Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
Install Theme
Twine text-based games emulate our limited agency within our daily experiences with work, lovers, friends, art, life, and as such have proven a valuable cultural form for people who, in their daily lives, must work within a limited set of choices. The text, clicks, and roundabout narratives within a Twine game illustrate the anticipation and uncertainty we feel navigating the internet, or life. You have the choice of what text to click, but no control over what comes from that click. The hypertext of Twine enriches an otherwise ordinary narrative with the innate confusion, messiness, “reality” of the player. They are what draw us in to the narrative, but also a reminder of the narrative’s bounds. Each click through a Twine game reiterates what it really means to win: accepting the limited choices at hand and moving forward, trepidations aside. 

The mission to create a zine-like culture around gaming articulated by Anthropy, allowing games to be personal and lo-fi, continues to build today, two years after Anthropy’s initial proclamation. From February to April of this year, Richard Goodness curated “Fear of Twine,” an online exhibition of sixteen Twine games. The goal was not to demonstrate the platform’s ease of use, or to promote use within the LGBTQ community, but to show how diverse it could be as a gaming tool. Though Twines are primarily text-based, and often narrative, as you pick and choose your way through one, you feel compelled toward the reward of a successful narrative, the ending you want, hence they are gamified stories. Goodness senses a continuing rise in the indie gaming scene, helped by Twine. “Twine,” he says, “seems to have arrived at a point where people wanted more things from videogames, it is accessible enough for lots of people to make games, but complicated enough that people can make interesting work.” Just as the photocopied zines made your voice feel heard or the recorded-in-a-garage sound made Beat Happening sound like all your unrequited crushes, the fast and dirty creation and aesthetic of Twine games makes them a perfect outlet for our reverberating, repressed emotions, and for modeling possible freedoms and real world oppression. 

via Rhizome | Hypertext and Destiny: This Twine Could be Your Life

Twine text-based games emulate our limited agency within our daily experiences with work, lovers, friends, art, life, and as such have proven a valuable cultural form for people who, in their daily lives, must work within a limited set of choices. The text, clicks, and roundabout narratives within a Twine game illustrate the anticipation and uncertainty we feel navigating the internet, or life. You have the choice of what text to click, but no control over what comes from that click. The hypertext of Twine enriches an otherwise ordinary narrative with the innate confusion, messiness, “reality” of the player. They are what draw us in to the narrative, but also a reminder of the narrative’s bounds. Each click through a Twine game reiterates what it really means to win: accepting the limited choices at hand and moving forward, trepidations aside.

The mission to create a zine-like culture around gaming articulated by Anthropy, allowing games to be personal and lo-fi, continues to build today, two years after Anthropy’s initial proclamation. From February to April of this year, Richard Goodness curated “Fear of Twine,” an online exhibition of sixteen Twine games. The goal was not to demonstrate the platform’s ease of use, or to promote use within the LGBTQ community, but to show how diverse it could be as a gaming tool. Though Twines are primarily text-based, and often narrative, as you pick and choose your way through one, you feel compelled toward the reward of a successful narrative, the ending you want, hence they are gamified stories. Goodness senses a continuing rise in the indie gaming scene, helped by Twine. “Twine,” he says, “seems to have arrived at a point where people wanted more things from videogames, it is accessible enough for lots of people to make games, but complicated enough that people can make interesting work.” Just as the photocopied zines made your voice feel heard or the recorded-in-a-garage sound made Beat Happening sound like all your unrequited crushes, the fast and dirty creation and aesthetic of Twine games makes them a perfect outlet for our reverberating, repressed emotions, and for modeling possible freedoms and real world oppression.

