In the tranquillity of the winter garden, the homespun philosopher sits and ponders. What is left for the artist to do in the digital age, when everyone is a producer of images? What kind of emotional discharge would fit this particular individual’s state of mind?
The scenario arises from the image Uffe Isolotto has of himself as a creative artist. At Overgaden, the image has become an installation with giant tulips, furniture made of organic copper tubes, and the torn-off limbs of the self-obsessed human.