thorsten brinkmann‘s dada-ish-ness is perfectly poised on the edge of the absurd. his series - portraits of a serial collector, invites a chuckle, but have at it’s roots something infinitely more interesting. the balance between his faceless portraits with their physique and attire sculptured from domestic and other found objects, and their classical poses raise an issue that have bothered me about art since i ever started visiting museums… the identity of the models or subjects. it probably sounds almost as absurd as brinkmann’s depictions but to me it is very real. i can scarcely look at those great renaissance portraits without wondering who those people were… it is this curiosity and iconic depictions of unknown identities that i find so provocative in brinkmann’s work. perhaps my appreciation is fueled through the fashion industry’s celebritism of models, where hardly anything wearing a dress has a name and a following. the compositions of random objects to awaken the feeling of familiarity is more than trickery, it may be visually challenging to some and even artfully elusive to others, but the fact remains that his exhaustive body of work has introduced valuable commentary on how we view classical portraiture.