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The series “the book by” includes a number of monographs entirely conceived by the artists in collaboration with an independent curator.
By every issue a suspended, challenging space is inaugurated, whereby the artist may continue his research in a new context and over a new topography. Whereby a single “artist’s project” meets the plurality originating from external voices: the curator, the art director, the editor. Whereby the “signed by” authorities withdraw and give way to the autonomous equivocacy that any new sign heads to. A “where” by it is repeating the usual, always exceptional, process through which a new artwork, an “other” art or, simply, art, comes by.
 
the book by Andreas Golinski the book by Andreas Golinski
  upcoming book
   

No todo tanto - The book by Javier Peñafiel No todo tanto - The book by Javier Peñafiel
  No todo tanto - The book by Javier Peñafiel
No todo tanto - The book by Javier Peñafiel

An indispensable dramaturgy of drawings and words in black and white,
a vademecum, a book of etiquette, a misadventure, a cosmological indecency,
a demiurgic attempt … Everything? Not exactly. A whole lot.
   

One Person's Trash is another Person's Treasure - the book by shahram entekhabi One Person's Trash is another Person's Treasure - the book by shahram entekhabi
  One Person's Trash is another Person's Treasure - the book by shahram entekhabi

Impossible topographies and impossibility of a topography, in a book, a work, an artist. Pages are complicated, places multiply, frontiers move. Masks are in and clichés melt away. Words cram together and laughter is squandered. And the road home is lost forever, for whomever, par excellence, by fortune.

   

As a drop of water on a K-Way by Scintilla Robina and Norberto Dalmata As a drop of water on a K-Way by Scintilla Robina and Norberto Dalmata
  As a drop of water on a K-Way by Scintilla Robina and Norberto Dalmata

An event?! Post-structuralists, managers, PRs, teenagers…nowadays everyone talks about events. Epoch-making, destabilizing, dance events. But what is an event really? How is it born? Here’s a double baptism, of fantasy curators, and a true-life display. Signs, parallels, risks, shrewdness, the strange laws but most of all the poetry, that give life to an artistic event. With a few sparks of gossip.

   

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  ...comme une ombre lointaine ...wie ein Schatten in der Ferne

“…cinema is up to come under the new creative practices that traverse the entirety of the artistic disciplines. Those practices experiment processes of encounter and approaches of collective creations, invent new manners of differentiation, suggest space and temporalities still unknown.”

   

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  willyoustilllovemetomorrow

Again that question. So vertigo, suspicion, invocation… and by the time a word of hope, a border of peace light up, it’s late. The question to the other, from the other, spring up again. Again feet sink into the snow, the eye gets lost in a shadow, the knife trembles imperceptibly. Again solitude takes form. It is the odyssey of an artwork, it is the tragedy of the first person, disseminated in chaos, etched in the dark.

   

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  Speech, Living, Sexualities, Struggle

… Yod / Hei / Vav / Hei … Air / Fire / Earth / Water …
1 / 2 / 3 / 4 … Blood / Phlegm / Yellow Bile / Black Bile
… Nigredo / Albedo / Citrinitas / Rubedo …

Speech / Living / Sexualities / Struggle, Knut Åsdam's
filmic and photographical universe.

   

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  self destroying history

Here’s a catalogue marking a decade (1992-2003) of works which destabilize the political and the symbolic: the contextualization of an inexhaustible decontextualization: the archive from an artist who short-circuits archives: the infinite of deconstruction. The self-destructing story of a self-destructing History.

   

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Memories have their own music.
From a journal of travels, of photographs, notes, thoughts - by an artist-craftsman of experiences, of his spaces, affections, time - the rhythm of hands that collect, the voices of silences that mould, the sound of gazes that sink, the echo of memory that nourishes. And perhaps, silhouetted against the light, an old music box.

   

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Piero’s right.

Piero's words.