via Rhizome | Hypertext and Destiny: This Twine Could be Your Life


For myself, the goal of the project was and is to open dialogue. The role of The Wild Bush Residency isn’t just to look at nature and wilderness, but ultimately to look deeply into the idea of emptiness in the wild. Canada is not, and has never been empty. It is and has always been big, and perhaps even sparsely populated. But never empty. Presented in this volume is the work (both visual and textual) of people concerned with the perceived emptiness of a nation seemingly obsessed by one’s nationality, as evidenced by current discussions in government related to immigration and status. 
Why do I want to revisit these topics? I know it isn’t “cool” to talk about nationalism. It’s not cool to be in nature (unless you mean Fogo, or Banff, other equally urbanized wilds). The city centres are the beating hearts of the art scene - our connection to the bigger world of international art. I know it’s not popular to paint landscapes, or to make anything resembling art of that kind. I know that I’m banging on the door of a topic so passé, so seemingly over, that no one should want to join me in my consideration of it in today’s terms. And yet, presented here is the work of contemporary artists eager to trudge through the muck of the legacy of Canadian art. 
-Amber Berson, Wild Bush Residency Curatorial statement

I’m delighted to be participating in the 2014 Wild Bush Residency with Raymond Boisjoly, Nicole Burisch, Maggie Flynn, Napatsi Folger, Saelan Twerdy, and Jacob Wren. Curated by Amber Berson.
The Wild Bush Residency is a three-day retreat for artists in a non-remote cabin in the moderately urbanized Canadian wilderness. Participants are asked to consider where their practice fits into this larger dialogue of wilderness, nature and a return to the ‘wild’. At once the action and reaction to historic and contemporary artist colonies, communal living exercises and good old fashioned art camps, The Wild Bush Residency prompts residents to think about the urbanization of the rural, the reality of the “Wilderness” and to question the sustainability and need of the back-to-the-land movement as it relates to their personal practises. The goal was to engage as many possible perspectives as possible.

For myself, the goal of the project was and is to open dialogue. The role of The Wild Bush Residency isn’t just to look at nature and wilderness, but ultimately to look deeply into the idea of emptiness in the wild. Canada is not, and has never been empty. It is and has always been big, and perhaps even sparsely populated. But never empty. Presented in this volume is the work (both visual and textual) of people concerned with the perceived emptiness of a nation seemingly obsessed by one’s nationality, as evidenced by current discussions in government related to immigration and status. 

Why do I want to revisit these topics? I know it isn’t “cool” to talk about nationalism. It’s not cool to be in nature (unless you mean Fogo, or Banff, other equally urbanized wilds). The city centres are the beating hearts of the art scene - our connection to the bigger world of international art. I know it’s not popular to paint landscapes, or to make anything resembling art of that kind. I know that I’m banging on the door of a topic so passé, so seemingly over, that no one should want to join me in my consideration of it in today’s terms. And yet, presented here is the work of contemporary artists eager to trudge through the muck of the legacy of Canadian art. 

-Amber Berson, Wild Bush Residency Curatorial statement

I’m delighted to be participating in the 2014 Wild Bush Residency with Raymond Boisjoly, Nicole Burisch, Maggie Flynn, Napatsi Folger, Saelan Twerdy, and Jacob Wren. Curated by Amber Berson.

The Wild Bush Residency is a three-day retreat for artists in a non-remote cabin in the moderately urbanized Canadian wilderness. Participants are asked to consider where their practice fits into this larger dialogue of wilderness, nature and a return to the ‘wild’. At once the action and reaction to historic and contemporary artist colonies, communal living exercises and good old fashioned art camps, The Wild Bush Residency prompts residents to think about the urbanization of the rural, the reality of the “Wilderness” and to question the sustainability and need of the back-to-the-land movement as it relates to their personal practises. The goal was to engage as many possible perspectives as possible.

Like Warhol, Johnson had an appetite for glamour and the politics of who-knows-who. But he was impatient with hierarchy. Warhol was a worshiper, Johnson a collector, a cataloger. In his work the same plane of importance is occupied by Marcel Duchamp, Anita O’Day and Toby Spiselman, a Long Island friend. It’s hard to imagine Warhol heading up an Anna May Wong fan club, but Johnson did. There’s a sense that for him all names are equivalent in value, are all collage elements, all “nothings,” or rather somethings, equally useful and even soothing in their sameness.
via ‘Not Nothing’ Tries to Capture the Artist Ray Johnson

Like Warhol, Johnson had an appetite for glamour and the politics of who-knows-who. But he was impatient with hierarchy. Warhol was a worshiper, Johnson a collector, a cataloger. In his work the same plane of importance is occupied by Marcel Duchamp, Anita O’Day and Toby Spiselman, a Long Island friend. It’s hard to imagine Warhol heading up an Anna May Wong fan club, but Johnson did. There’s a sense that for him all names are equivalent in value, are all collage elements, all “nothings,” or rather somethings, equally useful and even soothing in their sameness.

