Posts in Category: Non classé

Week 168 – November 21 to November 28

Anne Brunswic

À nos amies

Le nihilisme suicidaire menace de nous submerger.

À nos amies argentines dont le peuple vient de se vouer au culte de la tronçonneuse ; à nos amies palestiniennes qui implorent une justice qui ne viendra pas ; à nos amies israéliennes à qui leurs dirigeants préparent un avenir de terreur ; à nos amies ukrainiennes dont le présent est cruel et l’avenir plombé de nuages noirs ; à nos amies russes bâillonnées ; à nos amies d’Iran et d’ailleurs qui affrontent à mains nues l’obscurantisme armé ; à toutes nos amies qui résistent à l’hubris de puissants bouffis d’orgueil et vautrés dans le business ; à celles qui combattent les passions tristes de leurs concitoyens abreuvés de mensonges; aux humains qui continuent de croire que chacun a droit à une vie digne et aux humains qui parfois désespèrent du genre humain – en ce moment il y a de quoi – je dédie trois photos extraites de vieilles archives.

Click here to read more

Maithili Bavkar

Making of List of Things, 2023

Week 164 – Oct 24 to Oct 31, 2023

Liza Dimbleby

Rolls of drawings, thirty years old, from an attic, boxed and photographed on my 55th birthday, September 2023

Letter from Glasgow: The Forgotten Music

I think about it inside me, biding its time, resisting my call for it — this song that so delighted me, that returned to me twice, unbidden, yesterday, and then went on its way, went back inside me, perhaps never to return. When it was there I wanted to carry it, be carried by it. I did not think of recording the notes, making a digital imprint by which to catch and hold it. I thought that it was a part of me, that it would last forever. Now I’m waiting, wondering where within me it is hiding. 

Click here to read more 

Kyung-hwa Choi-ahoi

Diary Drawing No. 8606, December 8th, 2022. Size: 21 x 29,7 cm, oil and lacquer on paper.

Sudha Padmaja Francis

My niece Neelanjana and her freshly coloured hair, June 2023

Just a few days ago I scribbled:

I  had to put my hands,

into so many unknown tree-holes all through 

this journey.

Tree-holes may be filled with a variety of things:

sticky toffee, 

used hair band, 

ants dividing sugar dutifully amongst themselves,

note that never reached its destination,

squirrel hiding from its companion 

to savour the mango on her own,

a single slipper,

a single earring..

This sense of loss keeps happening like waves of the sea. There are some days when I wake up that I do not want to wake up and would rather remain in the dream that I was dreaming. More than the dream, I wake up with a Malayalam film song in my head which occupies and populates my inner being for a week; I never want to lose that loop.

Natacha Nisic

ET N’ÊTRE QUE BRUME
Met en place les conditions d’une expérimentation
Nous sommes plongés dans la brume.
Nos corps, nos affects se délivrent.

AND BE NOTHING BUT MIST
Sets the conditions for experimentation
We are immersed in mist.
Our bodies, our affects are released.

Kasia Ozga

Wear Out: Manual Labor, Digital Photograph, Art in Odd Places, New York City, 2023.

Flags blowing in the wind sewn out of used textiles. Bright and faded and worn and starched work wear, a ubiquitous identifier of blue collar histoire ouvrière en France. Blue collar clad hipsters rocking the moral authority of manual labor in Brooklyn. The sound of street level flags rustling in the the wind and billowed out towards pedestrians on creaking temporary flagpoles. Foisted up near current and former headquarters of labor unions on 14th street (the Italian Labor Center, DC 9, and the International Brotherhood of Teamsters), we ask what is the place of labor in the contemporary metropolis? Who decides what we make and how?

Maithili Bavkar

Body, 2023.

Neringa Naujokaite

7/10, 2023.

Week 158 – July 25 to August 1

Maithili Bavkar

Today, Tomorrow, 2023, Digital print

Today, Tomorrow,

I woke up having forgotten which way to turn the key to my door.

It was as though somebody had taken apart pieces of me while I had been asleep, only to put me back together, like a puzzle; and in the process had misplaced one of the pieces. So irrelevant it had been, that the puzzle looked complete enough without it, and the solver just walked away shrugging.

Or maybe it was an accident on a microscopic scale, concerning a couple trillion neurons and synapses, and a single fallen martyr.

Click here to read more

Kasia Ozga

Sentinel, Digital Photograph, 2023.

I returned to Saint-Etienne after a year’s absence. My old studio used to have a municipal alarm system like the one in the image, above. It would blare out with deafening wailing sounds like clockwork on the first Thursday of every month. I usually put on ear protection and worked through the noise. If the alarm test day coincided with a morning when I brought my newborn into the studio, we had to go out of the building and down the street to escape the noise. I can’t imagine living somewhere where air raid sirens are an almost daily occurrence that actually indicates real and present danger.

