Surrealist Junkies
Imagine staring at your inner distortion, reflected in a world that screams.
Surrealism is the mirror that shows how tired, twisted, almost happy we are in our disorder. Here are your images: a haunting gallery of postmodern freak show, where everything is so absurd you almost want to embrace the ridiculous.
These characters are more than just figures: they're both guilty and victimized, spectators and actors in a circus that devours itself. A woman with weary eyes, surrounded by painted faces and marionette-like bodies. Juxtapositions that speak to how trapped we are in societal roles, whether we want them or not. If there’s any meaning, it’s that there isn’t a true one; the art lies in showing we are fragments with no final puzzle.
All images are copyright 2024 by Andrea Bigiarini - all rights reserved
The second set of stiff faces: bureaucrats of desolation, guardians of existential graveyards wearing sashes of authority that hold no weight, no roots, no purpose. Palahniuk would’ve called it a grotesque procession, the funeral of human expectations, where everyone marches with the obsessive grin of those who know they’ve already lost.
And the final triptych of women with perfect hair and vacant gazes: fallen queens of postcard aesthetics. Their makeup is both mask and war paint, beauty and exhaustion. Each face is a reminder that perfection doesn’t exist. It’s a collection of high-fashion ghosts, stuck halfway between tragedy and a fetish for an elegance that has long abandoned us.
These are your "Surrealist Junkies," souls immortalized in their little, ugly spectacle. Palahniuk would’ve said you’re not just looking at images: you’re looking at yourself, and spoiler, there’s no happy ending. There’s only the raw truth that, maybe, we kind of enjoy sinking into the chaos.
All images are copyright 2024 by Andrea Bigiarini - all rights reserved