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Artificial and Other Intelligences . . . . . . Xenolinguistics . . . . . Thomas Huber . Generation of the Lynn Hershman Antibody . . . . . Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger . Fiktionen von Heimat . . . . . . . . . . Helmut J. Schneider . Wie fern darf der Nächste sein? . . . . . Charlemagne Rides through Paris . . . . . Michele Pedrazzi . The Next Bit. Corpo a corpo con l’ignoto . . . . . Maria Filomena Molder . The Alms of Time . . . . . Behind the Great Firewall . . . . . I remember . . . . . A.K. Kaiza . An Annotated History of Wakanda . . . . . Boutiques on the Bosporus . . . . . Zoran Terzić . Political Transplants . . . . . Slavs and Tatars . Reverse Joy . . . . . Jean-Luc Nancy . Zah Zuh . . . . . Honoré Daumier: Don Quixote lisant . . . . . Jochen Thermann . Der Hilfskoch . . . . . Angelika Meier . Wer ich wirklich bin . . . . . Je me souviens . . . . . Corona Park, Hub of theWorld . . . . . Barbara Basting . Der Algorithmus und ich 8 . . . . . Jean-Luc Nancy . Zah Zuh . . . . . Damian Christinger, Monica Ursina Jäger . Homeland Fictions . . . . . A.K. Kaiza . Eine kommentierte Geschichte Wakandas . . . . . Jochen Thermann . The Assistant Chef . . . . . Slavs and Tatars . Reverse Joy . . . . . Michele Pedrazzi . The Next Bit. Hautnah am Körper des Unbekannten . . . . . Jean-Luc Nancy . Zah Zuh . . . . . Jean-Luc Nancy . Zah Zuh . . . . . Maria Filomena Molder . Die Almosen der Zeit . . . . . Angelika Meier . Who I Really Am . . . . . Zoran Terzić . Politische Transplantate . . . . . Zoran Terzić . Transplants politiques . . . . . Helmut J. Schneider . How Distant Can My Neighbor be? . . . . . Michele Pedrazzi . The Next Bit: un corps à corps avec l’inconnu . . . . . Jochen Thermann . L’aide-cuisinier

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DIAPHANES MAGAZINE No. 4

 

Bang Bang Baroque

Emma Waltraud Howes, 08.06.2023

On the first gaze the works of Emma Waltraud Howes seem incongruously out of time. Visiting her studio, one enters another world: meets mushrooms and corals, glass artichoke-hand grenades, the...

I say

Nicole Bachmann, 11.12.2017

Nicole Bachmann’s latest work, I say, has the performer practice a text, sense a word in the mouth, calling it forth, and another, repeating, hearing, interrupting, and another, beginning again,...

This is not your blood.

Aya Momose, 11.12.2017

The project space CORNER COLLEGE in Zurich’s 4th district has for some time now been giving invigorating impulses to both art and ­theory, and can be recommended to every visitor...

A Questionnaire: Tom Kummer

Tom Kummer, 04.07.2017

I got to know Tom Kummer in 2006 while editing his book Blow Up in nighttime telephone calls to Los Angeles. We met for the first time at the book...

Other columns
Magazine Special

Barbara Basting

Corona Park, Hub of theWorld

I’ve always been fascinated by globes, which is why I photographed this very special example in 2011, and the FB algorithm recently presented it to me again. It’s said to be the largest model of the world in the world. I discovered it in Corona Park in the New York district of Queens, the site of the 1939 and 1964 World’s Fairs. I went to the Queens Museum, whose creeper-covered wall is on the photograph’s right, mainly to see its model of New York. This impressive piece was commissioned by Robert Moses, director of the World’s Fair, in 1964. New York was supposed to look like an urbanist miracle, the most grandiose of 20th-century cities, the hub of the world.
Facebook fished the picture from the depths of its archives while I was thinking about the estate of an artist whose studio I had cleared out. It included a battered...

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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

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