Manuela Morgaine

Facing Odessa – Photograph of a face facing the destruction of the cathedral in Odessa, Ukraine, July 24, 2023.

Aurelia Mihai

Living Monuments II, Performance and video installation, 2022 – 2023

Liza Dimbleby

Hungarian Oak, Glasgow, July 2023

Letter from Glasgow: Living Oaks 

That evening, when I had finished the drawing,  I walked down the hill by my house. I stopped by a tree at the bottom of the hill. It is a tall oak, with arms raised up as if in greeting. You could not hide in this one’s skirts, but her head is almost heart shaped. A plaque says that this is a Hungarian oak, planted in 1918 to celebrate the granting of votes to women. I think of it as a tall woman. Young, by oak standards. Oak trees can live a thousand years. Two thousand, according to Pliny the Elder.

Click Here to Read More 

Week 157 – July 18 to July 25

Katja Stuke

 Multiverse
one-channel-video, 2023
16:9, 4K, 10:32 min
sound: Pondskater

Cornelia Eichhorn

Humaps N°17, 25x35cm, papercut done with leftovers from other series, 2023 all rights reserved.

Liza Dimbleby

A drawing of Glasgow that took the TransSiberian  photo by Liza Dimbleby (2018)

Letter from Glasgow: Train to the Future 

I had hoped to go back to Prague for the last month’s residency, to see what remained of my memories, but it turned out that I could not. I had wanted to approach the city by train again, from the other side, thirty three years later. There would be no radio chiming the hours, no polished wooden corridors or jars of tea in metal holders, perhaps no mystery. A journey of nostalgia, of curiosity?

Click here to Read More

Week 156 – July 11 to July 18

Manuela Morgaine

< 1x

Miroir du futur – Photographie, Ceska Skalice, Tchékoslovaquie, juin 2023.

« Avec ces gants vous traverserez les miroirs comme de l’eau. 

Il ne s’agit pas de comprendre, il s’agit de croire. » 

Orphée, Jean Cocteau, 1950

Liza Dimbleby

< 1x

Letter from Glasgow: Drawing and Losing

I covered the couch with a Qashqai rug, a worn runner that my mother no longer wanted, but which was too long for my hallway. It fitted just right. I added some cushions and a blanket. It made a pretty good near relative of the couch in London, at the Freud Museum. It was somewhat creaky, being over a hundred years old, and had un-sprung itself in places, but I like to lie there and stare, out of the window, along my bookshelves, daydreaming.

What use to me the clarity, the lucidity? Classification continues to elude me, and the re-arranged papers form a new pattern on the carpet covered couch, in this endless circle of losing and finding.

Click Here to Read More

Kyung-hwa Choi-ahoi

< 1x

“there and away”

21 x 29,7cm, pencil on paper, 2022

Katja Stuke

Katja Stuke, Sans Titre
Collage pour une vidéo sur le Métavers, 2023

Week 155 – July 4 to July 11

Anne Dubos

« – Nobody can catch us,
– I don’t know, let’s see what happens…
– 1, 2, 3, Heeeeelp !
– I cannot see a thing…
– It’s all in your mind. »
The ballad of Lady and Bird, Ceska Skalice, Luxfer Residency.

Manuela Morgaine

She/We were dancing together there/Bojena’s Dance floor – stills from a video made during an Artistic Residency of THE CROWN LETTER
in Luxfer Gallery, Ceska Skalice, Czecholovakia, June 27- July 4,  2023.

Ruth Maclennan

Aquarium, HD video, 2 minutes, 2023

Valeria Troubina

Before the storm, watercolour on paper, 2023

Kyung-hwa Choi-ahoi

Video diary _ Thunderbolt, 21 June 2023

Week 153 – June 20 to June 27

Aurelia Mihai

Living Monuments II, Performance and video installation, Photografie, 2022 – 2023

 

Katja Stuke

Collage pour une vidéo sur le Métavers, 2023.

Neringa Naujokaite

“Ohne Titel (Stencils)” , Photography.

Liza Dimbleby

Letter from Glasgow: Instructions for a Heatwave

The gallery attendant has left the room, a clipboard with her list of visitor numbers lies on her chair, and a book, Instructions for a Heatwave. It looks like a novel, not a handbook. Although we could do with both. The heatwave is much hotter than the one thirty years ago.

Click here to read more

Kyung-hwa Choi-ahoi

Diary Drawing _ No. 8672_ April 8th, 2023 
Size: 21 x 29,7cm, oil on paper

Manuela Morgaine

La paix Ardenne – 7/5/2023.

