Posts in Category: Non classé

Week 126 – December 6 to December 13

On 6 December 2022 by Manuela With 0 Comments - Non classé

Dettie Flynn

Feuilleton of spinning swinging wishing Girls XXXV

temporary measures for energy saving
des mesures temporaires pour des économies d’énergie

Liveful performance with camera – 2mins. 22 sec.

Kyoko Kasuya

Trailer – Silence Bleu, film, 13’53, 2022

Manuela Morgaine

***… In full place is my desire.*** Photography of my face inside an Ice block.

From Rûmî, the Persian poet, these words say that the face of Iranian women is frozen as long as it is surrounded by a veil that keeps them so far from their desire.

Le soleil, encore bas sur l’horizon, éclaire la cour d’une lumière oblique éblouissante. Un camion se gare en marche arrière devant le hangar. Le plan incliné métallique s’abaisse lentement à l’arrière de la remorque. La cargaison de moutons s’ébranle à peine car les plus proches des portes après avoir tâté le sol métallique d’un raclement de sabot se refusent à descendre. Le vent transporte l’odeur puissante de la paille, du suint et du crottin emprisonnés dans leur toisons. Le chauffeur du camion se hisse dans la remorque pour les pousser hors de l’habitacle. Deux aides endiguent le flot des bêtes dans la descente et les canalisent vers un couloir étroit bordé de barrières métalliques qui s’enfonce sous le hangar. Au passage, ils marquent et ils comptent. Dès que les moutons sentent la tôle du hangar au-dessus de leurs têtes, ils tentent de rebrousser chemin en lançant de furieux coups de sabots qui résonnent sur le métal. Ensuite, ils disparaissent dans un labyrinthe profond éclairé par des néons verdâtres. Ils bêlent sur tous les tons. S’ils pouvaient, ils pleureraient.

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Week 122 – November 22 to November 29

On 22 November 2022 by Manuela With 0 Comments - Non classé

Natacha Nisic

Kyung-hwa Choi-ahoi

11.11.2022 Friday sunny 23:23

Mahsa Jina Amini

burst into tears while presenting her work as she read aloud her own text to go with her drawings. She interrupted the reading aloud. Everyone was silent in the classroom while she wiped the tear with her bare hand and repeated “sorry I’m crying”.

Elisa, fellow student, sat next to her and tried to help her to read her text for her. Her voice also wavered from excitement as Mahsa did when reading aloud. Soon she stopped. In a bumpy wet voice, she said to everyone, “Sorry, I can’t either.” There remained the collective wordlessness in the room. The silence among us.

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Katia Stuke

**A Tree near Przewodów**
(Google Street View 2016) Nov 16. 2022

»Every day news from/about Ukraine. Still. Every day a new name of a village, town or city in Ukraine. Every day a screenshot-photo of a tree in that town. A tree to just hold in for a moment. A tree as a reminder. A tree as a witness. A tree as a metaphor for time.« Katja Stuke, Trees in Ukraine, since 24.2.2022

Liza Dimbleby

Postcard from Glasgow: Shelters

I started making these small drawings of shelters, and trees, last November, as the trees shed their yellow. They were about inhabitable spaces, in the mind’s eye, and in the drawing. I made them on torn up strips of old life drawings from twenty years ago, that I did not want to throw away, regretting the waste of good quality paper. The images kept on coming, as if wanting to be painted. When I taped them to the wall in the spring, they seemed somehow to fit the awful circumstances in which they were now situated. Not a direct depiction, but not unrelated to the bleakness. And at the same time they were about a sort of refuge, a waiting or suspension. It’s November again. And the war is relentless, still. And I am still painting shelters.

Manuela Morgaine

***BLACK-OUT –*** **sources of light to the people of Ukraine.**

Catherine Radosa

Photography made during the long-term film project Campagne de Paris, paysage triangulaire (2017-2022) on the Triangle of Gonesse (Paris region) – agricultural land in the process of artificialization.

