Running News

Marcos Byrd Udstilling og Specialauktion på:
16. oktober 2008, Odense Showroom

Odense, Kratholmvej

Kratholmvej 51, 5260 Odense S, Danmark
Tlf (+45) 63 96 22 40 Fax (+45) 63 96 22 41
CVR 26397944
Mandag - fredag kl. 11.00-18.00 Lørdag kl. 10.00-14.00

Marcos Byrd, f.1954 USA

Danskboende Marcos Byrd fik sit gennembrud i East Village scenen i New York City. Marcos Byrd er uddannet som billedkunstner på kunstakademiet i Mexico og har desuden studeret i New York. Han har siden 1981 udstillet i Mexico, New York og Danmark. Marcos Byrd har bla. udstillet på Charlottenborg og har igennem årenes løb udstillet på adskillige danske gallerier og kunstforeninger.

I Danmark er han bedst kendt for sine vægmalerier af hvaler på Zoologisk Museum i København og vægmaleriet om H.C. Andersen i Køge. Han har modtaget Humanitær pris for Visuel Kunst fra Abraham Baldwin College i Georgia og Fond Samuel Rubin i New York.

Værkernes udsagn
Byrd betegner selv sit udtryk som værende "psykologisk og emotionelt ladet figurativ". Værkernes udsagn svinger fra det surreelle til det konkrete. Drøm og fantasi er idegrundlag for mange af værkerne.

Mange af værkerne har et stærkt erotisk islæt, der kan forekomme meget pågående. En grotesk form for humor er til stede i mange af værkerne og farvevalget afspejler en spændende form for gennemsigtighed, der er med til at forstærke det humoristiske og groteske islæt

Pressen skrev

"Det er karnevalsbilleder og mænd og kvinder, der elsker, slemt og seværdigt."
- Virtus Schade, Berlingske Tidende." Marcos Byrd hører nemlig ikke til den slags kunstnere, der nøjes med at antyde eller som gemmer sine billeder i abstraktioner. Det er naturalisme, så det basker med saft, kraft og kulør."
- Bodil Krough, Jyllands-Posten




There were no crosses in Paradise
Except for the many paths that met here and there
There were no Hindus, Jews, Muslims, Christians or Snake Charmers
There was just men and women and children of various colour
And oh the colors in paradise
Such an orgy of fauna and feathers and rippling patterned fur
There were no towers
And no man-made terror
There were no alters
And no sacrifices
There was no God
And there was no Darwin
There was music and dance and sex and lots of fruit and spicy food and wine
There was no dole money
And there were no bosses or governments to print the money
There was no tobacco or factory smoke
The air was fresh and the fish were always biting, their silvery backs flashing in the clear life-giving water
Paradise was real
It was down to earth
Not abstract
Not evil
But the seed of evil did exist
In the minds of the children, women and men, it began to sprout
It grew like a weed
Roared like a locus hoard
Zoomed like a fighter jet
Marched like an army
Cultivated the dogma of religion and laid down the laws of government
It grew and grew like a parasitic vine, like a sun-choking swamp of algae
The fertilized fields ate the forests and jungles to feed the cities
Where all the children and women and men now were amassed
Together yet alienated
Now the abstract was called freedom
And Paradise was just a fancy, a notion no one could remember

Marcos Byrd

There Was A Ship

There was a ship called Marriage
It hit a rock and sunk
There was a fine ship called Love
Its mast broke when the fair weather turned
There was a ship called Respect
It sailed through the rock pile
And out into the storm
And from where Im perched
I can see its silhouette
Way out on the horizon
Sailing, sailing, sailing yet


You loose......a wallet
Next month, it's a pack of train clip cards
Three bicycles stolen, one was fancy
And it hurts
You loose so many things
The trust of a lover
The contact with an old friend
Your self confidence
A child
Your innocence
So it goes,
You loose.......
And each time, its a shock
Then the order of loss gets all jumbled up
What wasn't so important once now is priceless, irreplaceable
What the worms have eaten to the bone is suddenly more cherished than the flesh
Loosing becomes a habit you can never come to terms with
Finally, all that's left to loose is your last breath
That shallow gasp that's the consummation of everything you've ever lost


Hey little hawk, how's the air up there, my lovely
Are you happy, are you free?
Flying, flying, Flying
Oh so very far away from me

Hey, hey, hey! Sokowii
Teasing the breeze and felling so free

But you're not nice, you're a killer, cold as ice
Wall-eyed, black-eyed pupils with a fringe of turquoise
You always did like the nasty boys

Hey little hawk, flying so high
Black silhouette in the hot blue sky
I ask myself and wonder why
My love for you just will not die

Slow Boat To China

Slow boat to China, and I am kinda
burnt out on the noise of machinery
I'm so fucking tired of the scenery

Slow boat to China, and you're gona find out
just how boring Life can be
way out there in the middle of the Bering Sea

Hey, the coast is hazy, the crew is lazy
I'm so sick and tired of cold wet socks
and pounding on my own itty-bitty cock

Slow boat to China, a long haul from The Mi Chinita Dinner
and that curvy little puertorican girl
Oh, nothing could have ever been finer

So, hey buddy, listen to me, find a lady even if she's ugly
Stay at home, raise a family
Forget all about that romantic life at sea

Now Marco Polo, was oh so clever
Cause he knew better than anyone
A slow boat to China just ain't no fun

Slow boat to China, and it ain't the same since Mao died
They don't write poetry no more
ever since they started catering to the US side

Slow boat to China, yea it's still a crime to speak your mind
Hey, and if they ever heard me sing this song
Why they'd chop my head off and send it to Hong Kong

Slow boat to China, and I am kinda
burnt out on the noise of machinery
I'm so fucking tired of the scenery

Sloooooooooow boat to Chiiiiiiiiiiiiiina
Slow Boat!

copyright 2007 Marcos Byrd