the sketch of a position, of a fleet shape that can lean towards cold raster noton-like aesthetics as well as towards intimate song writing, that holds the darkness of Low somewhere deep down inside which you will remember as gleaming and euphoric. offish electronic sounds, fragile remain of breathing and far away hunches that sound like underwater music establish a gentle connection to the immediacy of the embracing and sensual voice. a strict, disciplined and artful texture is drawn only to be immediately filled by love, tears, kisses and laughter, ardour, inebriation, sobering, disenchantment, desperation, occupied by life itself. the music of hundreds grows with every encounter, with every collision and contradiction. it breathes in all the free spaces that suddenly appear. It is as unseizable as the persons behind it. still it offers to hug everyone.
(sinnbus records)
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
we ourselves flash and yearn,
and moreover my mother told me as a boy
(repeatingly) ‘Ever to confess you’re bored
means you have no
Inner Resources.’ I conclude now I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
Peoples bore me,
literature bores me, especially great literature,
Henry bores me, with his plights & gripes
as bad as achilles,
who loves people and valiant art, which bores me.
And the tranquil hills, & gin, look like a drag
and somehow a dog
has taken itself & its tail considerably away
into mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind: me, wag.
Max Ernst: Thirty-three Little Girls Set out for the White Butterfly Hunt (1958)
Source: Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, MadridNº INV. 537 (1971.8)
at the junction of two signs, /one for a school of herrings and the other for a school of crystals/ thirty-three little girls set out for the white butterfly hunt,/the blind dance in the night,/princess sleep badly and the black crow is to speak.
You send the demons up in the clouds
You ban the angels down to the ground
Screaming so quiet whispering so loud
Fade the voices and all that singing sound
Keep the hands close and lock the face
Release the mind and sail away
Out of the dark into the blue
Leaving behind what is right and true
Exploring new shores all alone
Working my fingers to the bone
Appease my hunger and quench my thirst
Won’t be the last who is lost and cursed
Oh can it be like before
I’ll be willing calling you for more
And just the day when i was getting through
You enlight these sideways and these avenues
Click Play to listen to Calling Sky by The Year Of:
Dear Mine,
All the leaves were swallowed by the ground. Some of them still long for its embrace, and lay somehow unpatiently at my feet. They can remember your footsteps.
When I looked in the mirror today, I saw myself more beautiful than before.
Then noticed two stubborn leaves in a sea of emptiness, beauty and terror.
/*this is my tutor, Steve, in Nairobi, inside Kebira’s slum radio station, looking silently at the desolation scenery of one of the largest slums in Africa, located 5 kilometres (3.1 mi) from the city centre/
I am delighted to share that my photo, [meet me on the other shore] which won a monthly competition organised by theprintspace London this year, was selected to be in the exhibition So Show Me II, curated by Euan Danks, Linda Brownlee, and Michael Bodiam, to name a few. The show runs until September 30, 2011 at theprintspace gallery in London. (They have already printed this for me as a prize, in large format, mounted on acrylic reverse with split battens fixtures as a prize – a perfect beauty.)
For more information on theprintspace and So Show Me II, take a look at these links:
The best slave
does not need to be beaten.
She beats herself.
Not with a leather whip,
or with stick or twigs,
not with a blackjack
or a billyclub,
but with the fine whip
of her own tongue
& the subtle beating
of her mind
against her mind.
For who can hate her half so well
as she hates herself?
& who can match the finesse
of her self-abuse?
Years of training
are required for this.
Twenty years
of subtle self-indulgence,
self-denial;
until the subject
thinks herself a queen
& yet a beggar –
both at the same time.
She must doubt herself
in everything but love.
She must choose passionately
& badly.
She must feel lost as a dog
without her master.
She must refer all moral questions
to her mirror.
She must fall in love with a cossack
or a poet.
She must never go out of the house
unless veiled in paint.
She must wear tight shoes
so she always remembers her bondage.
She must never forget
she is rooted in the ground.
Though she is quick to learn
& admittedly clever,
her natural doubt of herself
should make her so weak
that she dabbles brilliantly
in half a dozen talents
& thus embellishes
but does not change
our life.
If she’s an artist
& comes close to genius,
the very fact of her gift
should cause her such pain
that she will take her own life
rather than best us.
All is new
I burn down my studio, sniff the ashes like coke.
I slay my goldfish, bury him in the yard.
I blast my hangout, I let everything go. (uh…)
My old life tastes like limp biscuit.
Fry me a splendid steak, Peter cooks finest meat now.
I’m the update, Peter Fox 1.1.
I want to shake myself, party, but my pool is too small.
I grow a second set of choppers like the great white shark. (hoo…)
Waxed, doped, polished, brandnew teeth.
I became euphoriant and have expensive plans.
