Public service announcement

The other gingerbread left for Happy Communist Country two days ago.
This means I should do my best to keeps things tidy in here.
I will.

sneakpeek

forthcoming in CINE QUA NON #3

the blinding

concrete, brownstone.
(a.h. 2010, acrylics on canvas, 70 x 80 cm)

d.g.: "...it seems possible that they are in fact looking at the source of the light, their features maybe even erased by its intensity."

- - -

On a rooftop, in between the concrete and the brownstone, they are standing, the wings of their paper clothing fluttering around their backs. A throat is cleared, then "I guess we didn't get the eyes so we stop argueing whether or not we're a bit dead behind them - and get on with it."

7th Berlin Biennale for Contemporary Art

12.06.-9.8. 2011

-- -- -- -- --

Venues:
Oranienplatz 17
10999 Berlin

Artists:
Vincent Vulsma

Vincent Vulsma

ARS NOVA E5305-B, 2009
Spray paint on shrink film over pre-fabricated canvas

installation view (general design),

oranienplatz 17.

Public Talk (tba):

Manierismen der Abgewracktheit.

-- -- -- --

Re: suresafecomfortable Re: tales from beyond the bubble wrap, part 2.

there are no tales from beyond the bubble wrap I can't tell them.
there are tales from beyond the bubble wrap I can't tell them.
there are tales from beyond the bubble wrap I can tell them

from inside the bubble wrap out.

there are no tales from beyond the bubble wrap I can't tell them.
there are tales from beyond the bubble wrap I tell them

from inside the bubble wrap out
of fear of pretty houses and their porches.

there are tales from beyond the bubble wrap I can't tell them

from outside the bubble wrap in.

there are tales they tell me

from inside the bubble wrap out
// patriarch on a vespa //.

there are tales I tell them
of the effect of concrete on bubble wrap
of the effect of bubble wrap on bubble wrap

Scrapbook. part 1

#manifestomonday

#1
The doors are barred with boards. Enter through the cellar.
A supporting construction hovering above me. Is it supporting, itself? Or is it supported? - Enter: Two hens. Bourgeois hens, I'm told.
The smell of fresh paint. White. And black.
The windows are barred, too. But I'm inside, not even seeing the boards.
Noise, a naked man sleeping. He's just pretending, I'd say.
Photographs, photographs, projections.
My head has started to ache.

#2
A decaying building.
A Former department store. Former furniture store. Former "Real" market.
A real market of the real again now.
A mock wardrobe which is not a mock wardrobe. Or is it?
Beautiful black paintings which are not paintings but pretend to be hidden behind curtains.
Remnants of an old pleasure ground seen from the staircase.
A carpet made of salt and one with words and some more carpets above.

#3
A dark and empty salesroom.
I'm standing with my back to the window, looking out of a window, seeing pedestrians passing.
An artist's flat and workspace.
He is absent.
Lots of knives. Two old sausages. A caligraphy letter.
Now my back is aching, too.

To be continued.

tales from beyond the bubble wrap. part 2

I've been travelling by train, too.
Travelling at 210 km/h. Made me think of Virilio and his screens once more. But I will probably talk about this some other time.

I've been travelling to a ritualistic celebration held by people I do not really know. Sun and hills and church bells, you know.

I've been watching. But I've been also taking part. Wrapped by arms that wanted to include me right away. Friendly and warm. I liked it, the way you like to look at the screen (Oh, there it is already again, I couldn't help.): Tell me a story. And it gets even better if I find myself in it, in any way.

Still, I am not inside the bubble wrap. Can't be. Those people are! I am outside. - No, this is no post-puberty lamentation about me being the misunderstood outsider. Come on! I'm past that. -
They do everything to be sure and safe and comfortable. Somehow, I would love to be/think/live this way, too. But this safety wrap obscures your vision, doesn't it?

Boo, I'm getting banal and cheesy again. Can't help. Not that my vision is un-obscured. No.

Btw: It's not a new thought, this. Not at all:

/ Wenn jemand eine Reise tut, /
/ so kann er was erzählen. /

And in the end:

(...)
/Und fand es überall wie hier,/
/Fand überall 'n Sparren,/
/Die Menschen gradeso wie wir,/
/Und eben solche Narren./

Matthias Claudius: Urians Reise um die Welt. 1774.


Addendum:
Saturday morning.
I'm sitting in my Berlin flat, looking outside at swirling particles.
I'm under water. Rays of sunlight passing through the glass that separates me from the outside. Little bubble passing by and up.
If I open the glass, they'll come in and will be soft and gentle.
Now, that's my kind of bubble wrap!

