This is made more explicit in pages from his Powr Mastrs comics, which tell of collectors of enigmatic objects, a warlock's lab, a guy peeing to mark territory. Other comics show a blue, pig-nosed character in a toga entering a dangerous junk-filled "cellar of Plexknowe Crypt" that resembles an odd antique shop.
To this Forgues adds his own vocabulary of splotchy abstract marks that feel like some crude melted pixel cunei-form. On the floor he displays challengingly minimal sculptures of stacked boards or planks nailed perpendicular to each other like bookends. They dare you to dismiss them.
Forgues's style and strange narratives feel like a glam sci-fi riff on Henry Darger — by way of Mat Brinkman. There seems to be an otherworldly logic here, but I struggle to make sense of it — a sensation that is fascinating, dislocating, pleasurable, and unsettling.
Read Greg Cook's blog at gregcookland.com/journal.
Topics:
Museum And Gallery
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