Anne Dubos

Lately I’ve been reading David Graeber’s articles and books. I came to visit his online institute, one of whose projects is called: « The Museum of Care ».
I thought he belonged here. Or maybe my own archives of Care should be part of his museum.
Also I propose that my page of the Letter of the Crown, enters for a time, in the Museum of Care

Purpose & Values
What The Museum of Care IS
An idea
An art project
A collection of spaces to meet
A place to hide
A place that you can make your own by copying everything and taking it with you
A place to argue, and to be friends
A mailing list, a collection of links, a reading group or movie club.
Mostly it is the people themselves. Actually, there is nothing in it except the people.

What The Museum of Care IS NOT
A collection of goods and treasures that may be stolen and sold
A fundraising machine
A cemetery
A job centre
A political party
A lobbyist group

https://museum.care/about-museum-of-care/

Week 122 – November 8 to November 15

On 8 November 2022 by Catherine Radosa With 0 Comments - Non classé

Katja Stuke

Anne Brunswic

En visitant le Museo de la Memoria à Rosario, j’ai été frappée par une photographie qui occupe un mur entier. Elle est l’œuvre de Gerardo Dell’Oro, un reporter argentin qui a accompagné aux Malouines en 2010 le premier grand pèlerinage de familles de disparus. Elle représente des dizaines de bottes et de baskets éventrées fichées sur des piquets au milieu de la lande déserte. Dans le contexte du musée de Rosario, cela peut passer pour de « l’arte povera ».

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Manuela Morgaine

***Human root – memory of a sculpture by Ousmane Sow, Dakar.***

Shocked this week in France by the invective to a French deputy of African origin by a far-right deputy: “GO BACK TO AFRICA!” I remembered this sculpted face that I had seen in the Ousmane Sow Museum in Dakar. In front of this face I then said to myself that all the suffering of migrations and exile was expressed by this single head of clay that I then saw emerging like a deep root.

Kasia Ozga

Preserve
Digital Video. Duration: 1 minute 21 seconds.

There is a tall-grass prairie preserve near where I live. In 2015, the Western Reserve Land Conservancy acquired a 63-acre property on the southern edge of the City of Oberlin in Lorain County. The preserve is part of the Black River Watershed and originally belonged to the Copeland family, which was actively involved in the abolitionist movement and the fugitive slave assistance network. The spirit of John Anthony Copeland lives on in this place.

Aurelia Mihai

***Schaufenster*** (Hamburg, 06.11.2022)

*Die Freiheit der Frau ist die Freiheit der Gesellschaft*
*The Freedom of Women is the Freedom of Society*

Anne Dubos

If one is wondering about Care, its value and its meaning, I have finally been wondering about carelessness. To be careless isn’t somehow, more than a way of not paying any attention, a behaviour that returns not receiving any gesture of Care? These two kids, growing in my womb, in my hospital room during the lockdown, without any gesture of attention nor care from their father, nor family and friends: weren’t they left careless?

To be careless has, at least two meanings, that mirrors the notion of reciprocity. If the Oxford dictionary offers this definition to the term careless: « not giving sufficient attention or thought to avoiding harms or error.» Its synonyms are: « to be inattentive or uncautious ; An action or its results caused by a lack of attention. Not concerned or worried about.»

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Natacha Nisic

Meuble à fiches constitué par Aby Warburg à partir de 1914 jusqu’en 1918.

Kunst bibliothek, Hamburg

File cabinet made by Aby Warburg from 1914 to 1918.

Kunst bibliothek, Hamburg

Week 121 – November 1st to November 8

On 1 November 2022 by Manuela With 0 Comments - Non classé

Ivana Vollaro

Brazilian elections / Ballotage, October 30 th, 2022.

Katja Stuke

***Protest stops traffic,*** Düsseldorf Oct 2022
(on the occasion of #womenlifefreedom rally Sat. Oct 29, 2022)

Maithili Bavkar

To the unconceived,

I write this letter to you, the unconceived child, unfolding for you, a world in which you have not yet been born. You have been looming over me in a spectral nature for my entire life. Yet, I do not know who exactly it is that I am addressing.

Where are you located? Are you just an idea, a thought, or the expectation of an entire community, not just my own?

I write this letter to you, to your potential existence, not only from my side. The wishes, desires and hopes of everyone else will be conveyed to you. The society, state, the nation, employers, doctors and priests are all interested and invested. For them, it is perhaps natural for you to be born, inevitable; anything else would be unnatural. They say that you cannot be forever unconceived, yet they put forth conditions for your existence in the same breath.