via ‘Not Nothing’ Tries to Capture the Artist Ray Johnson

I ONCE HAD the pleasure of hearing a historically informed performance of a Bach sonata played on an organ made by master builder John Brombaugh. Brombaugh organs are tuned in what is called unequal temperament. It is a bizarrely little-known fact, but today’s tuning standard, equal temperament, is a relatively modern system. To hear Glenn Gould plunk away at Bach on a piano is a historical goof. Today, if confronted with Gould performing his music on a contemporary instrument, Bach would most likely wonder, “Why is this Canadian guy playing my compositions out of tune?” Like computer software, music is a set of instructions performed in real time on various instruments, and like all technologies, parts of these systems can become obsolete—even something as common as what we hear as C major. Moreover, technology—like taste—does not necessarily proceed in a straight line. If we traveled back to the 1700s and heard Bach play, we might just as easily ask, “Why is he playing his own stuff out of tune?” Hierarchies of authenticity might be best considered relative.

A historically informed setting for the images discovered by this preservation effort would dictate that the following real-time systems be strung together: Warhol’s images would be need to be visualized in real time and in real space by a period- specific, analog, cathode-ray-tube Amiga monitor hooked up to an Amiga 1000 running the specific version of GraphiCraft found on Warhol’s disk, booted using Amiga Kickstart 26.7, all running on US 110V, 60Hz power. This is the only performance of these sketches that would be 100 percent accurate to 1985. The images you see reproduced here are renderings of the raw digital files for contemporary print and Web—a Gould version, if you will. Luckily, though, we might be on the right track, because the performance of these images is not entirely limited to a given medium, technology, or period, any more than an image can exist as a true original, as Warhol knew better than anyone. In 1986, when asked how he would like to see his sketches displayed, Warhol replied, “Well, we could get a printout. I could just print this out if we had the printer.” I hope he would have been OK with making a few thousand copies.

via the warhol files: andy warhol’s long-lost computer graphics - artforum.com / in print

I ONCE HAD the pleasure of hearing a historically informed performance of a Bach sonata played on an organ made by master builder John Brombaugh. Brombaugh organs are tuned in what is called unequal temperament. It is a bizarrely little-known fact, but today’s tuning standard, equal temperament, is a relatively modern system. To hear Glenn Gould plunk away at Bach on a piano is a historical goof. Today, if confronted with Gould performing his music on a contemporary instrument, Bach would most likely wonder, “Why is this Canadian guy playing my compositions out of tune?” Like computer software, music is a set of instructions performed in real time on various instruments, and like all technologies, parts of these systems can become obsolete—even something as common as what we hear as C major. Moreover, technology—like taste—does not necessarily proceed in a straight line. If we traveled back to the 1700s and heard Bach play, we might just as easily ask, “Why is he playing his own stuff out of tune?” Hierarchies of authenticity might be best considered relative.

A historically informed setting for the images discovered by this preservation effort would dictate that the following real-time systems be strung together: Warhol’s images would be need to be visualized in real time and in real space by a period- specific, analog, cathode-ray-tube Amiga monitor hooked up to an Amiga 1000 running the specific version of GraphiCraft found on Warhol’s disk, booted using Amiga Kickstart 26.7, all running on US 110V, 60Hz power. This is the only performance of these sketches that would be 100 percent accurate to 1985. The images you see reproduced here are renderings of the raw digital files for contemporary print and Web—a Gould version, if you will. Luckily, though, we might be on the right track, because the performance of these images is not entirely limited to a given medium, technology, or period, any more than an image can exist as a true original, as Warhol knew better than anyone. In 1986, when asked how he would like to see his sketches displayed, Warhol replied, “Well, we could get a printout. I could just print this out if we had the printer.” I hope he would have been OK with making a few thousand copies.

via the warhol files: andy warhol’s long-lost computer graphics - artforum.com / in print

Wanna See Me Disco? Fundraiser Dance Party, 9/20/14

image

image

Join us on Saturday, September 20, 2014 at Richlane for a rebel grrrl dance party with famous feminist-themed drinks!

