A film about departures, the kind without return.
Fashioning ersatz artifacts and museological displays, two artists dispense with individual authorship to inhabit the “speculative nature of history” with an eye on the future.
When I arrive in the lobby of Kalimpong’s famed Himalayan Hotel, I move around clumsily and with caution. I’m wary of touching objects left behind by long-gone visitors, and the pop-up ghosts of soldiers, businessmen, and mountaineers startle me.
What would life be like if nature had selected the male body to gestate and deliver offspring? What if women had evolved to be on the more pleasurable side of procreation while men endured its discomforts (if not labor pain, then at least an average of 2,400 days of bleeding through adolescence and adulthood)?
The artist Josiah McElheny has published two books that display his collaboration with artists, scholars, scientists and creative writers, offering a multitude of voices, speculations, fictions, and facts.
Agnieszka Kurant’s interests include various forms of surplus, invisible entities, and the phantoms haunting capitalist production. Some of her projects involve crowdsourcing, others outsourcing to nonhuman species: think colonies of termites.
Selections by Mónica de la Torre, Matias Piñeiro, Hannah Holden, Sabine Russ, and Lisa Robertson.
“A precisely aimed reach into the immeasurable flow of things.”
The noise of a schoolyard pours into a square, canvassed room. Overlaid by the thumping of distant tribal drums, the shrieking and trilling young voices are pummeled into the rhythm of battle.
Von Trotta and actress Barbara Sukowa discuss their history together, the role of radical women in Germany and their latest film, Hannah Arendt.
Russ follows the instructions of The Cruise, a “floating audio film,” which directs its listeners to follow Maja Sweeney on a monologue through the mind.
Ten years ago, when Wolfgang Staehle trained his webcam on Downtown Manhattan to create a live-video feed to Postmasters Gallery during his September exhibition, he had no idea that, by the 11th of that month, his work would meticulously record the day’s massive destruction and deaths, and would witness the opening of a new world-history book.
Sabine Russ maps Wolfgang Staehle’s 2001 onto 2011, tracing the painful and cathartic implications of its memory.
JJ Peet might surreptitiously reach into a drawer of kernels, grab an equalizer in the form of a wire or a pin and apply it to one of the dueling opponents—a sock-covered brick (the Resistant) and a home-made miniature cannon (the Luxury Leader).