Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
I.V. Nuss
The Love in the Convex, in Absolute Roundness and the Sluttification of All Men West of the Bosporus
Dan-el Padilla Peralta
Junk Philology. An Anti-Commentary
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Dennis Cooper, Donatien Grau, Richard Hell
"I’d rather live in a book"
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Zoran Terzić
The Grand Generalization
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Zoran Terzić
The Tautomaniac
Andreas L. Hofbauer
Yoke
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Hans Block, Moritz Riesewieck
What we don’t see
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
A.K. Kaiza
An Annotated History of Wakanda
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Maël Renouard
The Twilight of Classification?
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Marcus Quent
Elapsing Time and Belief in the World
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venice, Lagos, and the Spaces in between
Mário Gomes
The Poetics of Architecture
Tom Kummer
Questionnaire Tom Kummer
Jean-Luc Nancy
Je me souviens (Jean-Luc Nancy)
Pierre Guyotat
Autoportrait
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 5
It may be due to the simple design of this dust jacket, which gives no indication of genre, and to...
The Nonexistent Giotto
A picture may announce the future not in the sense that it refers to any future events...
Although contemporaries attested Romantic qualities to François Gérard’s Belisar, it didn’t appeal to the arch-Romantic Delacroix: “The fortune of a...
Raucous time capsules, rare jewels, and indispensable bulky goods from all epochs, languages, and genres.
Following Georges Perec’s Memory 480: "I remember… (to be continued…)"…
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
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.
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.