I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Lars von Trier in Conversation with Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Ines Kleesattel
Art, Girls, and Aesthetic Freedom Down Below
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the Tame
Joseph Morder
Une Trinite de la Memoire
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger
Homeland Fictions
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Dietmar Dath
Your Sprache Never Was
Stephen Barber
A War of Fragments: World Versus America
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Bruce Bégout
The Man from Venice
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Haus am Gern
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée (Blog1)
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Pierre Guyotat
Autoportrait
Facebook’s algorithm has served up memories of my Turkish travels often enough, but now it’s taking countermeasures and suddenly presenting...
I noticed this pattern for fingernail decoration four years ago in the window of a “nail studio” in Salisbury, south-west...
Facebook recently wanted to make merry with me. To this aim it posted an entry on my notice board, which...
The Facebook algorithm has noticed that I have something to do with art and museums, and presents me with a...
Red oder Blue? Welche Götter? What’s wrong with reality? Nord oder Süd? Wie sterben? What is the problem with solutions?
We are looking for relics of visions of the future in past image spaces, for the traces and signatures of something once imaginable and timelessly possible.
Following Georges Perec’s Memory 480: "I remember… (to be continued…)"…
…rather alarms, to truth to arm her than enemies, and they have only this advantage to scape from being called ill things, that they are nothings…
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.