Sabhan Adam "Dans la nuit du temps"

From 25 April to 30 June 2007

The creatures of Sabhan Adam grind their teeth, neck and heart. Their nerves were sawn from them. Irredeemable, they are, because they emerge from the opaque holes of culture. Torn off from nothingness, they will make fun of the beautiful until the end of time, the blinded marks from deep mental state, secret and denied, are born. Signs of humanity are born from an immense mass of a stained black abyss, and these signs have great difficulty to exist, themselves damaging existence. They dilate and are diluted, do not complain, and that gives vital outgrowths, gimicks of beings with terrifying and relentless presence. Metamorphic demonstrations of a cruel and grinding otherness. Fascinating proximity of the horror, in visual range, and of its infinite calmness.

The inside of the body is black. The eye is black. And even the horizon… Outside the black, Narcisse does not have any more to see, Adam has twisted his skin, and smashed all the mirrors. One sees nothing any more but our brothers hidden in the beyond. Obscure sarcastic and hard creatures, on edge. They seem to be born out of a female monster’s massive cocoon, giving birth on the side of life; when animality, freed at last, fertalizes humanity, and they ruin the bases of our conventions, and violently ransacks our appearances.

Sabhan Adam gets quickly and forcibly to the point, from the dark caves of original chaos, before the feeble lights of the day manufacture too fast a badly made human, polite, organized, and too well ordered. Adam does not cease to create disorder where it is necessary, which is everywhere there is pretence. Its mediums are hard like the desert wind. Its rare colors speak the naked language of the earth. Its drawing is like a brutal shiver, a instinctive, convulsive, and labyrinthian journey.
He is absolutely alone, however creates faces which look with obstinacy the strange faces of the spectator. If his art is poignant and fascinating, if it seizes us by the throat, if it is unaware of the weakness and tiredness of the day, it is that Adam, without peace nor end, is born from the night.

Christian Noorbergen