oems is a collage of pages scanned from notebooks Seth Price kept between 1999 and 2003. These selected texts, handwritten in different styles, mix decontextualized quotations, hijacked proverbs, fragments of dialogues, sketches, theoretical and humanist thoughts. Acerbic, parodic and often funny – à la Richard Prince – these are inspired and fatalistic refl ections on contemporary society: think Pascal, version No Future, revised by Johnny Rotten. For Price, quoting Novalis: “Journals are really communal books,” to be shared. Even if these “data presented schematically w/o explication” remain obscure, unreadable. In spite of the presence at the beginning of a fake and disconcerting alphabetic index (listing, among other things, “Chaos, History, Personal, Occult, Psychism, Qabalah”…), no link appears –and we know why between one page and any other. The layout doesn’t seem any more chronological. At the very last page, he affi rms: “and as in pornography, there is a semblance of a beginning, the shambles of the text, and no end,”. Poems is apprehended then like a looped fi lm, a moving train, or the fragments of a conversation overheard by chance. The artist, who is also a fi lm director, writer and music producer, is accustomed to sampling, working from fragments to be recomposed. An archive is for him a way of appropriating and resuscitating the “dead ends” of low popular or underground culture: everything that remains neglected or pushed aside by the market or the powers that be. He shares what he calls “the conceptualists’ dependence on documents and records”.
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ew York based artist, Mary Ellen Carroll recently invited actors to attend an open audition to be her.
ause of Arrest: HockeyAt the finals of hockey season in Clifton, New York, eight adults were arrested for assault and battery. A fight broke out concerning a game on the ice – a tournament match among 9 year old children – that had led to parents fighting it out in the stands. Hockey fights are usually part of the game, inside the rink. They are about the performance of punching and pulling and drops of blood shed for the triumph of winning. Chris Hanson & Hendrika
idier Fiuza Faustino is a French architect suffering the effects of success. Nice problem to have, you might think. He’s in his mid-30’s and his work is all over the place, both literally (works up or in progress in several European countries) and figuratively (everything from video to sculpture). His Bureau Des Mesarchitectures in Paris is the center of operations for this plumber/punk turned architect. Open the door to his “firm” in the quiet courtyard off rue Montorgueil and prepare yourself for the strains of Marilyn Manson over the hum of architectural activity. Didier, skull rings on his fingers, will welcome you with the bemused look of someone who suddenly finds himself on the way to the top of the heap.
There is no rest for the weary; we’re lost, we drop blindly hour by hour, we who suffer, tossed like water from cheek to cheek, for long years thrown into uncertainty”: such might assuredly be the enchanting Schicksalslied of Anna Jermolaewa’s take on the urban scene in her last book Ass peeping from onestar press. The contemporary reader here finds him/herself confronted with a multitude of rearends that make faces, in the literal sense of Catherine M. (for whom the anatomical center is the ontological center with which communication is immediate and unmediated). This invitation to investigate deeply also pushes us to move forward, to openly follow, without any hope of ever being able to see the other side of the dream decor. So let us dream, but let us also move on. He who follows is surely the foundation of he who leads.
