A treatise on the Ordinary Man – Part III.
Although Rubins doesn’t participate in various art projects, by rather staying in the background, his contribution to society is of capital importance. Conceptual digital scenography reflects timelessness in this saturated times. Rubins basically remains a ” worshiper of roots and things above the clouds”, rather than an active member of society and its rites. Long ago, he has been aware of the temporariness of his time and he re-educated himself into so-called Eco-terrorist, who implements relentless global ecological issues, locally.
Although there are enough reasons for rebellion, it is of paramount intention, not to harm anyone. Conceptual digital scenography is made in complete solitude, with the help of his unique scale of values. First, there is adoration of Soil and Air, Water and Fire, next, the creations of acquisitive mind and lastly the constructed ideologies. Frequently angry, eager to possess the voice of thunder, when watching tremendous stupidity and short-sighted activities of ignorant masses, to which, sadly, he also belongs. Rather taking refuge in the solitude of mountains, deep forests, or long distance Bicycle Touring, where the Steppenwolf in him, heals numerous scratches and sharpens his teeth. He doesn’t maintain a static image of his identity, often appears as a social compromise maker, but often escapes to his reserve – the world where he is soundly sovereign. Here he wanders around, stalks lonely thoughts and, forges daring plans. Often avoids living each day, the way it offers itself in his daily routine. Although not asocial, the world leaves him indifferent and that is frightening him. Extreme individualist, persistently creating new art, that nevertheless speaks and cries out to the vanishing world.
* I The Mountain Ghost trots to and fro, The world beneath my feet reveals unrest, The raven from the birch tree flies, But nowhere a graceful roe, nowhere a lustful mare. The roe – she is so dear, so sweet; If such a thing I might surprise. In my embrace, we would meet; What else is there beneath the skies? The lovely creature I would so treasure, And feast myself deep on her tender thigh, I would drink of her young delicious flesh in full measure, Then howl till the night went by.
Is everything to be denied, that could make my life a little bright? The sight is failing from my eyes and the hair is getting grey. And now I trot and dream of graceful roe. I trot and dream of lustful mare – I hear the wind in dark night roaring.
And dear brothers, when I look back upon desolate landscape of my ephemerally; My heart feels bitterness, surrendering my Soul to God and Devil, on some distant day, or maybe soon.
* Arranged after: H. Hesse: Steppenwolf
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