Sandman Simms vs Bill Cosby: Challenge!

I wanna be your Tennis Ball - Jamie Foxx and the Ballers

I'd really like to live beside you, baby

Ah you loved me as a loser, but now you're worried that I just might win
You know the way to stop me, but you don't have the discipline
How many nights I prayed for this, to let my work begin
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin

Let this be my promise

Force MDs – Tender Love

"Candles, they light the dark"

My red roses, your red two lips

How I wish You were Mine

I'll meet you at the studio

So many I love live so faraway

Steely Dan – Peg (Live)

On my route home yesterday I started whistling de la soul's Eye Know; I don't know how or why it got in my head. After whistling the loop once or twice, a gentlemen named Will Strickland of UMAC elucidated to me that the sample de la used comes from a song called Peg, by Steely Dan.

Honey, I'm home.

Banksy is at it again...

The Cans Festival organized by Banksy featuring Hugo Kaagman, Dolk et al.

A couple paragraphs about Katie Bethune-Leamen

Rem Koolhaas: The typical pizza restaurant in Germany, for instance, is run by Turks, and yet, the discussion among politicians is that these people should know about German history and should have a minimal sense of belonging to an identity, etc., so it is a completely counterproductive and reactionary idea and also part of this nostalgia. It would be really interesting to locate that moment when nostalgia started to become the dominant mode.

Hans Ulrich-Obrist: And when would you locate it? Would you say it was postmodernism?

Rem Koolhaas: I think it was probably earlier, no?*

Maybe, (I'm not sure, hear me? But here I go panning, speculating, for gold) just maybe, Katie Bethune-Leamen's long-titled "Tupac" piece is some sort of attempt to locate a moment for nostalgia's rise to a dominant mode. Probably not, Rem and Hans might have nothing to do with it. The piece whose long title is missing here, whose memory is fogging off in this memory, whose composition should probably be considered in relation to the body of the group show it hung with ,is composed (and decomposed) by 3 links: mushrooms, Tupac and modernism's throne: a chair. (The exact name escapes me... Eames' design, originally issued in fiberglass by Herman Miller, ubiquitous. You've seen them. If you saw one it would be so obvious.)

There are 3 framed digital drawings works on the wall which read left to right. They dissolve linearly like a birth to death narrative: the image dissolves literally; the far right work is nearly black and white, and unlike the others is subtitled. Katie, in her hand writing, has scrawled a nearly decipherable sentence (or maybe it's my memory now) about Tupac Shakur and his ghost; an epitaph of sorts. Looking at the piece, one deciphers that the image of Tupac in the digital drawings is lifted from the blanket on the floor. A mink blanket, I'm told, it's called. It lies there before us, before the wall, below the drawings; it covers what one discovers is an Eames chair, you know the kind, this one is fancier than the kind bought en masse by universities in the 70s, fancier because it has what are known as an Eiffel base for legs (mimicking that shape of that industrial, romantic, French tower) and doubly fancier because it's white. That colorless, pale, white chair lies on it's side, toppled, dead; covered by that Tupac blanket like a cadaver. Sculpted, life-size, mushrooms sprout both from what's visible of the chair and from the blanket. Tupac dead, Eames chair dead, and mushrooms growing upon this substrate demanding our consideration. And as considerate I am, I consider, and all my thoughts return Hans and Rem. Sentimentality, homesickness, youth and oooh it was all so simple then...

Katie's "Tupac" ciphers nostalgia as a dominant mode but it doesn't pin-point nostalgia's rise; honestly, I'm lost here, help, hold me, I have no idea; then again, wait, wait, wait --- maybe it does pin-point a moment.

If it does, then the date lies with Tupac dying in the mid-late 90's, or does the moment rest when Eames chairs were being re-issued in fibreglass-free plastic editions? Probably in the 90s too. Same thing. But wait, Rem has given us a hint: it was probably earlier, no? And he's right, it lies much earlier, probably in the original issue of that Eames chair; somewhere in the midst of American post-WWII revelry; sometime when JD Salinger's Holden is loathing phonies; sometime when Martin Luther King Jr. was dreaming; sometime when a de Kooning was fresh in William Rubin's loft; sometimes when humans hadn't been to the moon yet; sometimes when Russians were warring the west with their cold; sometime when the future was still something look forward to... The exact moment nostalgia arose as a dominant mode is at modernism's peak and simultaneous collapse. And what of Tupac there? Why can't he rest in peace? This is where hip-hop kills us softly and directs us: mushrooms are the remix. Regardless how culture grows and flows and attempts to ascertain its highness through conflation of colors, times and rhymes, down below nature wants to (and of course eventually will) topple it, grow over it like weeds popping through cracked concrete, like books breeding dust, like meanings amplified by ambiguities, like mushrooms growing, rising, out of invisible mold; just add moisture and a bit of willing ghost. Within the remix, shiitake, magic, or otherwise, it's what Tupac Shakur instinctively knew when he rhymed to his mum: "tell my homies, I'm in heaven." What Tupac's premonition points at, and what Katie clarifies with her installation is a contemporary riddle: Never before have we lived in such material wealth and simultaneous spiritual poverty; a condition that obfuscates the present and keeps makes the mass nostalgic for the past; the politicians, on all sides in regards to the present, teach us to die. The riddle Katie leads me to is like a Borgesian labyrinth and I find myself trapped in it and even though it answers nothing, I have to rephrase Hans to ask it differently, to clarify... why did the future become something to be afraid of?

