It is not often that Ventura exposes so little flesh, but he makes up for the lack of his trademark exhibitionist figures by exaggerating the corporeal details. The message is written on the skin.
The cello player's fingers on the fingerboard and bow, in contrast against her plush gown, appear old and wrinkled. The cherub's chubby left arm holding up his television head is surprisingly taut and muscled, unlike the rest of his soft marble-smooth body.
This is strain - physical rigidity of the tired cellist and cherub; the clash of monotone culture against gaudy capitalism, as embodied by local staple commodities placed like notes on a rainbow staff; damage in osmosis, from one generation to another.
This is a different strain of music oozing in and out of a festering wound that is the boob tube.
The cadence of social decay-staccato desires brought on by norms and systems that fuse into a melody that will never blend-plays on endlessly, mindlessly, grating the eyes and soul, breaking down the old, crumbling the youth, collapsing colossal.
Christie's is grateful to Adjani Arumpac for this catalogue entry