Hyvä Käytös
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In Story: We Produce the production company we love the creative people and Hyvä Käytös is one of these. Here you can reed her creative content and also see the image. iu Susiraja’s self-portraits are like a slap in the face in many ways. The soberness of art, the branded human image, the professional status of a woman as a model and the entire wonderful world of success is right in your face. How does Susiraja have time to do all of this? Easily. She goes to bed to lie down. Even the simple task of cleaning, which the artist calls meditative, provides a background for her work. The slap in the face portrayed by the images happens in a non-violent manner. Susiraja simply turns her other cheek to be slapped, towards the viewer. Subjection to exposure is rare in the images. Posing, creating a fashion-conscious and outgoing image is the modern person’s catechism. Susiraja turns this ideology of success upside down and laughs as she does it. Finnish photography also gets knocked about, inasmuch as it has bought into the discourse for identity, where a pale person wastes away in the pure style of the esthetic ideal promoted in trendy magazines. Susiraja’s genre is an all-encompassing wrong-doing, malignant lack of discipline. Now there is cause for the state and for the entire, broad front of image consultants in the art of photography to promptly shape up; does Susiraja’s art provide an accurate picture of the areas of competence of innovative Finland? It may just be that the Guggenheim will fail to show up if knowledge of Susiraja and the (wrong) place for the rolling pin reaches foreign countries. Susiraja’s self-portraits do not merely put her in front of the mirror, but they jeer at today’s values that are stuck on shallowness. Susiraja’s pictures mock the economy of pretentiousness: self-promotion and the productization human beings, piggy-backing on outside of things and feigned competence. The gang thinks that life is great as long as aspects such as status and appearance are starched as narrow and shiny as other networkers; even if only for a picture. Because modern reality is just an image. In today’s world, only two or three are important: to become an image, to pose and to network. Susiraja turns these theses upside-down. She doesn’t believe in networking, because she doesn’t want to get stuck in the net like snagged prey, a fish that has been styled into lifelessness. The cover of the magazine, Nyt, featured the artist’s self-portrait in her stockings, falling down over her breasts, with the text: “How dare she.” On the same weekend, at a post-dissertation party, a professor of esthetics admitted that Friday’s morning coffee didn’t go down the right way, or at least the Susiraja cover gave the professor some “esthetic shudders.” When Susiraja was describing her work at an artists’ meeting at the photographic art museum, one man said that the images represented an “entirely new type of esthetics”, which he had to discover. Susiraja’s images make people laugh and even create incessant snickering and an amusing atmosphere in the exhibit area. This is going a bit too far. Doesn’t she have any female arch virtues, from modesty to meek daintiness, at all? What are we laughing at? Firstly, at Susiraja’s humor that plays by its own rules, the extremely radical Susiraja surrealism, which combines a somber, open face with an unprotected body living and using the tools of everyday life in the North, from broom to sweet bread. On the surface, the stagnant images portray anarchist doings, open and restrained anger, absolute indifference. The woman doesn’t fit in the picture, not merely because of her size, but because of her attitude; “Watch out, here I come!”, “I’ll show you!”, and “screw whatever you like!” insult the restrained images. But surely we also laugh at ourselves as laughers. We laugh because we have internalized the posing, the pretense and the vital importance of looking better. When we only see successful accomplishers all around us, even a slight attraction to the other direction – not subjecting to the need to be successful and appealing – is a crime in a thoroughly styled market and media society. The home environment in the background of the self-portraits also brings subtle humor to the images. It is clean, orderly and yet an indisputable piece of gray angst, anemic cinema. Although we might be joyfully on a “Beach Holiday” in the picture, it is far from fun, as the colorfulness of the beach toys highlight the static environment and the sterile grayness, the sofa’s black figure staying completely put on the beach. The image hints of a sensual happiness, which is always somewhere else. In addition to humor, the self-portraits, still-lifes and flower pictures have unquestionable black tones. The pictures may be gently surreal, macabrely minimalistic and tragically harsh. The dialogue is broken and the plants in pieces. Susiraja’s pictures touch people and stop them, but not just with their ability to shock. You could say that in Susiraja’s pictures, we look for a person who is becoming extinct for lack of living space, reality swept away under indifferent images. Ecce homo, look at the person! Maybe Susiraja’s pictures can entice people to look at their own reality, to find the strength to be their own unique selves, to ignore the vanity of the market. In Susiraja’s esthetics, an image does not remain an image; rather, it requires an entire life. Although Susiraja has focused on photography, her art genre is more comprehensive: to shape a work of art from life. Usually, the salesmen of this genre rely on the American smile, non-sense polished with first-class product phraseology, but Susiraja doesn’t work that way. She scavenges ultimate experiences and the most dismal version of reality, although sometimes the imaginative possibilities for light-hearted gliding on the surface. However, without the history of long-term exclusion and bullying, the pictures would be something entirely different. The history of exclusion and feigned betterment repeats itself from one society and community to another. There is supposed to be a mold, into which everyone should fit and get stuck. There is still space for one more, ridiculed and excluded, who helps those feigning betterment to recognize their excellence. Susiraja becomes a sacrifice on the cross, saying: “Spit more”; except Susiraja doesn’t climb all the way to the cross, because there is bench closer, and a handy hostess can make a cross from the handle of the broom faster. Susiraja shows how the crappiest experiences can mold an artistic counter-weapon: cripplingly mundane and fatally ridiculous all at once.  
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