Kyung-hwa Choi-ahoi

Diary Drawing _ No.8474 April 4th, 2022
Size: 21 x 29,7cm, pencil on paper

Katja Stuke

Aurelia Mihai

Kasia Ozga

I find dioramas mesmerizing. The Immel Circus contains 2,620 hand crafted pieces: thirty-six elephants, 186 horses, 102 assorted animals, ninety-one wagons, seven tents, and 2,207 people. A miniature embodied postcard from another era, it restages and celebrates the past with an impressive fidelity to detail. The effect is uncanny: I imagine myself as a child among the crowds of plastic figurines, grasping for cotton candy and bursting with laughter as clowns take over the horse-drawn squad car.

Catherine Radosa

Ruth Maclennan

Mujeres Que Influyen

https://women-of-influence.co.uk/project

This still is from the film, The Intergenerational Struggle
for Collective Territories, (11 minutes, 2022) directed by Karen Pamela Huere Cristobal & Anyely Martínez.

“We dream of being the generation that raises our voices and are heard; we dream that our generation speaks up for our territories and that more young women join forces to understand our mission as indigenous women. Just like the Congona tree that stands firm and provides food for the cibuaco bird with its ripe fruit, so our mission will grow tall and will nourish others who would normally follow our parents and authorities. We want to be heard so that communities and organisations are informed about our rights and issues, so that they might give us space and help us to strengthen our resolve; heard so that the state recognises and acknowledges our agenda and our proposals as young people, as women who are part of a community and a people.” – Karen Pamela Huere Cristobal

I met Karen last week at a screening of her film, alongside four other films made by a group of young Indigenous women activists in the Peruvian Amazon region of Junín.

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Manuela Morgaine

Valeria Troubina

Michelle Deignan

Let us play

Single channel HD video, 1 min, 2023

Liza Dimbleby

Dettie Flynn

To Observe

One of the very first gestures of Care : to give one’s attention to something, to a thought, or to someone.

On the morning of 31 December, I took the children to the ridge line to observe the snow-covered summit of Mont Blanc, which can be seen in the distance on a bright blue clear day.

On the way, we found a beetle.

*

For this new year of 2023, besides wishing you all joy, I would like to ask my Crown Sisters to help me to collect gestures of care. Sisters of mine, what would be the gesture of care that you would describe for me, for inclusion in one of the Museum Of Care‘s contributing collections?

Kasia Ozga

I was making paper for a wall drawing for a show in Upstate New York and the steam from the boiler and the hum of the beater began to slowly melt the snow and ice on the outside of the greenhouse that I was working in.

Catherine Radosa

Photography/digital collage made during the long-term film project Campagne de Paris, paysage triangulaire (2017-2023) on the Triangle of Gonesse (Paris region) – agricultural land in the process of artificialization (satellite view source – Géoportail.gouv.fr).

Katja Stuke

Ruth Maclennan

Yesterday I walked from Covent Garden to Whitechapel through the City of London. Not as quiet as I’d expected on a Sunday, but there seem to be a lot of tourists in London at the moment and it was sunny and bright. This tree with its concrete casing stopped me in my tracks: rings the only sign it had lived, trapped inside a small fortress. My eye was then drawn upwards, up the blue metallic cylinders of Lloyds of London, ‘the World’s insurance marketplace’, as it boasts on its website.

The building was designed by Richard Rogers and opened in 1986. Five years later Lloyds nearly went under, but was saved, although many of its so-called ‘names’ (often small investors who unwittingly invested with unlimited liability) did lose everything.  Insurance could be one of the ways to stop the madness of funding  fossil fuel extraction. Meanwhile the ice caps are melting and the physical world literally imploding, as permafrost becomes former-frost and ice sheets slide faster and faster into the ocean.  These shiny towers lean into each other – instead of trees – high up above me, reflecting themselves and the sky, completely out of touch. Of course that is the point. Anything could be going on in front of a screen, inside a steel and glass tube – I’m in front of a screen myself as I write this, looking at the picture of the steel and glass tubes. You could be insider-dealing or investing in windmills, selling mortgages or weapons, or all of those things. The little street across from here is called Saint Mary Axe, named after a medieval church that was destroyed in the 16^th century. I’m glad the name has stuck although no one quite knows what it means. Whose axe? What was it used for? A name is a stubborn thing, that can keep on conjuring – haunting, stirring – even when no one remembers where it came from or who first used it.

Anne Brunswic

Guêpier 1

Je me fourre encore et toujours dans des guêpiers dont je sors confuse et furieuse contre moi-même. Cela m’a inspiré le recueil de nouvelles « Qu’est-ce que tu fais là ? » paru en 2001. La question est toujours d’actualité.  Bon sang, mais qu’est-ce que je fais là ?

Un taxi me cueille à la gare de Marseille. Il me dépose une demi-heure plus tard au pied d’un hôtel de luxe en bord de mer. Je pénètre dans l’espace épuré d’un magazine de décoration. Le volume de la chambre est démesuré, le lit de deux mètres de large inquiétant, ma pauvre petite valise noire me fait l’effet d’un cafard dans le couloir l’entrée. Je pressens que j’aurai du mal à trouver le sommeil. La baie vitrée donne sur une crique aux parois ocre rouge qui plonge dans des flots bleu indigo. De la Méditerranée souffle un vent printanier. Le ciel est d’un bleu irréprochable, transparent comme il n’est jamais à Paris.

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Manuela Morgaine

Valeria Troubina

Luise Schröder

Aurelia Mihai

Anne Dubos

L’un des tout premiers gestes du Care : donner son attention à quelque chose, à une pensée, ou à quelqu’un.

Ce matin du 31 décembre, j’ai amené les enfants sur la ligne de crêtes, pour observer la cime enneigée du Mont Blanc que l’on peut distinguer au lointain par jour de grand beau. Sur le chemin, nous avons trouvé un scarabée.

*

Pour cette nouvelle année 2023, au-delà de vous présenter tous mes voeux de joie, je souhaite demander à mes Crown Sisters de m’aider à collecter des gestes de soin. Quel serait le geste de soin que vous pourriez me décrire en vue de le faire entrer au sein de l’une des collection contributive du Museum Of Care ?

Kasia Ozga

Sea anemones are underwater creatures named after terrestrial flowering plants. A ring of tentacles surrounds a central mouth, brimming-no-gushing with life. This movement is uncanny and erotic, pulsating and repulsive. A fitting entrance into a New Year.

Manuela Morgaine

Katja Stuke

 

 

Anne Dubos

Catherine Radosa

Aurelia Mihai

Dettie Flynn

Kyoko Kasuya

Manuela Morgaine

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.

Anne Brunswic

Tondus

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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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

»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

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/

Ivana Vollaro

Brazilian elections / Ballotage, October 30 th, 2022.

Katja Stuke

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.