up a chainsaw. He mutilates mattresses and space. The sexual act is mutilated together with my body, which I offer for this sacrifice. The chainsaw is a large, potent, destructive and noisy phallus that reeks of kerosene. It shreds up a wall/access door to the other room, where a profane ritual will be performed based on the works of Bataille. It is a deified phallus so we can see its decadence. A thunderbolt, mortal irony that cripples the tower of an empire. A parodic, occult mass to all power. This power that we suffer in our skin every day, in all our acts, in all our relationships. In this unsigned pact we have only to obey, we have no other way out. The power that is central to the works of Maikon K acts upon our bodies. Maikon K's chainsaw responds to everything that holds and gags us. It breaks these currents of normative laws that are not interested in subjectivity. Now tell me: death to the State!
