December 18, 2011

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November 11, 2011
Georgia Sagri


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October 30, 2011
"In other news, The Statue of Liberty has started taking MySpace photos of herself" Skye Nicolas

Skye Nicolas reporting from OWS!/SKYENICOLAS

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August 17, 2011
Emergency Room by Thierry Geoffroy

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July 9, 2011
LA CONQUETE DE L'ESPACE PUBLIC dans la societe du spectacle

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”(…) For in the overexposed city, the architectural organism is no longer opaque, occlusive, and inscribed with visible information, but, like the human body on which it was formerly based, porous and vulnerable to the intrusion of forces that are no more visible than an electron—and no less real.”

Paul Virillo -“La ville surexposee” from L’Espace Critique

June 7, 2011


We crossed today through the immense crowd gathered at Syndagma square, the burning heart of Athens, and met Marina few blocks lower in Exarchia, at her studio. She was playing with her toys.

After four hours of torture, the Apache and the other two cops threw a bucket of water at the prisoner to wake him up and said: “The Colonel has ordered us to give you a chance to save your skin. If you guess which of us has a glass eye, you’ll be spared torture.”

After gazing over the faces of his executioners, the prisoner pointed to
one of them: “Him. His right eye is glass.”

The astonished cops said, “But how could you guess?

All your buddies missed because the eye is American, that is - perfect.”

And the prisoner, feeling he was going to faint again, “it was the only eye that looked at me without hatred.”

Of course they continued torturing him.


Like you I
love love, life, the sweet smell
of things, the sky blue
landscape of January days.

And my blood boils up
and I laugh through eyes
that have known the buds of tears.

I believe the world is beautiful
and that poetry, like bread, is for everyone.

And that my veins don’t end in me
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life,
little things,
landscape and bread,
the poetry of everyone.

THE CERTAINTY and LIKE YOU by Roque Dalton,Translation: Jack Hirschman

June 3, 2011

Michel Foucault. Of Other Spaces (1967), Heterotopias.

This text, entitled “Des Espace Autres,” and published by the French journal Architecture /Mouvement/ Continuité in October, 1984, was the basis of a lecture given by Michel Foucault in March 1967. Although not reviewed for publication by the author and thus not part of the official corpus of his work, the manuscript was released into the public domain for an exhibition in Berlin shortly before Michel Foucault’s death. Translated from the French by Jay Miskowiec.

The great obsession of the nineteenth century was, as we know, history: with its themes of development and of suspension, of crisis, and cycle, themes of the ever-accumulating past, with its great preponderance of dead men and the menacing glaciation of the world. The nineteenth century found its essential mythological resources in the second principle of thermaldynamics- The present epoch will perhaps be above all the epoch of space. We are in the epoch of simultaneity: we are in the epoch of juxtaposition, the epoch of the near and far, of the side-by-side, of the dispersed. We are at a moment. I believe, when our experience of the world is less that of a long life developing through time than that of a network that connects points and intersects with its own skein. One could perhaps say that certain ideological conflicts animating present-day polemics oppose the pious descendents of time and the determined inhabitants of space. Structuralism, or at least which is grouped under this slightly too general name, is the effort to establish, between elements that could have been connected on a temporal axis, an ensemble of relations that makes them appear as juxtaposed, set off against one another, implicated by each other-that makes them appear, in short, as a sort of configuration. Actually, structuralism does not entail denial of time; it does involve a certain manner of dealing with what we call time and what we call history.

Yet it is necessary to notice that the space which today appears to form the horizon of our concerns, our theory, our systems, is not an innovation; space itself has a history in Western experience, and it is not possible to disregard the fatal intersection of time with space. One could say, by way of retracing this history of space very roughly, that in the Middle Ages there was a hierarchic ensemble of places: sacred places and profane plates: protected places and open, exposed places: urban places and rural places (all these concern the real life of men). In cosmological theory, there were the supercelestial places as opposed to the celestial, and the celestial place was in its turn opposed to the terrestrial place. There were places where things had been put because they had been violently displaced, and then on the contrary places where things found their natural ground and stability. It was this complete hierarchy, this opposition, this intersection of places that constituted what could very roughly be called medieval space: the space of emplacement.