Il arrive qu’au cœur des tourmentes et des guerres qui englobent tout de boue, de sang et de mort, on puisse s’arrêter de faire face quelques moments qui deviennent sacrés. A ce moment-là, l’apparition d’un monde en paix reprenant ses couleurs et sa grâce sont sources d’apaisement. A la brutalité viendra toujours s’opposer la douceur dans un interstice de ce qu’on regarde.

It happens that in the midst of turmoil and wars that encompass all mud, blood and death, one can stop to face a few moments that become sacred. At that moment, the appearance of a peaceful world resuming its colors and its grace are sources of appeasement. Brutality will always be opposed by softness in an interstice of what we are looking at.

Week 152 – June 13 to June 20

Kasia Ozga

Ice Cream Heaven, 2023

Liza Dimbleby

Looking Back, Berlin, May 2023
Letter from Berlin:  Ghosts We were late for the film and the box office had just closed. They said we could have a drink instead. And so we ascended the stairs into the wide space of the bar of Kino International, which was completely empty. Kino International was built in 1961, the same year as the Berlin Wall. It was the main cinema for premieres and award ceremonies under Communism. You could picture it, the slightly sweaty dignitaries in brown suits and fake leather shoes of turgid grey lined up for speeches under the extravagant chandeliers. But this evening there was nobody. The huge yet undaunting space, the rippled wood walls, shiny black tables and red chairs were perfect. This enormous empty room was proportioned for optimism, it was a place to be happily human, for a while at least. I was glad we had missed the film. I looked across the street to the high Soviet scale arch of a metro exit, the only lit building on the street, and watched a couple pause, pace about, embrace. They were tiny under the space of the arch and yet every small gesture was legible. Click here to read more

Ruth Maclennan

Escapee

Maithili Bavkar

Wilson, 2023
What I have is the memory of staring at mosaic tiles with an unfocused gaze, and watching them turn to waves.

Anne Brunswic

Rio Gallegos, March 2023

Lucia, la sœur.

Disparus 2
J’ai rencontré Lucia en mars 2023 à Rio Gallegos, petite ville sans attrait touristique du sud de la Patagonie. Elle est comédienne et metteuse en scène de théâtre mais, au premier regard, je ne l’aurais pas imaginé : sans apprêt, taille moyenne, cheveux châtains coupés court, rien qui attire la lumière. Elle m’a fait comprendre qu’elle avait quelque chose à me raconter. Je suis revenue le lendemain avec un magnétophone et un micro. Son récit coulait comme une large rivière au cours paisible. Elle s’exprimait dans un espagnol simple et fluide que je pouvais suivre sans grand effort. Ce matin-là, elle portait un petit pullover à col roulé rose, elle avait l’air fatigué. Click here to read more

Valeria Troubina

Still Life with Red Drapery, oil on canvas, Ukraine, 1988

Anne Dubos

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3KE6Dc57JU
BEN . DRUMMINGS . 1

Week 151 – June 6 to June 13

Catherine Radosa

Rues de la Fraternité·e, Participatory performance and sound and visual installation

Photographed 3 June 2023, for the Nuit Blanche 2023 and the curatorial project “actes de langage” (acts of language) by simona dvorák & tadeo kohan. The project takes as its subject a place and its name: rue de la Fraternité (Street of Brotherhood) in Montreuil. The aim is to deploy, question, appropriate, update and set in motion the word ‘fraternité’ and what it inspires and evokes.
Through interviews with a group of women, I composed a polyphony of words and testimonies, questioning representations and alternatives to this symbolic and gendered term.

Photo Credits: Catherine Radosa, Tadeo Kohan, Christophe Domino

Click here to read more

Maithili Bavkar

< 1x

Fractured skies, 2023

Never before had I possessed a piece of sky so vast that it may be fractured.

Manuela Morgaine

< 1x

Les lumières dans le ciel. Reflective photography, June 2023.

Ruth Maclennan

< 1x

Drawing Berthe drawing Edma, June 2023

Valeria Troubina

< 1x

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is ValeriaTroubina_w151_Diptych-1024x486.jpg

Enquiry and Weeping Heroes, Diptych, oil on canvas, Ukraine, 1988

Week 150 – May 30 to June 6

Week 150 – May 30 to June 6

Liza Dimbleby

< 1x

Notice of Death, paint and pencil on paper, May 2023

Maithili Bavkar

How to make a house of threads

Find a corner on the floor and start building a house of threads.
Think about what it would be like to make a house of threads, sit with the idea for a while, think about the (im)possibilities.
Construct a house from memory, an old home, a part of a home, an imagined home or any other place that comes to mind.

Click here to read more

Manuela Morgaine

TESOUROS, Algarve, may 28.

Kyung-hwa Choi-ahoi

Video diary _ Sparrows, 21 May 2023