Adrian Piper è un’ artista-filosofa. Lo si apprende dal suo enciclopedico sito web (www.adrianpiper.com), che rivela come la sua ricerca trovi espressione in tre differenti discipline: non solo l’arte e la filosofia, ma anche lo yoga. Nella pagina dedicata alle sue notizie biografiche sono raccolti diversi documenti: testi brevi o estesi, scritti, riscritti e aggiornati a distanza di anni; saggi in prima persona e compendi in terza, oltre alla pagina Wikipedia ricostruita personalmente dall’artista. Sul sito compaiono lettere inviate a redattori, editori e curatori nelle quali Piper prega di correggere informazioni scorrette e di non basarsi su considerazioni esterne all’opera d’arte.
Articolo commissionato da L’Officiel Art Italia e apparso sul N. 3 Aprile 2018
Jeremy Sharma’s exhibition at ICA Singapore has a vibrant pulse and operates as an orchestra. The instruments the Singaporean artist plays are his videos: in one of them there is a saxophonist who introduces a soulful vibe resonating in the entire gallery. Billy Wong, who played in the Singapore Symphony Orchestra, was befriended by Sharma as a street busker; in the video he performs his interpretation for a song composed for guitar, the new score Wong wrote can be found pinned on a wall in the gallery. Sharma films the musician playing at sunset by the windows of a room with a recognisable backdrop of Singapore HDB flats’ skyline. A paper contract next to it, reveals it is an office space rented only for the day of the filming.
Sto in un albergo nel caos sporco di Mong Kok, la mia camera e’ su un piano alto e mi pare di essere un’ eroina di un telefilm del giro del millennio tipo quello con Jessica Alba con il tatuaggio di riconoscimento a codice a barra sulla nuca. Se non sto attenta, mi e’ gia’ capitato di aprire la porta dell’armadio anziché quella della doccia, dato che sono uguali e adiacenti.
Finding a title for this exhibition has been hard; there was for a moment The abstraction of the art object (2017–2065) but I am no Lucy Lippard and it sounded like I was setting out to write a treatise. Then there were Satellite dreams, Dancing satellite and a brief Star Wars reprise, The last satellite, untileventually the satellite was shut down.
Haji Widayat (Indonesia) Wild Orchids in the Forest 1985, oil on canvas
Early morning and the fog pouring into the valley like a river. The hills a shade of emerald so dark that they are almost black. The gently rustling ferns, the wood-plank walls, the water dripping off the roof in beads of light—everything seemed to be drawing breath. She emerged from her sleep as if coming out of a cocoon, opened her eyes into the blooming of things. Through the window she could feel the crisp bite of the wind, see the fog enveloping everything as if the clouds were descending from above. For a moment she closed her eyes. Suddenly the sound of marbles falling onto the roof. When she opened them again the world had whipped itself into a storm.
Have you ever travelled in time to an imaginary place where disparate famous architectures coexist by the placid waters of a lake? Have you ever seen someone else’s living room in a black and white photograph, distant as a memory yet as close as a family member? A lush velvet curtain becomes a portal transporting you to sculptures in Russia or the Trump Towers in India, amid flowers, foliage and clouds appropriated from Italian art history.
Francesca Grilli, Gold, site specific performance. Library of the American Academy, Rome, 2015
“[…] As the drama of female consciousness in the world; as an attempt to interrupt the dream that man has of woman in order to dream himself; as the possibility of relationships now freed, even if traumatized, from the realm of silence.” (1)
In this precise historical moment, to reflect on what it means to be a woman seems to harbor connotations whose implications are, to say the least, problematic. It does so, in part, because we are still prisoners of a stage in which the male gaze is the one that judges and the only one adopted by the mass media. In a 1973 essay, film theorist Laura Mulvey indicated the tendency of Hollywood movies to reduce the woman to a sexual function or otherwise to a virginal figure of salvation, ever passive with respect to her instrumentalization in male narrative. (2)
Alex Cecchetti, Le chevalier, table, 4 chairs enzo mari autorpogettazione, woodcut, prints, menu with poems, 2017, from “Tamam Shud” at Ujazdowski Castle, Warsaw. Photo: Pat Mic
Quando si incontra Monsieur Cecchetti spiccano i suoi occhi castani: guizzano, si illuminano, ridono. Il corpo tracima energia e le mani e la testa si muovono con foga, accompagnando le sue narrazioni. La voce, allo stesso tempo stentorea e melliflua, porta con sé influssi della sua esistenza nomade tra Italia, Francia e Inghilterra, in un prisma di lingue e di aggettivi, che prendono sfumature diverse in base al contesto linguistico in cui ci si trova. In questi anni Alex Cecchetti ha realizzato libri, sculture, collage, coreografie, performance, riviste, tarocchi…, ma continua a scartare ogni definizione e tentativo in ingabbiarlo in un genere o in uno stile.