This space of emplacement was opened up by Galileo. For the real scandal of Galileo’s work lay not so much in his discovery, or rediscovery, that the earth revolved around the sun, but in his constitution of an infinite, and infinitely open space. In such a space the place of the Middle Ages turned out to be dissolved. as it were; a thing’s place was no longer anything but a point in its movement, just as the stability of a thing was only its movement indefinitely slowed down. In other words, starting with Galileo and the seventeenth century, extension was substituted for localization.

Today the site has been substituted for extension which itself had replaced emplacement. The site is defined by relations of proximity between points or elements; formally, we can describe these relations as series, trees, or grids. Moreover, the importance of the site as a problem in contemporary technical work is well known: the storage of data or of the intermediate results of a calculation in the memory of a machine, the circulation of discrete elements with a random output (automobile traffic is a simple case, or indeed the sounds on a telephone line); the identification of marked or coded elements inside a set that may be randomly distributed, or may be arranged according to single or to multiple classifications.

In a still more concrete manner, the problem of siting or placement arises for mankind in terms of demography. This problem of the human site or living space is not simply that of knowing whether there will be enough space for men in the world -a problem that is certainly quite important - but also that of knowing what relations of propinquity, what type of storage, circulation, marking, and classification of human elements should be adopted in a given situation in order to achieve a given end. Our epoch is one in which space takes for us the form of relations among sites.

In any case I believe that the anxiety of our era has to do fundamentally with space, no doubt a great deal more than with time. Time probably appears to us only as one of the various distributive operations that are possible for the elements that are spread out in space,

Now, despite all the techniques for appropriating space, despite the whole network of knowledge that enables us to delimit or to formalize it, contemporary space is perhaps still not entirely desanctified (apparently unlike time, it would seem, which was detached from the sacred in the nineteenth century). To be sure a certain theoretical desanctification of space (the one signaled by Galileo’s work) has occurred, but we may still not have reached the point of a practical desanctification of space. And perhaps our life is still governed by a certain number of oppositions that remain inviolable, that our institutions and practices have not yet dared to break down. These are oppositions that we regard as simple givens: for example between private space and public space, between family space and social space, between cultural space and useful space, between the space of leisure and that of work. All these are still nurtured by the hidden presence of the sacred.

Bachelard’s monumental work and the descriptions of phenomenologists have taught us that we do not live in a homogeneous and empty space, but on the contrary in a space thoroughly imbued with quantities and perhaps thoroughly fantasmatic as well. The space of our primary perception, the space of our dreams and that of our passions hold within themselves qualities that seem intrinsic: there is a light, ethereal, transparent space, or again a dark, rough, encumbered space; a space from above, of summits, or on the contrary a space from below of mud; or again a space that can be flowing like sparkling water, or space that is fixed, congealed, like stone or crystal. Yet these analyses, while fundamental for reflection in our time, primarily concern internal space. I should like to speak now of external space.

The space in which we live, which draws us out of ourselves, in which the erosion of our lives. our time and our history occurs, the space that claws and gnaws at us, is also, in itself, a heterogeneous space. In other words, we do not live in a kind of void, inside of which we could place individuals and things. We do not live inside a void that could be colored with diverse shades of light, we live inside a set of relations that delineates sites which are irreducible to one another and absolutely not superimposable on one another.

Of course one might attempt to describe these different sites by looking for the set of relations by which a given site can be defined. For example, describing the set of relations that define the sites of transportation, streets, trains (a train is an extraordinary bundle of relations because it is something through which one goes, it is also something by means of which one can go from one point to another, and then it is also something that goes by). One could describe, via the cluster of relations that allows them to be defined, the sites of temporary relaxation -cafes, cinemas, beaches. Likewise one could describe, via its network of relations, the closed or semi-closed sites of rest - the house, the bedroom, the bed, el cetera. But among all these sites, I am interested in certain ones that have the curious property of being in relation with all the other sites, but in such a way as to suspect, neutralize, or invert the set of relations that they happen to designate, mirror, or reflect. These spaces, as it were, which are linked with all the others, which however contradict all the other sites, are of two main types.