My body has been making possibilities of a child all my life.

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Manuela Morgaine

In August 2012 I was traveling the roads of Andalusia. It was in this unique landscape that I saw for the first time a lamb being born. These are the few clumsy images I have left of this moving and sacred moment. The same evening I became pregnant with my son, born under the sign of the bull. Since then, I wondered if the vision was not in itself the birth of a form. If it was enough to see in order to bring forth.

In these infinitely barbaric times, I cling to this living memory, this time when we watched animals being born, when we gave birth in joy and carelessness, without imagining that our children would have to face such a present.

Week 120 – October 25 to November 1st

On 25 October 2022 by Manuela With 0 Comments - Non classé

Katja Stuke

Liza Dimbleby

Postcard from Glasgow for Sudha Padmaja Francis (Week 119)

You can never have too much yellow Pierre Bonnard

Sudha Padmaja Francis

Afternoon dream
that beckons through the train window
Me measuring distances through creases
on my kurta,
between what is around and what I wish for.
Trees are fool proof philosophers, always.
Just them standing tall, sometimes so still,
sometimes swaying to the lightest of the winds
have many a reminders to give me
lined alongside the railway track.
Train pulls into Tirur station
Afternoon light and the film on the train window
that puts a filter to the outside.
Such a banal afternoon it looks like
but
this afternoon..
it’s endless possibilities of being
presents itself
through the train window.

Anne Dubos

This morning again.
Tears blurred my sight.
« Il faut croire au bonheur, nous sommes faites pour ça »
Sent me a friend on a message.
I believe her.

Anne Brunswic

**Argentine military cemetery, Darwin, Falklands/Malvinas.**

Solo conocido por Dios

Après deux mois passés en Argentine à sonder les cicatrices de la guerre des Malouines, j’atterris sur l’archipel. 52° de latitude sud. Falklands. Il faut s’habituer à ce nom, passer d’un coup à la langue anglaise, à la livre sterling. Fin novembre, c’est le printemps austral. Ciel dégagé bleu lavande, vent féroce. Les hôteliers viennent chercher leurs clients devant l’aérodrome militaire. J’ai réservé à l’auberge de Goose Green (le pré aux oies ?). A bord du minibus, on parle tourisme, excursions. Mes voisins ont un programme chargé. Pingouins de différentes espèces, aigles, grues, oies sauvages. Ils sont lourdement équipés de matériel de prise de vue et d’enregistrement sonore, ils ont des vestes avec une dizaine de poches à zip et des bottes de sept lieues. Heureusement, personne ne me demande le but de mon voyage. Je l’ignore moi-même.

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Manuela Morgaine

WAR IS IN THE AIR – video 2’19 Paris La Défense, October 2022.

You wake up one morning on the river Seine in Paris. You hear the sound of a helicopter coming and going. You know that the war is there but yet it has not yet reached your country. You open your eyes and you see this scene repeating itself for several hours. The same. You understand that this is special forces training. You ask what they train for when they take off in the air from the river at eight or ten. While touring Paris. Then returning to land on the boat again. You are told that these special forces are training in case of a terrorist attack on the boats during the 2024 Olympic Games, the opening of which will take place on the river and will transport all the athletes. You think: – wherever you are now, war is in the air.

Week 119 – October 18 to October 25

On 18 October 2022 by Manuela With 0 Comments - Non classé

Ivana Vollaro

The forest of breath. Sometimes darker, sometimes lighter.

Katja Stuke

***A Tree in Merefa***
(Google Street View 2015) Oct 17. 2022

Anne Brunswic

Cher soldat de ma patrie !

“Buenos Aires, 5 mai 1982. Cher Soldat de ma Patrie. Cette petite lettre est pour te transmettre que tous les Argentins, nous sommes tous fiers de voir comment vous défendez notre République argentine. Je m’appelle Maria Cecilia, j’ai 7 ans, et je suis en 2eB de l’école publique du district n°2 de la capitale fédérale. Je prie tous les soirs et je demande à Dieu qu’il vous bénisse et vous protège. Reçois beaucoup de baisers de ta jeune amie. Baisers. Cecilia. Je t’envoie du papier et une enveloppe pour que tu puisses écrire à qui tu voudras à part moi. Bisous. Ceci.”

