Texts are being updated, some older ones below.
Written and read for de Appel arts centre in context of Instituting Ecologies.
We’re in a space gridded with industrial storage racks that reach to the ceiling. Around us are semi-opened crates filled with heavy cut stones.
We move between the racks, careful not to brush against anything. There are numbers engraved into burnished woods, white ink smeared into the etchings, now part of surface.
There are drawers labeled with classification systems that seem to fit no particular order.
On the shelves are iridescent shells, fibers, colored seeds, all once cared for.
Our eyes move across the shelving systems, metallic boundaries covered with foam protection.
There’s nothing charming to it.
I’m asked if I’d like to hold something, opening my hand I feel smoothened wood, an extension of arm. I feel mass and heft, how does one learn to disappear into the company of weight, disappear from conservation.
A cicatrice is described for both on skin and bark.
Spaces filled with metallic coldness can always be foregrounded by warmth. How could we disappear into a togetherness of configuring?
Tenderness can be found in weights and surfaces, bronze castings are made to disappear into weight.
Between one of these racks, a small box is opened. A tool fashioned with fossilised bone lays on a bed of cotton wool. Time that extends beyond the evolution of eyes and glands. The moment the materials were brought together was before deluge, before words evolved that we’ve now chosen to reject.
The box is closed, and put back on the shelves, a porosity, a punumbra shadow cast itself over the shelving systemMottled patterns.
Seasons and periods, halts and speeds, revolutions and risings, help denote, contain and hold time.Irregular marks.
flesha lure for another, and yet no one in particular
-Iridescent shells can be used as small plates, the same for cupped hands
Protecting us from an unmaking. Shapes continue to reconfigure actions.It’s not more complex than we think, they say, but rather, more complex than we can think. In breaking the world to pieces, what is found becomes disassociated, strewn meanings.Representations
So, how do hands that grip surfaces also cup water?
Iteration after iteration after iteration after iterationthat shell is and always was there.Iridescence is refractive, colours bounce from the position of eyes.Formlessness decorates itself over horizon spaces
ancestors and thoughts.
Hold onto nothing-
My mother has a collection of unused glasses because she says ‘her future can use them’
Iterations can alsodisappear into weight along with that which is contained.
Like they said, more complex than we can think.
We speak of gridded space as if one goes back to source, a fetish for strewn meaning. Configured by those representations that force a difference between inside and outside, between contained and container.
Identity is often bound with intent, imposed from an outside.
Words come from landscapea change of landscape is a change in words.Landscape was once soft.
We’re told metallic horizons are to be our interiorsdressed with words.Interiors are not etched.
Interiors are cared for, both plush and worn.They are requests in both disappearance and remembrance
Published by de Appel arts centre in context of the exhibition Rien ne va plus? Faites vos jeux!
The floor is an observed thing, your shoes, clothing a thing, your eyes, mouth, torso, a thing. Containments have the most slippery of exteriors.
Think of where people see your face, there is no distance from you and things.No memories, no colours, chins, teeth, eyes or cheeks.
There’s a building where a garden has been designed directly from the facade. As if the whole wall had been tilted and then lowered down,becoming the garden floor.
Every architectural line has grown into topiaries. Those hedges are trimmed daily, each branch controlled. Nothing beyond the allowance of the gardner, nothing beyond the control of desire.Trimmed to a point that all of a sudden they firm up and fall into line, he says.
Each window, each doorway which was once an opening on the facade, is now inversely translated into closed hedges on the ground. This occurs on all four sides of the building, as if the structure sits within an image of itself.
Inside containers are more containers, and in those containers more upon more containers.Chains of containment — so by the time they’ve found you, so many thresholds have been crossed, the last is forgotten from the first. These chains are found in the withs, ands, froms, in the institutions, countries, towns, brands and rhythms.
Logics that separate order from what is perceived as chaos, anti-entropy machines.Containments have the most slippery of exteriors, and the most slippery of interiors, so that insides slip right over outsides, nested within each other. — happily sitting within images of ourselves.As one passes through containments exclusivity becomes apparent — moving through the space, rooms become smaller and smaller, you shrink to fit space, your liver, arms, legs and intentions. Inner chambers, inner closets.
When you say flattened heirachary I want you to really mean it —Containments are power-structures against something else, they are however malleable, viscous and porous.
A pot turns earth inside out, earth becoming endomorphic to ectomorphic.
Becoming the very inverse of itself, chalk and clay. Leaner and thinner to the point where we can see through the material. Where the contained renders itself onto the exterior of the vessel as a screen.
Combining both outside and inside. Astonishing.
Mirrors always seems to find time for the outside.
The floor is an observed thing, your shoes, clothing a thing, your eyes, mouth, torso, a thing. Containments have the most slippery of exteriors.Think of where people see your face, there is no distance from you and things.
No memories,no colours, chins,teeth,eyes or cheeks.