First there are the utopias. Utopias are sites with no real place. They are sites that have a general relation of direct or inverted analogy with the real space of Society. They present society itself in a perfected form, or else society turned upside down, but in any case these utopias are fundamentally unreal spaces.

There are also, probably in every culture, in every civilization, real places - places that do exist and that are formed in the very founding of society - which are something like counter-sites, a kind of effectively enacted utopia in which the real sites, all the other real sites that can be found within the culture, are simultaneously represented, contested, and inverted. Places of this kind are outside of all places, even though it may be possible to indicate their location in reality. Because these places are absolutely different from all the sites that they reflect and speak about, I shall call them, by way of contrast to utopias, heterotopias. I believe that between utopias and these quite other sites, these heterotopias, there might be a sort of mixed, joint experience, which would be the mirror. The mirror is, after all, a utopia, since it is a placeless place. In the mirror, I see myself there where I am not, in an unreal, virtual space that opens up behind the surface; I am over there, there where I am not, a sort of shadow that gives my own visibility to myself, that enables me to see myself there where I am absent: such is the utopia of the mirror. But it is also a heterotopia in so far as the mirror does exist in reality, where it exerts a sort of counteraction on the position that I occupy. From the standpoint of the mirror I discover my absence from the place where I am since I see myself over there. Starting from this gaze that is, as it were, directed toward me, from the ground of this virtual space that is on the other side of the glass, I come back toward myself; I begin again to direct my eyes toward myself and to reconstitute myself there where I am. The mirror functions as a heterotopia in this respect: it makes this place that I occupy at the moment when I look at myself in the glass at once absolutely real, connected with all the space that surrounds it, and absolutely unreal, since in order to be perceived it has to pass through this virtual point which is over there.

As for the heterotopias as such, how can they be described? What meaning do they have? We might imagine a sort of systematic description - I do not say a science because the term is too galvanized now -that would, in a given society, take as its object the study, analysis, description, and ‘reading’ (as some like to say nowadays) of these different spaces, of these other places. As a sort of simultaneously mythic and real contestation of the space in which we live, this description could be called heterotopology.

Its first principle is that there is probably not a single culture in the world that fails to constitute heterotopias. That is a constant of every human group. But the heterotopias obviously take quite varied forms, and perhaps no one absolutely universal form of heterotopia would be found. We can however class them in two main categories.

In the so-called primitive societies, there is a certain form of heterotopia that I would call crisis heterotopias, i.e., there are privileged or sacred or forbidden places, reserved for individuals who are, in relation to society and to the human environment in which they live, in a state of crisis: adolescents, menstruating women, pregnant women. the elderly, etc. In out society, these crisis heterotopias are persistently disappearing, though a few remnants can still be found. For example, the boarding school, in its nineteenth-century form, or military service for young men, have certainly played such a role, as the first manifestations of sexual virility were in fact supposed to take place “elsewhere” than at home. For girls, there was, until the middle of the twentieth century, a tradition called the “honeymoon trip” which was an ancestral theme. The young woman’s deflowering could take place “nowhere” and, at the moment of its occurrence the train or honeymoon hotel was indeed the place of this nowhere, this heterotopia without geographical markers.

But these heterotopias of crisis are disappearing today and are being replaced, I believe, by what we might call heterotopias of deviation: those in which individuals whose behavior is deviant in relation to the required mean or norm are placed. Cases of this are rest homes and psychiatric hospitals, and of course prisons, and one should perhaps add retirement homes that are, as it were, on the borderline between the heterotopia of crisis and the heterotopia of deviation since, after all, old age is a crisis, but is also a deviation since in our society where leisure is the rule, idleness is a sort of deviation.

The second principle of this description of heterotopias is that a society, as its history unfolds, can make an existing heterotopia function in a very different fashion; for each heterotopia has a precise and determined function within a society and the same heterotopia can, according to the synchrony of the culture in which it occurs, have one function or another.