Today Infringing Upon: // Korrupte Parallelmontage // Geschichte als Verunreinigung //

Disclaimer I:
I stole the term // Korrupte Parallelmontage // corrupt parallel montage // from Lukas Foerster and his intriguing text on MANILA IN THE FANGS OF DARKNESS, because it's lovely, and it opened up like a flower or a fist, and then I went all awww! and stole grabbed it.

Disclaimer II:
I stole the term // Geschichte als Verunreinigung // history as contamination // from him, too. He coined it during his introduction to the TRACES OF A THIRD CINEMA film retrospective, which is currently shown at the Zeughauskino, Berlin. - - The history of a curatorial concept - - from trace as past and present -neat and tidy- to trace as past and present -corruptive, disruptive, contaminative-.

- - -

CorruptParallelMontage (1)



This is not a one way street. This is not a film by Khavn. This is not James Dean.
This is not a one way street. Nevertheless, he only goes in one direction. Where does it take him? To a woman?
Where does it take me? (d.g.) Me, CPM (1)-(4). d. g., where does it take you?
This is not a one way street. This is a one way street. This is not a one way street. It's the sign that's wrong, you'd have to behead that arrow. He's going nowhere. Or, a 90 degree turn, he's going sideways. He ends up with the back against the wall, facing his flagellants, where he had been standing all along. Yet, this is not a circle. This is a one way street. (a.h.)
Alright, this seriously was some kind of brain wreckage on my part. In fact, I don't think the sign is wrong. He's not going sideways, but straight down till he reaches the end of the road. With nowhere left to go to. (d.h.2)

Stills from (left) MANILA IN THE FANGS OF DARKNESS (Khavn, RP 2008) and (right) MANILA IN THE CLAWS OF NEON (Lino Brocka, 1975) and (left/right/center) MANILA IN THE FANGS OF DARKNESS (not a film by Khavn, RP 2008).


CorruptParallelMontage (2)

„What's it gonna be“, he says, „art or revolution?“ Every Monday at noon. He enters the office. He stares at the coffee pot, „What's it gonna be“, he takes a cup from the rack. He fills his cup. He turns towards the desk. He lifts his cup. He pauses. He blinks. He motions with his right hand. He enunciates the options, „art or revolution?“. On days, which never fall on Mondays, it is not a question, but a corrupt parallel montage. He rephrases a lot on Mondays. He reads Taylor Mead. A lot on Mondays: // The movies are this exciting thing, you see. The movies are a revolution. //

Art and revolution, two paranoids in stand-off:
A: „You talkin' to me?“
R: „You talkin' to me?“


CorruptParallelMontage (3)

The contamination of the present by the past - like oil in water, you send in Greenpeace, but it keeps on lurking about, actually it's just swimming. In After the wood, after having chopped down the trees with Deleuze, the rhizom, nature's corruptparallelmontage? Corrupt as in (bad word) paranoid, (good word) schizophrenic?


CorruptParallelMontage (4)


In Major Kontra's lair: ??, Rambo, Jesus on the cross and a star-spangled banner.


In Major Kontra's lair II, preaching to the rebels: Who's it gonna be who saves your soul, Jesus or America?

Stills from ORAPRONOBIS (Lino Brocka, RP 1989) = MANILA IN THE FANGS OF DARKNESS (not a film by Khavn, RP 2008).

Revolution as corruptparallelmontage: Vigilantes who were rebels now fighting rebels who were fighting dictatorship now fighting for human rights who vigilantes call phoney intellectuals. I am not even pretending that I got any of it right.
This is not about revolution. This is about an angry man, involuntarily walking in circles. Repeating now non-revolutionary movements of the past which maybe were revolutionary then. Trying to break the circle into a spiral to advance to anywhere. (d.g.)
I disagree about the angry (yet, I can't think of a better word, so maybe I agree after all), the involuntarily and the circles and the breaking (see (1)), and it is about the revolution (in terms of the oil swimming along, see (3)).
d. g., I love your image of spiraling advancement - - I usually picture spirals as leading downward onto some hard ground or fluffy madness; and advancement sneaking up on you from behind, tapping you on the shoulder or kicking you in the knees - - -
So, we're dizzy, d. g., but for the better? (a.h.)
No, sorry. I don't think so. Just dizzy. No better. And that's my last word about this movie. (d.g.2)

All four stills have been screencapped from the World Revolution Media page whose tagline is „It's right to rebel.“ Rebel as in the neat and tidy living ideology of MarxismLeninismMaoism. Major Kontra, what are you pointing at now?
Anywhere! - No.
At a woman? - No.
With his back to a wall, facing a bunch of flagellantes.

Couldn't he be pointing only at them? (d.g.) - Yes. (a.h.)