I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Yoke
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
What we don’t see
Ines Kleesattel
Art, Girls, and Aesthetic Freedom Down Below
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Jochen Thermann
The Assistant Chef
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Angelika Meier
Who I Really Am
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Stephen Barber
A War of Fragments: World Versus America
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Jurij Pavlovich Annenkov
A Diary of my Encounters
Stephen Barber
Futurama Nights, October 1978
Mário Gomes
The Poetics of Architecture
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venice, Lagos, and the Spaces in between
Pierre Guyotat
Autoportrait
Donatien Grau, Pierre Guyotat
Conversation
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
In Jugoslawien wurde viel publiziert und wenig weggeworfen. So hatte man die Möglichkeit, in staatlichen Galerien und Museen Ausstellungskataloge und Kunstzeitschriften für Pfennige zu schießen. Einen besonderen Platz in meinem...
Capt. Norman Macmillan:
How to Pilot an Aeroplane,
George Allen & Unwin LTD: London 1942,
first edition, 110 pages
This book told me just what I had to know before...
Richard Prince: American English
Sadie Coles HQ/Verlag der Buchhandlung Walther König: London/Köln, 2003
Limited Edition, ohne Paginierung
Das Foto mit der Frau auf dem Fahrrad wiederholt sich auf der...
Not on any Knowlede’s service this register in progress seeks accumulating entries of imagenables: names, objects, imaginations… singularities, that neither have to be thought nor upon which must be speculated.
Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
Red oder Blue? Welche Götter? What’s wrong with reality? Nord oder Süd? Wie sterben? What is the problem with solutions?
I Hate the Avant-Garde. When an artist as self-ironic and self-reflective as Yuri Albert makes such a statement about art, then skepticism is called for. Like his overall series Elitist-Democratic Art, the title deliberately plays with simple affirmations and negations, and at the same time exhibits the inherent receptive dilemma of the series: a (large) part of the artistically trained viewers see these shorthand works as abstract forms, without understanding the text, and only the few who can read (Russian) shorthand perceive a text, which for them doesn’t necessarily have to be art. I Hate the Avant-Garde was created in 2017, after a sketch made in 1987 in reaction to a changed situation in the reception of nonconformist art. With the beginning of perestroika, unofficial art that had hitherto been excluded from the state-run art scene—that is, from the official infrastructure of museums and exhibition spaces, and from art scholarship...
My language
English
Selected content
English
»Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, MAESTRO DI COLOR CHE SANNO. Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see.
Rhythm begins, you see. I hear. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs
marching. No, agallop: DELINE THE MARE.
Open your eyes now. I will. One moment. Has all vanished since?
If I open and am for ever in the black adiaphane. BASTA! I will see
if I can see.
See now. There all the time without you: and ever shall be, world
without end.«
James Joyce
Dire works on the bogus regime—not just of art—but endowed with wit, beauty and irresistible fetish character.