As an example I shall take the strange heterotopia of the cemetery. The cemetery is certainly a place unlike ordinary cultural spaces. It is a space that is however connected with all the sites of the city, state or society or village, etc., since each individual, each family has relatives in the cemetery. In western culture the cemetery has practically always existed. But it has undergone important changes. Until the end of the eighteenth century, the cemetery was placed at the heart of the city, next to the church. In it there was a hierarchy of possible tombs. There was the charnel house in which bodies lost the last traces of individuality, there were a few individual tombs and then there were the tombs inside the church. These latter tombs were themselves of two types, either simply tombstones with an inscription, or mausoleums with statues. This cemetery housed inside the sacred space of the church has taken on a quite different cast in modern civilizations, and curiously, it is in a time when civilization has become ‘atheistic,’ as one says very crudely, that western culture has established what is termed the cult of the dead.

Basically it was quite natural that, in a time of real belief in the resurrection of bodies and the immortality of the soul, overriding importance was not accorded to the body’s remains. On the contrary, from the moment when people are no longer sure that they have a soul or that the body will regain life, it is perhaps necessary to give much more attention to the dead body, which is ultimately the only trace of our existence in the world and in language. In any case, it is from the beginning of the nineteenth century that everyone has a right to her or his own little box for her or his own little personal decay, but on the other hand, it is only from that start of the nineteenth century that cemeteries began to be located at the outside border of cities. In correlation with the individualization of death and the bourgeois appropriation of the cemetery, there arises an obsession with death as an ‘illness.’ The dead, it is supposed, bring illnesses to the living, and it is the presence and proximity of the dead right beside the houses, next to the church, almost in the middle of the street, it is this proximity that propagates death itself. This major theme of illness spread by the contagion in the cemeteries persisted until the end of the eighteenth century, until, during the nineteenth century, the shift of cemeteries toward the suburbs was initiated. The cemeteries then came to constitute, no longer the sacred and immortal heart of the city, but the other city, where each family possesses its dark resting place.

Third principle. The heterotopia is capable of juxtaposing in a single real place several spaces, several sites that are in themselves incompatible. Thus it is that the theater brings onto the rectangle of the stage, one after the other, a whole series of places that are foreign to one another; thus it is that the cinema is a very odd rectangular room, at the end of which, on a two-dimensional screen, one sees the projection of a three-dimensional space, but perhaps the oldest example of these heterotopias that take the form of contradictory sites is the garden. We must not forget that in the Orient the garden, an astonishing creation that is now a thousand years old, had very deep and seemingly superimposed meanings. The traditional garden of the Persians was a sacred space that was supposed to bring together inside its rectangle four parts representing the four parts of the world, with a space still more sacred than the others that were like an umbilicus, the navel of the world at its center (the basin and water fountain were there); and all the vegetation of the garden was supposed to come together in this space, in this sort of microcosm. As for carpets, they were originally reproductions of gardens (the garden is a rug onto which the whole world comes to enact its symbolic perfection, and the rug is a sort of garden that can move across space). The garden is the smallest parcel of the world and then it is the totality of the world. The garden has been a sort of happy, universalizing heterotopia since the beginnings of antiquity (our modern zoological gardens spring from that source).

Fourth principle. Heterotopias are most often linked to slices in time - which is to say that they open onto what might be termed, for the sake of symmetry, heterochronies. The heterotopia begins to function at full capacity when men arrive at a sort of absolute break with their traditional time. This situation shows us that the cemetery is indeed a highly heterotopic place since, for the individual, the cemetery begins with this strange heterochrony, the loss of life, and with this quasi-eternity in which her permanent lot is dissolution and disappearance.

From a general standpoint, in a society like ours heterotopias and heterochronies are structured and distributed in a relatively complex fashion. First of all, there are heterotopias of indefinitely accumulating time, for example museums and libraries, Museums and libraries have become heterotopias in which time never stops building up and topping its own summit, whereas in the seventeenth century, even at the end of the century, museums and libraries were the expression of an individual choice. By contrast, the idea of accumulating everything, of establishing a sort of general archive, the will to enclose in one place all times, all epochs, all forms, all tastes, the idea of constituting a place of all times that is itself outside of time and inaccessible to its ravages, the project of organizing in this way a sort of perpetual and indefinite accumulation of time in an immobile place, this whole idea belongs to our modernity. The museum and the library are heterotopias that are proper to western culture of the nineteenth century.