Celebrate and support the production of new feminist discourse and the work of contemporary women artists. We will be passing the hat, however, please note: donations are encouraged, not mandatory. We value presence over presents.

Proceeds will go toward the upcoming discussion series, All My Little Words, and group exhibition, Miss World, at PARMER in October 2014.

RSVP ON FACEBOOK

momaps1:

"That’s what I realized I was going for, not some one-line joke like, “Here’s a birdhouse that’s minimalism.” Rather, here’s a structure that’s loaded with pathos, and you still don’t like it, you don’t feel sorry for it, you want to kick it. That’s what I wanted out of the thing—an artwork that you couldn’t raise, there was no way that you could make it better than it was. Its function as art actually makes it more uncomfortable."
~Mike Kelley, Excerpt from a 1991 BOMB Magazine Interview

Mike Kelley. Catholic Birdhouse. 1978. Painted wood and composite shingles, 55,9 x 47 x 47 cm. Private Collection, New York. Photo: Courtesy Mike Kelley Foundation for the Arts.

momaps1:

"That’s what I realized I was going for, not some one-line joke like, “Here’s a birdhouse that’s minimalism.” Rather, here’s a structure that’s loaded with pathos, and you still don’t like it, you don’t feel sorry for it, you want to kick it. That’s what I wanted out of the thing—an artwork that you couldn’t raise, there was no way that you could make it better than it was. Its function as art actually makes it more uncomfortable."


~Mike Kelley, Excerpt from a 1991 BOMB Magazine Interview

Mike Kelley. Catholic Birdhouse. 1978. Painted wood and composite shingles, 55,9 x 47 x 47 cm. Private Collection, New York. Photo: Courtesy Mike Kelley Foundation for the Arts.

LAUREN CORNELL: Animism has been a focus of several recent exhibitions and has become a preoccupation among artists. Anselm 
Franke’s show “Animism” traveled internationally, with a final stop at e-flux in New York. dOCUMENTA 13 was so much about the world looking back at us, with all things deemed outside of history of humanity—plants, animals or machine—seen not as being activated by our gaze, but as acting and evolving in concert with us. Mark, the new show you’re curating, “The Universal Addressability of Dumb Things”, extends this conversation but takes it explicitly into the realm of how our perception of things has changed in light of technology. Can you talk about the ideas motivating the exhibition, and how you feel this state of perception towards things has changed? 

MARK LECKEY: The idea behind the show, or the thought that holds it together, grew out of a talk I gave called “In The Long Tail”, and part of what I was talking about was something I‘d originally got from Erik Davis’ brilliant book Techgnosis, which is how the more pervasive technology advances. The more computed our environment becomes, the further back it returns us to our primitive past, boomerangs us right back to an animistic world view where everything has a spirit, rocks and lions and men. So all the objects in the world become more responsive, things that were once regarded as dumb become addressable, and that universal addressability—a network of things—creates this enchanted landscape. Magic is literally in the air. And that is an altered state, and an endlessly productive one. As an artist that’s all I care about, I need something generative. The other thing that fascinates me is that the networks and devices we all use are written and produced by these very logical, mathematical processes—algorithms assembled by autists—which then generate the undisciplined and voluptuous excesses of the digital realm, whether it be video or music. Something vital and mortal emerges from something as cold and lifeless as code.

To answer your question more directly, I’d say what it means for me is that you can talk about, or rather involve yourself with objects, without continuous recourse to concepts and critique. Not only approaching them as though they are only organized by language, by us. You can try and empathize with them on a whole other level. 

via magazine / archive / Mark Leckey | MOUSSE CONTEMPORARY ART MAGAZINE

LAUREN CORNELL: Animism has been a focus of several recent exhibitions and has become a preoccupation among artists. Anselm 
Franke’s show “Animism” traveled internationally, with a final stop at e-flux in New York. dOCUMENTA 13 was so much about the world looking back at us, with all things deemed outside of history of humanity—plants, animals or machine—seen not as being activated by our gaze, but as acting and evolving in concert with us. Mark, the new show you’re curating, “The Universal Addressability of Dumb Things”, extends this conversation but takes it explicitly into the realm of how our perception of things has changed in light of technology. Can you talk about the ideas motivating the exhibition, and how you feel this state of perception towards things has changed?

