Noplace, Oslo proudly presents:


Janne Kruse

11.01.19 – 27.01.19

Opening: Friday 11.01.19, 20:00 – 23:00
Opening hours 14–17, Saturdays and Sundays

All dreams distorted memories, all so real, the diffused image pleases, it feeds on the flashback, eases the senses, flows with the flashes, mutates the mind, allowing all anger to recede, reveal reason as assumed axioms, on a beach of bogus, because we sweep the senses of sweet sworn statements, when feelings fades, forces to tease us, the withered image witness the innocent message, leaves us eerie, in earnest awe, the movement dithers, joggles, flickers, jiggles, undulates us honestly, motion means me, we wallow in ineptness as the firm and tenacious torn, allows the mind to see the rarity of a replica, an angel in the ashes, seemingly sown, sweet are these reasons, to blur an equilibrium never quite neither or, barely born, we witness these scattered emblems of sorrow, that time passes, leaving us withered, wounded and waned, the weak image shall wake again, in amnesia; the retro, the old world, nostalgia the schema, to seemingly show us, only the what’s now is nailed as won, vagrant verisimilitude, the name of the game, the nuts and bolt, essence of essence, senses swallow sentences, we relinquish maxims to embrace the haze, sorrow in silence, in sensible sorrow sadness sores, I close my conviction, till another tomorrow, from now to eternity, in the offing, just around the corner, from here on in, approaching credenda, when uncertainty is what should set the agenda, oh, how we measure and mumble, and struggle and stumble, all facsimiles a false fumble, a forced rhyme rising upon us, witness the weak, the dazzle duplicated, rises the rulers, ravenously riven, the naked now, the paramount keen, an imprint, the ersatz, the xerox of soliloquy, a copy, of a copy, of a copy, sui generis wiped out, torn down, tarnished, damaged, and wasted, a triangle temple, the mirage of morgana, seen, then unseen, pax inertia, a new déjà vu, blanked out, then dreamed, drumming the humdrum, somehow sensed, in a phantasm, within a daydream, so surreal.


photos by Damian Heinisch