Ex-cinema Lietuva, Vilnius, Lituania. Foto di Caterina Riva, 2016
Ultimo giorno a Vilnius. Cammino tra le strade acciottolate della città vecchia fino al ponte sul fiume che mi porta alla zona moderna: grandi supermercati Maxima, grattacieli con l’insegna gigante di una banca svedese… Ho in mente la direzione, l’ho controllata sul portatile prima di lasciare l’albergo ma ora non sono così sicura delle distanze e mi perdo un po’. Invece di costeggiare il fiume salgo verso una strada più in alto e mi ritrovo davanti a un edificio immenso, di era sovietica, che pare un’arena sportiva. Avvicinandomi, noto che lo spazio intorno è vuoto e pieno di erbacce, alcuni vetri sono rotti, altri ricoperti da graffiti; è decisamente abbandonato.
Les Urbaines turned 20 this year, it is a remarkable platform to see exciting live works and new international productions on the threshold of theatre, dance, art and music. I arrived in Lausanne with a beautiful train journey through the mountains from Milano, which was not enough to wake me up from the realisation of how expensive everything is in this steep lakeside Swiss town.
Jacopo Jenna for SelfPleasurePublishing, 2016. Photo: Caterina Riva at RIVIERA
In my inbox there’s an email that begins with “Dear Caterina,” but the rest of which is clearly a cut and paste job from the board of yet another art institution, thanking me for the time I have spent preparing my application but telling me that they have chosen another candidate.
I get out of the metro at Belleville, I find the usual hecticness and racial mix, I look for the exit on the boulevard and on the stairs I glance at Catherine David, with a Cleopatra-like makeup that enhances her dark eyes and contrasts with her white complexion.
The first night he got on the island, after a bumpy ferry ride, the stars were bright overhead and he felt like being out of time but also gently alive. Continue reading: http://incurva.org/2016-renato-leotta/#cr Caterina Riva, 2016
Published in Renato Leotta’s Aventura, Aventura, Peripezia published by Madragoa, Lisbon
It’s not for reading, it’s for making, 2009. Collection of legs by Hans-Peter Feldmann
How are you?
We have been separated for quite some time but I loved you very much in your infancy and cared for you when you had a name, a home in London (moving from an arch on Brick Road to a studio complex in crane infested Dalston that was gearing up for the Olympics) but you were still growing up and deciding what you wanted to become. It was a playful phase, full of experiments and people and it entailed quite a bit of travelling too.
Davide Savorani, Stressed environment, 2016. Installation at Marselleria, Courtesy the artist and Marselleria.
La tua palestra di riferimento e’ Technogym.
Ti piacciono le serie in streaming, le guardi in lingua originale.
Mangi un sacco di banane: ce ne sono dappertutto, nella tua cucina, abbandonate in giro nel tuo studio, hanno la buccia nera come se fossero dei fossili del paleozoico.
Sei arrabbiato. Sei catatonica. Che noia!
Leggi David Foster Wallace, e’ una lettura lenta, impegnativa. I paragrafi devono essere letti e riletti. Mi sento stupida la maggior parte del tempo.
La routine ti spaventa ma ne sei prigioniero. Quante volte hai controllato Instagram oggi? Hai voglia di mettere qualcosa sotto i denti. Non hai voglia di uscire ma hai promesso a F. che sarai a quella inaugurazione. In realtà hai voglia di Tinder. Pensi a quello dell’altra volta e la mano ti scivola giù tra i pantaloni.