MARK LECKEY: The idea behind the show, or the thought that holds it together, grew out of a talk I gave called “In The Long Tail”, and part of what I was talking about was something I‘d originally got from Erik Davis’ brilliant book Techgnosis, which is how the more pervasive technology advances. The more computed our environment becomes, the further back it returns us to our primitive past, boomerangs us right back to an animistic world view where everything has a spirit, rocks and lions and men. So all the objects in the world become more responsive, things that were once regarded as dumb become addressable, and that universal addressability—a network of things—creates this enchanted landscape. Magic is literally in the air. And that is an altered state, and an endlessly productive one. As an artist that’s all I care about, I need something generative. The other thing that fascinates me is that the networks and devices we all use are written and produced by these very logical, mathematical processes—algorithms assembled by autists—which then generate the undisciplined and voluptuous excesses of the digital realm, whether it be video or music. Something vital and mortal emerges from something as cold and lifeless as code.

To answer your question more directly, I’d say what it means for me is that you can talk about, or rather involve yourself with objects, without continuous recourse to concepts and critique. Not only approaching them as though they are only organized by language, by us. You can try and empathize with them on a whole other level.

via magazine / archive / Mark Leckey | MOUSSE CONTEMPORARY ART MAGAZINE

mythologyofblue:

Distortion throughout Twenty One Several Books of Mr. William Bridge (1657). Original from Oxford University. Digitized October 26, 2006 (via theartofgooglebooks)

womanzine:

So, it’s the middle of summer (for most of you, anyway), and you’ve obviously been spending extra time outdoors. School is out, or work is slow, or maybe you just like it out there. We want to know what you’ve been seeing, feeling, and thinking.

This is hereby a call for submissions for our latest issue, Earthtones.

Yeah, you got it, tones like color, tones like sound, tones like music, tones like touch-tones or touchstones. We out here for u, Mother Earth. Submission deadline is Friday, September 5th. If you’d like to talk ideas (which we love to do!), please get in touch ASAP.
As you may know, Womanzine encourages a wide adoption of our theme. Some ideas for what earthtones could mean:
Color swatch: what are your current earth tones? What do you see where you are rn?
Go super wiki-def and explore umbre, ochre, and sienna, maybe in fabrics or paper?
Or keep going w that and make something in clay? (we’ve yet to have a sculptural submission!!)
Sincere essay on what earth tones mean for the political power of native American tribes.
Sexy essay on how earth tones are like skin tones.
Scientific essay on the affect of earth tones on the urban psyche. 
Sound board of earthy tones a la an internet meme sound board (touch-tones!)
Video, Instagram vid, Vine, whatever «< of the earth tones you see in your dreams.
Poem about the way summer haze gray/blue is like no other summer sky.
Essay about how you live in a place where summer is not “summer” and how you deal with it.
Why do u hate summer? Are winter earth tones better???
What are your favorite deep nature places? 
Draw tha earth? Draw tha earth as a weird earth?
Go outside. Record it (using any kind of multimedia). Edit it. Submit it.
Like rushing water. Crunching thru snow. The call of a loon. Y’all we’re getting romantic here.
Strange, or totally literal, interpretation of the word touchstone (get it, stone—earth—or tone?)
Give us a full history of earth tones in fashion, or in design, or in construction materials.
So many other things!
Be sure to check back here (our Tumblr) for inspiration — you’re guaranteed lots of sexy, weird, and blissed-out summer gifs, at least. ALSO pls pass this call along to your women or woman-identifying friends — we’re always looking for fresh faces.


Oh and one more cool thing: you can now become a Womanzine subscriber! Have you loved us for many years or issues? Now you can show it! ♥ Subscribe here or on the button on our site.

womanzine:

So, it’s the middle of summer (for most of you, anyway), and you’ve obviously been spending extra time outdoors. School is out, or work is slow, or maybe you just like it out there. We want to know what you’ve been seeing, feeling, and thinking.

