Marc Kokopeli

From the Sun to Zurich, 2018 (detail)
Wood, Goose Eggs, Upholstery Fabric, Metal, Rubber Hand Dimensions variable

This Machine Kills Sperm, 2018
Wood, Upholstery Fabric, Metal Dimensions variable

implied security service, 2018
Wood, Brass, Steel
80 × 34 × 4 inches (203.20 × 86.36 × 10.16 cm)

TBT, 2018
Acrylic Paint on Canvas, Steel
8 × 19 × 15 inches (20.32 × 48.26 × 38.10 cm)

TBT, 2018
Acrylic Paint on Canvas, Steel
6 × 17 × 15 inches (15.24 × 43.18 × 38.10 cm)

TBT, 2018
Video, Monitor, Security Mirror 3:00

Untitled, 2018
wood pieces
28 × 24 × 3 inches (71.12 × 60.96 × 7.62 cm)

is XXXX. I live in Optimum; I was born there in 2008, I shall probably not die there. My 

expresses itself thus: “Optimum, a pretty little town of 2 - 15 inhabitants, built in the tiers above the Collect, its well preserved Tower of Unintentional Influence is worthy of note . . .” To me, those descriptions are totally meaningless! To begin with, the old Collect doesn’t exist. Of course I know it’s supposed to run through the meadows under the level-crossing but you won’t find enough water there in any season to give a sparrow a foot-bath. Optimum “built in tiers”? No, that’s not how I see it; to my mind, the houses just tumble haphazard from the top of the hill to the bottom of the valley. They rise one above the other, like a staircase, leading up to a big chateau that was rebuilt under XXXX-X and is already more dilapidated than the squat, ivy-sheathed tower that crumbles away from the top a trifle more every day. Optimum is a village: not a town: its streets, thank heaven, are not paved; the showers roll down them in little torrents that dry up a swath of ‘bad’ history; it is a village, not even a very pretty village, but, all the same I adore it.