I buy me construction machines, dredgers, rollers and cranes.
I jump at Berlin and sound the sirens.
I build pretty loudspeaker arrays, basses knead your soul.
I am the wrecking ball for the g-g-g-german scene.Hey, all is shiny, that brand-new.
Hey, if you don’t like it, make it anew. (hoo…)
The world covered with dust but I want to see where I go.
Climb on the mountain of dirt because on top the wind blows.
Hey, all is shiny, that brand-new.
I’m fed up of my old clothes and let am rot in a bag.
I mothball them and then I go shopping naked.
I’m completely redecorated, chicks have something to stare at.
In rude health, buff, world champion of boxing and chess.
Only talking directly, give me a yes or a no.
Stop the falderal, I stop that old bosh.
If I ever smoke pot again, I’ll cut my leg with an axe.
I don’t want to lie again, I want to mean every sentence like it’s said.
My head bursts, I have to change all.
I search the button, meet the powerfull men.
Jive happiness on the country, buy banks and broadcast stations.
Everybody runs riot, trembling sheep and lambs.
I look better than Bono and am a common man.
Ready to rescue the world, though that might be flying a bit high.
Hey, all is shiny, that brand-new.
Hey, if you don’t like it, make it anew. (hoo…)
The air is used up here, it is hard to breath.
Bye bye I got to get out here, the walls are coming near.
The world covered with dust but I want to see where I go.
Climb on the mountain of dirt because on top the wind blows.
Hey, all is shiny, that brand-new.
Hey
The pun on jive is untranslatable: “Swing das Land zum Glück”. “Swing” nearly sounds like “zwing” and that means “to force”. “Jive happiness on the country” sounds in German like “force happiness on the country”.
**to view the book in full size just click on the square on the right and use the arrows to navigate. opinions are more than welcomed as the book is still in production. :)
Thank you so much everyone for your votes and e-mails! I chose ‘A R R I V A L S’, my tutor loved it, and although I showed him the alternatives, he wanted this one! As a result, he advised me to make a photo book! Thought some prints would be enough, but they are not (my tutor has never chosen the easiest way for me, guess he likes to know I’m in pain!), so here I am, working on a Blurb book now!!! You’ll see it soon!
As I’m preparing the final exhibition for my MA degree, I find choosing its title one of the most difficult and complex tasks.
In (very) short, my project deals with issues of ethnicity, identity and self in the context of globalisation, migration and alienation.
Developed on a period of a few months in Romania and the Republic of Moldova, the exhibition mostly comprises photos of places, people and situations that best represented this journey of the self on the native places.
It is nothing extremely complicated but I want to force a bit the norm and the dullness of titles usually used for such projects (as I am quite fed up with titles such as “boundaries of memory”, “dissolving identities” etc. you get the idea).
Your answers can be intuitive, it is best to choose what resonates with you most (even if it is about me – in fact, the project intends to create premises for identification and reflection), even if you just like how it sounds.
After all, my work is for others, that’s why your input into this is essential!
I’m here. I miss you so.
Tonight I’ll dream the
dream I want. You wearing an
Egyptian cat mask me trying to
be the last Andy Warhol
impersonator.We both know this
means something. The sex shop’s
pink add flickering above you. I am
inside. Accept it. Between
your skin and my skin there’s just an
usual silence. illegal
dynamics. emotional boredom.
**loved this video so much, that I made shameless screen captions and edited them as above. I found it very inspiring and saying lots of things about myself.
![[complicity]](http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5045/5267730538_1a95a32669_b.jpg)
![[Early Morning in Camden Market, London]](http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6092/6283130444_e69936089b_o.jpg)
![[postcard no. 3]](http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6048/6262465429_7787e4a99e_o.jpg)
![[building castles]](http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6233/6229476811_eccdc94d1d_o.jpg)
![[together we're invincible]](http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6092/6248962395_9ca2ff30fa_b.jpg)
![[++ inhabiting our own dreams]](http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6169/6169400370_0015517260_b.jpg)
![[++ we have to imagine new ways to harvest time]](http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6159/6169558226_7b706d980d_b.jpg)
![[++ blind me | chaos and harmony ++]](http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6179/6168886931_ab8f2aac28_b.jpg)
![[i L i]](http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6174/6182547167_a2d6e4573e_z.jpg)
![[i L i]](http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6179/6183073868_de74acc51b_z.jpg)
![[i L i]](http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6165/6182557195_d09eafffa6_z.jpg)
![[Elena]](http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6076/6121994417_316640492a_z.jpg)
![[Elena: In the garden]](http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6209/6122117975_149a1a6d47_z.jpg)
![[Elena: Shelling beans]](http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6088/6122735770_585bd927a6_z.jpg)
