November 26, 2013 § 1 Comment
Emily Dickinson’s envelope manuscripts.
On view now (with Robert Walser’s microscripts) at The Drawing Center: Dickinson/Walser Pencil Sketches Nov 15 2013 – Jan 12 2014.
(images thanks to The Drawing Center)
In book form: The Gorgeous Nothings
November 21, 2013 § Leave a comment
From guest artist Seyoung Yoon,
Left – Evening feelings
Right – Again, another evening
Seyoung Yoon 2013
This post will discuss parts of the Phillipe Parreno exhibition at the Palais de Tokyo.
The blogosphere can be a child of haste. I have always disliked it when people ran directly to their blogs immediately following an exhibition, especially when the exhibition lasts as long as Phillipe Parreno’s ‘Anywhere, anywhere out of the world’ at the Palais de Tokyo (October 23rd 2013 to January 12th 2014). Sometimes reading a review of an exhibition I have not seen seems like watching a movie made of trailers, some can be very satisfying and stimulating resulting in a subsequent desire to attend the exhibition, while others incite opposing repercussions. That is to say, this is neither review nor trailer, but an account of one particular moment I experienced during the aforementioned exhibition.
Parreno has a piece called Anywhere Out of the World 2000
A 3D animation movie transferred onto DVD, 4 minutes
This piece was shown inside the auditorium on the bottom floor where there is a slight slope throughout the entire room.
Following the 3D animation film, a petite young girl walked through the dark toward the center of the room. The lights turned on. Suddenly, Ann Lee was facing me, prior to this, she had only been apparent to me in her collaborations with other artists (particularly the clip of her in a Tino Sehgal’s performance someone had secretly filmed), so it was a bit disarming to see her in analog as a live and breathing entity.
She began stirring up small talk, starting by asking casual questions such as, “How are you all doing today?” She explained how she arrived there and seemed quite content in meeting those of us in the room. And I remember another question that she had asked, “Would you rather be busy or not busy enough?” Nobody answered her questions directly, including myself. She continued. I was sitting down, we were almost at eye level. When ‘the piece’ was about to finish she approached me at very close proximity and said that she had something to ask.
“Quelle est la relation entre le signe et la melancolie?” (What is the relation between sign and melancholy?)
I was at a loss of words, all thoughts dissipated in search of thought. I was probing my brain intensely for a suitable answer but the rapid pace of my heartbeat was far too distracting. Only now I realize, this process actually embodied the relation between sign and melancholy. I was looking for the right sign, in this instance, words that embraced, implied and gathered my thoughts. Like the sound silence makes when it cracks, the space between my upper and lower lips widened, “slack-jaw,” “mouth-breather.”
Ann Lee’s last words to me were, “Vous ne savez pas? Ce n’est pas grave.” (You don’t know? It’s ok.) And her speech/performance/talk was over.
Alongside my “mouth-breathing” account here are some other things I would like to share with you:
If you don’t know what these links are trying to say,
ce n’est pas grave.
October 21, 2013 § Leave a comment
“The world we inhabit is abundant beyond our wildest imagination. There are trees, dreams, sunrises; there are thunderstorms, shadows, rivers; there are wars, flea bites, love affairs; there are the lives of people, Gods, entire galaxies. The simplest human action varies from one person and occasion to the next—how else would we recognize our friends only from their gate, posture, voice, and divine their changing moods? Narrowly defined subjects such as thirteenth-century Parisian theology, crowd control, late medieval Umbrian art are full of pitfalls and surprises, thus proving that there is no limit to any phenomenon, however restricted. ‘For him, ‘ writes François Jacob of his teacher Hovelaque, ‘a bone as simple in appearance as the clavicle became a fantastic landscape whose mountains and valleys could be traversed ad infinitum.’ Only a tiny fragment of this abundance affects our minds. This is a blessing, not a drawback. A superconscious organism would not be superwise, it would be paralyzed. ” – Paul Feyerabend, The Conquest of Abundance
October 15, 2013 § Leave a comment
It’s Ada Lovelace day.
Here’s her table-format code for Babbage’s Difference engine:
“Again, [the Analytical Engine] might act upon other things besides number, were objects found whose mutual fundamental relations could be expressed by those of the abstract science of operations, and which should be also susceptible of adaptations to the action of the operating notation and mechanism of the engine . . . Supposing, for instance, that the fundamental relations of pitched sounds in the science of harmony and of musical composition were susceptible of such expression and adaptations, the engine might compose elaborate and scientific pieces of music of any degree of complexity or extent.” — Ada Lovelace
Read her original essay on the difference engine here.
October 12, 2013 § Leave a comment
Guest artist Audra Wolowiec offers this image & text.
between language and form (a concrete poem, in two parts)
late 14c., “actual, solid,” from Latin concretus “condensed, hardened, thick, hard, stiff, curdled, congealed, clotted,” figuratively “thick,” literally “grown together.” past participle of concrescere “to grow together,” from com- “together” (see com-) + crescere “to grow” (see crescent). A logicians’ term until meaning began to expand 1600s. Noun sense of “building material made from cement, etc.” is first recorded 1834.
con·crete [kon-kreet, kong-, kon-kreet, kong- for 1–15, 10, 13, 14; kon-kreet, kong- for 11, 12]
1. constituting an actual thing or instance; real: a concrete proof of his sincerity.
2. pertaining to or concerned with realities or actual instances rather than abstractions; particular (opposed to general ) concrete ideas.
3. representing or applied to an actual substance or thing, as opposed to an abstract quality: The words “cat,” “water,” and “teacher” are concrete, whereas the words “truth,” “excellence,” and “adulthood” are abstract.
4. made of concrete: a concrete pavement.
5. formed by coalescence of separate particles into a mass; united in a coagulated, condensed, or solid mass or state.
October 8, 2013 § Leave a comment
Color studies of book covers in the painter Richard Baker’s studio.
Via Hyperallergic‘s very nice article by John Yau, “Richard Baker: Physiognomist of Our Past and Future.”