Martino Gamper

Martino Gamper is doing a project with Wright in Chicago. Look it up, it's worth it; his work is marked by alchemy, punk and a slight twist garage sale. Lovely.

Images courtesy of: www.gampermartino.com

Cacao supply, children...

"Childhood is both a construct and a luxury good, available only to children of adults who earn sufficient livelihoods for their families as a whole." Read more.

How My Family is and How to be more successful in 2 paragraphs or so, for Angela Nardiello

First of all, I had a great nap today. It was dreamy... so nice. I woke up to soup on the table.

You ask, I tell. Dancing is like art and dancing is an art and dancing is art but not if you're smoking and drinking on a Saturday night for just so. Drunk art isn't art, fuck that. But it can be. Don't let me be the arbiter on this one. What I do really know is this: If you like it, if it feels good, and it feels right, adopt a corporate catch phrase and just do it. Ahem, My family is so beautiful. I hung out today with mum and dad and my sister, Urszula, and her exceptionally wonderful son, my nephew, Tyrus. Tyrus has deep blue eyes from my father, I think. His brown hair is light brown, a glowing dark blonde, nothing dirty about it. He is deeply interested in all things with big wheels and painted yellow: diggers, excavators, trucks; his favourite are cranes. I credit his preference to his exceeding intelligence because he obviously has an affinity for ideas beyond brute force. He seems to understand lifting, as the surpassing of this primordial law that makes even flesh fall, and stretching towards the heaven is one step from flying and one stair step from being angelic. He doesn't pronounce the R in crane very well and when he sees one (and he sees many because Toronto is constantly under construction) he yells out KWAYNE! You can't help but smile at his budding wit when he points at the cranes and says "I wanna see dat!" He's a great joy to play with. I tease him a lot about what is his and what isn't, to his mother's dismay, but he laughs when I do it and I like it and oh, you'd love him Angela, you would, because he's so easy to fall in love with.

The second part of this much delayed response addresses your second question:

1. Read "The Library of Babel" by Jorge Louis Borges and from it...
2. Decide that you can't know everything and focus on what success is for you and let it be your new modus operandi. Obsess on it. And then realize that...
3. You have this thing inside you called "joy". Bring it to any table you may have the pleasure pulling up a chair to, resting your elbows upon, tapping your finger tips on, eating food from, dancing on top of and let joy unfold it's warm magic... voila.

I hope that helps.

I'm happy to have the chance to share this with you, you've asked great questions. I would have loved to share this with you over brunch. I miss you lots and lots, send me your mailing address, okay? Until then, I am

yours affectionately,
tonik

I hope you're well. I miss you. Lots and lots. Love, tonik

Tino Sehgal

I could write a whole thesis paper on Tino Sehgal but it's better to let him talk about it.

Image: ICA

I'm too sad to tell you

Toronto

keyword: grey. toronto is waaaaaay ____. ____ pale and ashy but the most beautiful ____ you can imagine. ____. i drove out to my parents house today and the route out to their place in the burbs takes us along a highway through what's known as the Don valley. the valley is ____... ____ and peppered brown with last years leaves. ____, and still, with a coat of this winter's relentless snow. the once-in-a-while willow trees provide a bit of color as their weeping branches and their tiny buds glow a yellow that seems almost neon amidst the, you got it, ____. 3 of my mum's crocuses broke their brilliant purple through the ____ ground. i wake up recently wondering if there is still snow to be witnessed. i wake up and the window over my head usually exposes a blue sky above; later in the afternoon it usually goes ____ but if it doesn't it's brilliantly sunny like today. i then look out over the ____ roads, the ____ sidewalks as they compliment the ____ish brown lawns and the nearly budding but still bald trees. snow. almost no sign of spring snow. snow, white sometimes, and sometimes ____ and snow aged to ice over the months near the sides of the roads, ice that has picked up dirt from the vehicles, absorbed the filth from the traffic, melted from salting, melted together with sand, ice that was once white, has now in places gone black. it's beguiling but you can revel in it, if you know how to look at it, touch it. it's so ____, beautiful. it's not april yet, but sometimes it snows in april. i wonder if you know that song?

Everything around me.

Geoff McFetridge has made some new wallpaper I learned, and then I bumped into a place in California that makes an amazingly beautiful selection of fine wallpapers available.