Opposite these heterotopias that are linked to the accumulation of time, there are those linked, on the contrary, to time in its most flowing, transitory, precarious aspect, to time in the mode of the festival. These heterotopias are not oriented toward the eternal, they are rather absolutely temporal [chroniques]. Such, for example, are the fairgrounds, these’ marvelous empty sites on the outskirts of cities that teem once or twice a year with stands, displays, heteroclite objects, wrestlers, snakewomen, fortune-tellers, and so forth. Quite recently, a new kind of temporal heterotopia has been invented: vacation villages, such as those Polynesian villages that offer a compact three weeks of primitive and eternal nudity to the inhabitants of the cities. You see, moreover, that through the two forms of heterotopias that come together here, the heterotopia of the festival and that of the eternity of accumulating time, the huts of Djerba are in a sense relatives of libraries and museums. for the rediscovery of Polynesian life abolishes time; yet the experience is just as much the„ rediscovery of time, it is as if the entire history of humanity reaching back to its origin were accessible in a sort of immediate knowledge,

Fifth principle. Heterotopias always presuppose a system of opening and closing that both isolates them and makes them penetrable. In general, the heterotopic site is not freely accessible like a public place. Either the entry is compulsory, as in the case of entering a barracks or a prison, or else the individual has to submit to rites and purifications. To get in one must have a certain permission and make certain gestures. Moreover, there are even heterotopias that are entirely consecrated to these activities of purification -purification that is partly religious and partly hygienic, such as the hammin of the Moslems, or else purification that appears to be purely hygienic, as in Scandinavian saunas.

There are others, on the contrary, that seem to be pure and simple openings, but that generally hide curious exclusions. Everyone can enter into thew heterotopic sites, but in fact that is only an illusion- we think we enter where we are, by the very fact that we enter, excluded. I am thinking for example, of the famous bedrooms that existed on the great farms of Brazil and elsewhere in South America. The entry door did not lead into the central room where the family lived, and every individual or traveler who came by had the right to ope this door, to enter into the bedroom and to sleep there for a night. Now these bedrooms were such that the individual who went into them never had access to the family’s quarter the visitor was absolutely the guest in transit, was not really the invited guest. This type of heterotopia, which has practically disappeared from our civilizations, could perhaps be found in the famous American motel rooms where a man goes with his car and his mistress and where illicit sex is both absolutely sheltered and absolutely hidden, kept isolated without however being allowed out in the open.

Sixth principle. The last trait of heterotopias is that they have a function in relation to all the space that remains. This function unfolds between two extreme poles. Either their role is to create a space of illusion that exposes every real space, all the sites inside of which human life is partitioned, as still more illusory (perhaps that is the role that was played by those famous brothels of which we are now deprived). Or else, on the contrary, their role is to create a space that is other, another real space, as perfect, as meticulous, as well arranged as ours is messy, ill constructed, and jumbled. This latter type would be the heterotopia, not of illusion, but of compensation, and I wonder if certain colonies have not functioned somewhat in this manner. In certain cases, they have played, on the level of the general organization of terrestrial space, the role of heterotopias. I am thinking, for example, of the first wave of colonization in the seventeenth century, of the Puritan societies that the English had founded in America and that were absolutely perfect other places. I am also thinking of those extraordinary Jesuit colonies that were founded in South America: marvelous, absolutely regulated colonies in which human perfection was effectively achieved. The Jesuits of Paraguay established colonies in which existence was regulated at every turn. The village was laid out according to a rigorous plan around a rectangular place at the foot of which was the church; on one side, there was the school; on the other, the cemetery-, and then, in front of the church, an avenue set out that another crossed at fight angles; each family had its little cabin along these two axes and thus the sign of Christ was exactly reproduced. Christianity marked the space and geography of the American world with its fundamental sign.

The daily life of individuals was regulated, not by the whistle, but by the bell. Everyone was awakened at the same time, everyone began work at the same time; meals were at noon and five o’clock-, then came bedtime, and at midnight came what was called the marital wake-up, that is, at the chime of the churchbell, each person carried out her/his duty.