“6 mai 1982, à un soldat argentin. Cher frère, nous sommes très petits mais très argentins et nous espérons que tu vas bien. Tous les soirs, nous prions pour que Dieu vous aide à défendre la patrie. Rappelle-toi que je pense à toi parce que nous savons les moments difficiles que vous passez et nous désirons que vous rentriez bientôt dans vos foyers, nous savons très très bien qu’il fait très froid et qu’il y a du brouillard presque tout le temps. Merci de nous défendre. Vive la Patrie ! Martin, San Cayetano, Province de Buenos Aires”

“Cher soldat argentin, je m’appelle Patricia, je suis en 7eA. Ici, nous avons été en alerte rouge mais c’est fini. Nous avons mis une boîte dans le préau et nous avons mis des chocolats et des bonbons pour vous aider à supporter le froid. Les copains et moi, on est très contents de ce que toi et les autres soldats vous êtes en train de faire pour défendre ce qui nous appartient et nous appartiendra toujours. Moi, j’aide en travaillant bien et en écoutant mes maîtresses. Tous les soirs, je prie pour que toi et tes camarades, pour que vous puissiez tous retrouver vos familles et leur raconter tous les moments que vous avez passés aux Iles Malouines. Maintenant, je te dis au revoir avec un gros bisou pour toi, pour tes camarades et tes supérieurs. Quand tu reviendras des Malouines, viens nous voir. J’espère faire bientôt ta connaissance. Patricia C.”

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Manuela Morgaine

PAURA NON ABBIAMO – THE FEAR WE DON’T HAVE. Song of Italian peasant women on strike.
Excerpt from NOVECENTO by Bernardo Bertolucci (1976)

Anne Dubos

À n’importe quelle heure du jour ou de la nuit, savoir compter.
Diluer le lait,
Toutes les trois heures,
Par leur répétition, les biberons des mois sont un genre de torture.
Plus tard, ils deviennent un moment de tendresse. Un temps de réparation.

Sudha Padmaja Francis

Yellow

Right now, a yellow has shrouded the courtyard and everything beyond.
I don't know if it's nostalgia, memory or the characteristic of reminiscence; this used to be yellower when i was a child.

I used to go out through the main door, as a little girl and get underneath this shroud in the courtyard. It was my entry into an-other world.

Today I also happened to be wearing a yellow t-shirt. I do not think my mother ever dressed me in this bright-a- plain yellow. I dressed according to her, for her. I lived according to her, for her. Even attrition  that came later was fastidiously designed for her.

My father walks in the yellow courtyard, almost as if he is floating on top of the shroud, with a mobile phone pouring out music. Malayalam film music that is. That one vehicle of expression for the whole range of emotions that exist in the world for him. For me

A friend, who is more of a sister, just sent a voice note to me which said she found the most balance in the world with me. She had thought about it when she witnessed a performance involving a see saw and she told her friend as they returned home, apparently.

As I stood outside on evenings then, entering into the yellow shroud each day, I never dared to imagine company to gaze up at the sky, wondrous and lost all at the same time.

I am grateful, at this very moment.

Week 118 – October 11 to October 18

On 11 October 2022 by Catherine Radosa With 0 Comments - Non classé

Maithili Bavkar

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is woman-768x1024.jpg — ***Cover***
Acrylic and pen on paper, 2021

Manuela Morgaine

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is Giving-the-Finger-1024x768.jpg — ***Giving the finger***
– Flag with Iranian young female students in front of their Mollahs – Overlayed drawing, 10/10/2022.