Il dinamismo e’ la tua caratteristica, la persegui nei tuoi disegni, nelle coreografie che immagini, nei fili che tirano idee e sculture, ci sono dei personaggi futuribili fatti in materiale plastico, sono personaggi che vivono nella tua galassia. Si esercitano in una palestra o in un parco pubblico, hanno desiderio di mettere un po’ d’olio sui muscoli del cuore.
Talia Chetrit, Public Billboard, LAXART, Los Angeles, 2014
Looking at Talia Chetrit’s photographs feels like being catapulted on the set of a 1970s thriller, think 3 Days of the Condor, presumably shot in New York’s exteriors and favouring birds’ eye views to scan someone in the crowd or singling out a detail among the choreography of people moving on the streets below. Frozen time is photography’s prerogative yet in Chetrit’s work the settings and the choice of the grain give a sense of an explicit temporality, which depicts a reality as well as constructing a fiction.
Diego Marcon, Untitled (Head falling 02&05), 2015. Courtesy the artist.
Careof is a not-for-profit space in Milan hosted in a public architectural complex called La Fabbrica del Vapore (The Steam Factory) which, at the beginning of the 1900s, was where trams were built. The site is next to the calm beauty of Cimitero Monumentale, a tidy layout of trees and tombs of various styles and sizes. On the opposite side is the lively Chinatown, always buzzing with people, plenty of shops and more recently trendy bars serving bubble tea.
It’s my first day in Moscow and I need to get roubles. The hotel I am staying at instructs me on how to find a bank. The lobby is spacious and shiny and I am not sure which facility I have entered. I ask someone if I can exchange currency and they take me to another room with two women behind a desk, who introduce me to a third door. After passing through a small waiting room with a sofa, a sliding door with a button brings me to a window counter. Two men in front of me take twenty minutes to finish: they carry suitcases and the counting machines are in constant motion. Two flat screens show me boats, luxury locations and offshore banking ads.
Diego Marcon, SPOOL BROADCASTING, block III, Tape 02. Elena, July 15 2012. Courtesy the artist
Milan, EXT. DAY.
A loud noise comes from inside the exhibition space. Once through the darkened threshold, a giant garden dwarf welcomes the visitor to Diego Marcon’s suggestive new body of works. The artist, on returning to Milan after over a year in Paris and after several months of tight work, faces up to what has been happening around him and analyses his own artistic drives, choosing to approach his beloved medium of film in an artisanal way. The conversation delves into Marcon’s older projects and how they are feeding this exhibition as well as driving the development of new characters for the future. Spoilers ahead: the interview contains mentions of Heads, Winnie-The-Pooh and what Franti stands for.
There is an Inside Amy Schumer sketch that I have been watching over and over: a woman bumps into a friend on a New York sidewalk, and compliments her on her looks, but in the ensuing moments the friend subverts the quality that was praised by firing off a list of negative aspects she sees in herself. New female acquaintances pass by and join in the routine of annulling the compliment just paid by describing all the freakish faults in their own appearance. The dynamic is broken to disastrous effect when someone accepts the praise at face value.
Performance Proletarians, rehearsal, Istituto Svizzero di Roma, 2015
We have entered a period of barbarism, she says. (S. Sontag)
Did I tell you I have been in living in Rome since the beginning of the year? Rome is beautiful but full of tourists, and shits. I mean real dog poo on the pavement. It’s really dirty, as my parents kept saying when they came to visit. They live in the North of the Country, you see, close to Switzerland.
Janet Lilo, photos of ‘Ite around the AAG, 2014. Courtesy the photographer
I have returned from Biel/Bienne, a small town caught between lakes and hills in the part of Switzerland that from French speaking becomes German, hence the double languages in the signage. I never thought using two languages could have been so confusing, when trying to order at the bakery I think I managed to use four languages in one sentence. I was there to follow the time based performances constituting the 2014 Swiss Sculpture Exhibition. Bodies rather than objects, interacting or reacting to the city, its public constituted by amused, confused or blind passerbys and art professionals, prepared to witness anything and following a strict time schedule.