Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
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
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Simon Critchley
Learning to Eat Time with One’s Ears
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Donatien Grau
A Life in Philology
Mengia Tschalaer
Queer Spaces
Claire Fontaine
Towards a Theory of Magic Materialism
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Kai van Eikels
Do in What's Doing, Democracy in!
A. L. Kennedy
What is an Author?
Sandra Frimmel
I Hate the Avant-garde
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem
Tomb for Guy Debord
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
Axel Dielmann
The Dressmaker
Fritz Senn
Das Leben besteht aus gestrandeten Konjunktiven
Michael Heitz, Hendrik Rohlf
Uma’s Face—Thurman’s Voice
Michael Heitz
Wong Ping’s "Who’s the Daddy"
Ines Kleesattel
Art, Girls, and Aesthetic Freedom Down Below
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 7
Jean-Luc Nancy
Zah Zuh
Zoran Terzić
Political Transplants
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 4
Marcus Quent
Elapsing Time and Belief in the World
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 3
Emma Waltraud Howes
Questionnaire Emma Waltraud Howes
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Ann Cotten
Dialogs
Alexander García Düttmann
Can There Be a Society Without Ceremony or the Critical Question of Theatre
Diane Williams
Bang Bang on the Stair
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Michael Heitz
Another New God in Parts
Pierre Guyotat
Autoportrait
Stephen Barber
I remember (Stephen Barber)
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...
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,...
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...
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...
Raucous time capsules, rare jewels, and indispensable bulky goods from all epochs, languages, and genres.
Vonceptually sensory bills of fare, enumerations and selections…
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
The post I’m now sharing was somewhat unsettling: “Barbara joined Facebook 6 years ago!”
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.