Liza Dimbleby

Letter from Glasgow: Noble Pianos

In March my friend Nadia sent me this video of a bombed out house in Ukraine. I thought it was someone she knew, but it turns out the clip was widely circulated at the start of the war. A woman returns to her house after a bombardment. The first thing she does is to dust down her piano and start to play. As she plays, the other person filming moves the camera about the room and then out through the door and through the house. The camera swings and swoops with the expansive runs of the keyboard, the player’s hands gaining force and confidence with the cadences that ripple out as the camera tracks a trail of rubble and destruction, in every room and down the stairs. At the foot of the stairs the ordered line of shoes by the radiator by the front door is only slightly disrupted. The pair of felt boots with rubber toes have fallen separately — valenki. Valenki, tapki, the ubiquitous out and indoor footwear of Ukrainian and Russian homes. Such lines of shoes are the first things that greet you as you cross the threshold into the private living space. Down the corridor, smashed glass, the washing up still in the sink, a whisk in a milk pan, and below the window, a child’s toy hard hat on the floor with the real rubble. We hear news of bombardment, and we see the cities with their half-collapsed and burnt out buildings, but it is shocking to see the everyday interior, the fine detail of doors and wardrobes and windows, smashed and fallen. To think of this multiplied endlessly — all the rooms, all the sad belongings — shoes, clothes, pictures, chairs and tables, scattered and crumbled.

Click Here to Read More (link to page)

Anne Dubos

Week 117 – October 4 to October 11

On 4 October 2022 by Manuela With 0 Comments - Non classé

Catherine Radosa

F.V.L.
(HD video, 1’25” Women, Life, Liberty, in hommage to Iranian women)

Maithili Bavkar

Care

Care (for)

Care (about)

(Take) care

(Take) care (of)

(With) care

Care(free)

Manuela Morgaine

***Viola’s hair*** – آزادی زندگی زن, *Zhan, Zhian, Azadi, Woman, Life, Freedom.*

Kasia Ozga

Milk Bar, participatory art installation, 52 bars of soap produced from breast milk, September 25-30, 2022.

In September, I flew to France alone for a week to hang a solo show Œkoumène (Ecumene) at l’Angle, an art center in La Roche-sur-Foron in the Alps. I have a 9 month-old baby that I usually breastfeed multiple times a day. I collected all of the breast milk that my body produced as I was preparing my exhibition and turned it into soap. The bars of soap were given away for free to the public during the show’s opening night. My action came from a desire to foreground the relationship between my body right here (right now) and the neutral white cube of the exhibition space.

Anne Dubos

Je pense toujours à l’Ukraine. Aux enfants surtout. A tous ces enfants déportés qui vivent désormais séparés de leur famille. J’espère qu’ils tiennent bon. Je voudrais faire quelque chose. Je ne sais quoi.

Alisa Berger

Excerpt from unwavemenot – Without regular operation.

Dettie Flynn

Feuilleton of spinning swinging wishing Girls XXXIV

Responding bodies in water
Corps dans l’eau en réponse

J’envoie cette lettre de sérénité à notre trois fois vaccinée, Crown Sister, qui joue à nouveau les hôtes du virus,

I send this serenity letter to our trice vaccinated Crown Sister who is playing host again to the virus,

I know for a fact that she is an incredible host.
Je sais de source sûre qu’elle est un hôte incroyable.

Liveful performance with camera – 3mins. 58 sec.

Anne Brunswic

**Cincuenta pesos, banco central de la Republica Argentina.**

Hourrah !

Chacun connaissait l’épopée du libertador Antonio Rivero (1808-1845), vaillant-gaucho-qui-défendit-la-souveraineté-de-la-patrie-sur-les-îles-en-1833 et lutta-pour-les-droits-sociaux-des-travailleurs. On l’avait entendue cent fois depuis son entrée à l’école primaire. La leçon était inscrite sur le billet de 50 pesos. Copier la carte demandait des heures de labeur. Crayon, gomme, crayon, on transpirait sur la dentelle des contours. On dirait des poumons rongés par la maladie ou bien de grosses taches d’encre, ou peut-être des chiffons tout déchirésqui flotteraient sur la surface bleu pâle de l’Atlantique sud. “Nulle terre d’outre-mer n’est plus chère au cœur de notre patrie”, répétait le maître.

