JB
JB is a series of drawings rooted in a relationship to drawing that is both intimate and masturbatory, where copying, projection, and the fetishization of images are replayed.
The title refers to a double anchoring: Justin Bieber and Jimmy Beauquesne. This overlap produces a zone of confusion where identity merges with the object of desire, and where the pop star becomes an unstable mirror. Bieber condenses norms of masculinity and a conservative imaginary that are extracted, displaced, and reconfigured through drawing. Desire here is neither full identification with these codes nor outright rejection, but what José Esteban Muñoz defines as disidentification: a reworking of dominant representations in order to redirect their narratives and affects.
Through this tension, JB reflects on how subjectivities are shaped within consumer culture and the attention economy, examining the ways images organize power relations and structure possibilities of identification.
the young teenager pulls a new garbage bag up to the surface of the dumpster. He rips open the viscous thing, its smell wrapping around his tongue like an acid bite. He exhales slowly in a sob that almost makes him throw up. His shining hands move through the shapeless guts offered to him. At last, his fingers strike against the surface of what he was looking for.
Back when he proudly wore his limited-edition red Converse and went grocery shopping with his mother, he had the habit of grabbing a copy of the Carrefour magazine at the exit of the mall. The catalog promoted the latest cultural releases of the big retailer, and it pushed the boy into a narcotic trance, sitting in the back of the car. As he learned to enjoy reading and staring at the different ads of each issue, the routine became a reflex, a need. The glossy, bright colors gave him a kind of intense, obsessive pleasure. For several years, he expanded his collection with obsessive care.
Then came a special issue dedicated to music releases, the one that blew up his world. Drunk on the plastic smell of the freshly opened magazine, a full-page photo of Justin Bieber stopped him in his reading. His fingers froze, then melted like hot wax, moving religiously across the half-open lips, the exposed neck, the sharp jaw and chest, the smooth surface of his skin… The slam of a door made him jump and turn the page. Later, he tore it out, folded it carefully in two, and hid it in a worn-out shoebox.
He hesitates, clutching the rectangular black box to his chest, a mix of shame and excitement overtaking him. Silent, he savors for a moment the possibility of finding there what he desires.