This is hereby a call for submissions 
for our latest issue, Earthtones.


Yeah, you got it, tones like color, tones like sound, tones like music, tones like touch-tones or touchstones. We out here for u, Mother Earth. Submission deadline is Friday, September 5th. If you’d like to talk ideas (which we love to do!), please get in touch ASAP.

As you may know, Womanzine encourages a wide adoption of our theme. Some ideas for what earthtones could mean:

  • Color swatch: what are your current earth tones? What do you see where you are rn?
  • Go super wiki-def and explore umbre, ochre, and sienna, maybe in fabrics or paper?
  • Or keep going w that and make something in clay? (we’ve yet to have a sculptural submission!!)
  • Sincere essay on what earth tones mean for the political power of native American tribes.
  • Sexy essay on how earth tones are like skin tones.
  • Scientific essay on the affect of earth tones on the urban psyche. 
  • Sound board of earthy tones a la an internet meme sound board (touch-tones!)
  • Video, Instagram vid, Vine, whatever «< of the earth tones you see in your dreams.
  • Poem about the way summer haze gray/blue is like no other summer sky.
  • Essay about how you live in a place where summer is not “summer” and how you deal with it.
  • Why do u hate summer? Are winter earth tones better???
  • What are your favorite deep nature places? 
  • Draw tha earth? Draw tha earth as a weird earth?
  • Go outside. Record it (using any kind of multimedia). Edit it. Submit it.
  • Like rushing water. Crunching thru snow. The call of a loon. Y’all we’re getting romantic here.
  • Strange, or totally literal, interpretation of the word touchstone (get it, stone—earth—or tone?)
  • Give us a full history of earth tones in fashion, or in design, or in construction materials.
  • So many other things!
Be sure to check back here (our Tumblr) for inspiration — you’re guaranteed lots of sexy, weird, and blissed-out summer gifs, at least. ALSO pls pass this call along to your women or woman-identifying friends — we’re always looking for fresh faces.
Oh and one more cool thing: you can now become a Womanzine subscriber! Have you loved us for many years or issues? Now you can show it! ♥ Subscribe here or on the button on our site.

(Source: starsandfruits)

MH: Virtual versus physical is not a useful distinction so much, at least not with regard to how the Internet affects human life. Human interactions mediated through computers and smartphones are not “virtual realities,” but fully experienced realities of which the tragedy, or loss, is that they can also be accounts of distance. The internet and the cloud are often the canvas for our projects but the physical presence of our work is equally important. The weightlessness of online work is pleasant but so can be the physical presence of objects. A lot of our work is geared toward surface or screen, and this type of work can be experienced in both domains in similar ways. 

via KALEIDOSCOPE

MH: Virtual versus physical is not a useful distinction so much, at least not with regard to how the Internet affects human life. Human interactions mediated through computers and smartphones are not “virtual realities,” but fully experienced realities of which the tragedy, or loss, is that they can also be accounts of distance. The internet and the cloud are often the canvas for our projects but the physical presence of our work is equally important. The weightlessness of online work is pleasant but so can be the physical presence of objects. A lot of our work is geared toward surface or screen, and this type of work can be experienced in both domains in similar ways.

via KALEIDOSCOPE

Generally neglected by arts institutions, the visual culture produced by social movements is a vital sector in the worlds of arts and activism. Signs of Change: Social Movement Cultures 1960s to Now was one of the first exhibitions to gather posters and ephemera to tell the story of these movements through the artwork they produced. Interference Archive, based in Gowanus, Brooklyn continues that work through archiving, documenting, exhibiting, and activating movement materials. 

By examining the work of Interference Archive and the exhibitions Signs of Change and Serve the People, this talk will explore a) how these projects not only present past histories but engage with contemporary struggles b) what responsibilities such exhibitions and archives have to the movement activists and artists who created the material c) the challenges ephemera and ‘visual culture’ represent in terms of documentation, collecting, exhibiting, and institutional support. 

via Curating Social Movements - Events - Independent Curators International

Generally neglected by arts institutions, the visual culture produced by social movements is a vital sector in the worlds of arts and activism. Signs of Change: Social Movement Cultures 1960s to Now was one of the first exhibitions to gather posters and ephemera to tell the story of these movements through the artwork they produced. Interference Archive, based in Gowanus, Brooklyn continues that work through archiving, documenting, exhibiting, and activating movement materials.