Au début du mois de mars 1982, les garçons âgés de 18 ans révolus reçurent chez leurs parents des ordres de mobilisation. La junte militaire en mal de popularité les appelait à chasser l’usurpateur britannique et à libérer les pauvres fermiers. Le peuple répondit d’une seule voix « hourrah ! ». D’immenses foules se massaient sur les places publiques. Des opposants en exil se pressaient dans les consulats pour s’enrôler. Las Malvinas son argentinas. Hourrah ! Après un bref séjour dans les casernes, les chicos furent transportés par avion dans des bases improvisées au sud de la Patagonie. On découvrait l’avion, on découvrait le froid, on découvrit bientôt le chaos qui se dissimulait derrière la discipline militaire. Le 2 avril, le premier contingent fut débarqué sur les îles si chères au cœur du peuple argentin. Sur l’archipel que les Anglais appellent Falklands, l’hiver austral commençait. Les pingouins s’ébrouaient sur les grèves rocheuses, les moutons broutaient la lande pelée. Pas un arbre à l’horizon, le vent et encore le vent. La boue commençait à se figer en glace. Les chicos grelottaient dans leurs uniformes de toile. On leur ordonna de creuser des tranchées

Week 116 – September 27 to October 4

On 27 September 2022 by Manuela With 0 Comments - Non classé

Anne Brunswic

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is Shiraz-in-colours.jpg — *Shiraz bazar, Iran, 2015. Hope*.

Manuela Morgaine

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is Behind-your-veil-1024x768.jpg — ***Behind your veil.***

Mahsa Amini died in Iran at the age of 22 following her arrest for leaving a lock of hair hang out from under her Hijab. The Song of Songs celebrates the hair, and the entire face of women since the dawn of time.

Behind your veil. Your hair is like a herd of goats. Hanging from the sides of Mount Gilead. Your teeth are like a flock of shorn sheep. Your lips are like a crimson thread. Your cheek is like half a pomegranate. Behind your veil.
پشت پرده ات موهای تو مثل گله بز است. آویزان از کناره های کوه گیلعاد. دندان های شما مانند گله گوسفندان قیچی شده است. لب هایت مثل یک نخ زرشکی است. گونه شما مثل نصف انار است. پشت پرده ات

Maithili Bavkar

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is Haircare_2-2.jpg — ***Haircare***
Drawing, 2022.

*How to grow hair in a jar?*

Find a small jar that you can spare,
Fallen hair may be planted with care.
A second chance at life, no longer dead,
Far away from the always stressing head!

Eleni Wittbrodt

Michelle Deignan

Closed on Monday

Single channel HD video, 45 secs, 2022

Kasia Ozga

Week 115 – September 20 to September 27

On 20 September 2022 by Manuela With 0 Comments - Non classé

Kyoko Kasuya

***Sit back and relax (toward myself)***, *September 2022*.

I quit my part time job to make a living at the end of August finally. I worked at a school for 3 years and 3 months. I got over the hard covid time. I made a decision to become a full time artist since September. Let’s see how it goes.

Valeria Troubina

Охота за месяцем, Hunting the Month 56 х 41cm watercolour, gouache, ink on paper, August 2022

Kasia Ozga

***Greenhouse,*** Digital Photograph, 2021.

Alisa Berger

First day.

Anne Brunswic

**From my window,** Paris, September 2022

La permanence 9. Matilda.

Les deux examinateurs derrière la table habituelle.

Une femme assez petite au visage très rond, cuivré. Cheveux teints en blond châtain retenus par un élastique. Matilda. Scène en espagnol et français.

– C’est ici pour le dossier Ofpra ? C’est pour écrire mon histoire. J’ai rendez-vous.

L’examinatrice : – Vous êtes Matilda ? Vous avez commencé à écrire votre histoire comme je vous l’ai demandé ?

Matilda : – C’est en espagnol. Je sais pas si c’est bien. (Elle sort d’un joli sac à main une feuille de papier cadrillé arrachée à un cahier d’écolier.)

L’examinatrice : – On le traduira au fur et à mesure. (L’examinatrice lit à voix haute et traduit pour l’examinateur) : « J‘avais un petit commerce à D. dans le village. »

L’examinateur : – D., c’est près de Bogotá ?

Matilda : -Pas tellement.

L’examinatrice : Vous écrivez : « Dans la région, il y a des bandes de terroristes. » Vous voulez parler de la guérilla des FARC ?

Matilda : – Non, c’est pas pareil.

L’examinateur : – Des paramilitaires ? Des narco-trafiquants ?

Matilda : – C’est des bandes de criminels.

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