By examining the work of Interference Archive and the exhibitions Signs of Change and Serve the People, this talk will explore a) how these projects not only present past histories but engage with contemporary struggles b) what responsibilities such exhibitions and archives have to the movement activists and artists who created the material c) the challenges ephemera and ‘visual culture’ represent in terms of documentation, collecting, exhibiting, and institutional support.

via Curating Social Movements - Events - Independent Curators International

defvsing:

▼Glowing▲

defvsing:

▼Glowing▲

(Source: alombreda)

Her Noise was an exhibition which took place at South London Gallery in 2005 with satellite events at Tate Modern and Goethe-Institut, London. Her Noise gathered international artists who use sound to investigate social relations, inspire action or uncover hidden soundscapes. The exhibition included newly commissioned works by Kim Gordon &amp; Jutta Koether, Hayley Newman, Kaffe Matthews, Christina Kubisch, Emma Hedditch and Marina Rosenfeld. A parallel ambition of the project was to investigate music and sound histories in relation to gender, and the curators set out to create a lasting resource in this area. 

Throughout the development of the project, the curators conducted dozens of interviews, whilst also compiling sound recordings and printed materials which would eventually form the Her Noise Archive. The Her Noise Archive is a collection of over 60 videos, 300 audio recordings, 40 books and catalogues and 250 fanzines (approximately 150 different titles) compiled during the development of this project. The archive remains publicly accessible at the Electra office in central London. 
via UbuWeb

Her Noise was an exhibition which took place at South London Gallery in 2005 with satellite events at Tate Modern and Goethe-Institut, London. Her Noise gathered international artists who use sound to investigate social relations, inspire action or uncover hidden soundscapes. The exhibition included newly commissioned works by Kim Gordon & Jutta Koether, Hayley Newman, Kaffe Matthews, Christina Kubisch, Emma Hedditch and Marina Rosenfeld. A parallel ambition of the project was to investigate music and sound histories in relation to gender, and the curators set out to create a lasting resource in this area. 

Throughout the development of the project, the curators conducted dozens of interviews, whilst also compiling sound recordings and printed materials which would eventually form the Her Noise Archive. The Her Noise Archive is a collection of over 60 videos, 300 audio recordings, 40 books and catalogues and 250 fanzines (approximately 150 different titles) compiled during the development of this project. The archive remains publicly accessible at the Electra office in central London. 

via UbuWeb

This research project has been on my mind since college. While I was a student, I attended a lot of classes that dealt with the idea of public art – somewhat influenced by Nicholas Bourriaud’s idea of relational art at the end of the 1990s. I wasn’t totally convinced by the idea that, for instance, installing a sculpture in a public space was a sufficient condition to define that work as public. After graduation, I started researching examples of public art, which really addressed the need of involving a wider audience outside the strict circles of connoisseurship. This is how I came across AIDS activist art – widely represented by the art collective Gran Fury that was working with ACT UP – and activist art movements which arose before them in the 1970s. I think these movements were perfect examples of how art can be really interfere with public opinion and contribute to social change. 

via Silence = Death: Remembering New York’s Public Art of AIDS Activism – 032c Workshop

This research project has been on my mind since college. While I was a student, I attended a lot of classes that dealt with the idea of public art – somewhat influenced by Nicholas Bourriaud’s idea of relational art at the end of the 1990s. I wasn’t totally convinced by the idea that, for instance, installing a sculpture in a public space was a sufficient condition to define that work as public. After graduation, I started researching examples of public art, which really addressed the need of involving a wider audience outside the strict circles of connoisseurship. This is how I came across AIDS activist art – widely represented by the art collective Gran Fury that was working with ACT UP – and activist art movements which arose before them in the 1970s. I think these movements were perfect examples of how art can be really interfere with public opinion and contribute to social change.

via Silence = Death: Remembering New York’s Public Art of AIDS Activism – 032c Workshop

Harun Farocki - Arbeiter verlassen di Fabrik (Workers leaving the factory), 1995

(Source: vimeo.com)