Brothels and colonies are two extreme types of heterotopia, and if we think, after all, that the boat is a floating piece of space, a place without a place, that exists by itself, that is closed in on itself and at the same time is given over to the infinity of the sea and that, from port to port, from tack to tack, from brothel to brothel, it goes as far as the colonies in search of the most precious treasures they conceal in their gardens, you will understand why the boat has not only been for our civilization, from the sixteenth century until the present, the great instrument of economic development (I have not been speaking of that today), but has been simultaneously the greatest reserve of the imagination. The ship is the heterotopia par excellence. In civilizations without boats, dreams dry up, espionage takes the place of adventure, and the police take the place of pirates. 

June 1, 2011

THINK GREEN - mixed media 240x160 cm 2011

C.D-Gregos Theopsy, your latest work “Think Green” - which i could briefly describe as a Nazi green carpet covered with frenetic cheap Chinese electronic toys- is presented this week in Athens at Bulb, a symposium around ecological awareness. What exactly is the connection here?

Why a Nazi flag, why toys, why there…what does it represent?

G.T-It’s an allegory covering a large spectrum of ideas ranging from a specific collective project that consists on making the world a better place, to specific phobias, such as xenophobia and international conspiracy. I used a naive and provocative combination of well-known symbols and ready-mades to reflect the immaturity and dangers that generally accompany every collective project of this sort, as well as every fear of this sort. 

I changed the color of the Nazi flag from red to green and used it as a sort of playground on which I set my “actors”; a couple of kids, trapped in a glass box and surrounded by cars driven by E.Ts. 

it’s not my first work with toys.

I usually bend the toys am working with, but for “think Green” I though to keep them raw, fresh from the hands of some lady in a Chinese factory. To tell you the truth, I even wear gloves when I touch them…to be totally sure that they keep their original vibe.

C.D-In what is this work related to the home made bomb that you presented at Palais de Tokyo in Paris?

"Revolution Now" was a bomb that i displayed in a museum as an art object. I really tried to make it as beautiful as I could, so that people would walk by and say: "Wow, that looks really nice!" before they even realise what they were confronted to. For “think Green” the process was kind of similar. There are many ways to read this piece.  I brought elements on the scene and let the viewers do the narrative. That gives a certain space for people to imagine all sorts of interpretations. It gives them space to imagine things.  And simultaneously it gives me an occasion to provoque a distortion of what they believe is true. For these two pieces I worked with History – as a collective absolute truth- as if it was some modeling paste.

C.D-Think green is clearly a politically oriented work, and you also recently are very active on the blog Boom-wow! which aims to generate a feedback between arts and politic. What made you focus in this direction?

G.T- I don’t perceive anymore politics as the struggle between some ruling organ and the people. I perceive politics as the relation between every individual and the rest. And it is somehow a similar situation you face in art. The relation between each one of us and the totality is what interests me in both fields. At Boom-Wow we’re trying to create interaction between these two fields in order to find new ways to communicate and promote integration.

C.D -What would be for you the ideal society, the right place to be?

G.T - The united states of poetry.  

C.D - Do you intend to do more bombs and fascist flags?

G.T- You know, in the roman empire it was forbidden for most of the people to wear purple..a color that was solly reserved to the emperor’s family.

Am simply trying to show that historical events belongs to us, that History is not some stream that simply unfolds away from us. Am trying to take back the event, because it has been taken away from us and redistributed as a spectacle on Tv, movies, and everything that is between us and the world. Between me and you.

C.D- Are you eco-friendly?

G.T- I don’t like packaging very much and i think that cars are ridiculous objects. 

May 19, 2011

 ”SCROOGE YOU! And all your friends”


The bridge between art and politics seams to be Artist Gregos Theopsy’s latest favorite playground. Since the beginning of the social crisis that ravaged his country of origine, the artist uses popular subversive technics, objects, messages and medias to producing fake Journalistic Videos, poster prints and savage installations with the purpose to force art into politic and politic into art.After displaying a real bomb of his fabrication at the museum of modern art Palais de tokyo in Paris, Gregos Theopsy projects a new iconoclastic happening in the beginning of Mai, in the center of Athens.
Abusing this time of a monument dedicated to the “filiki etairia”, the historical symbol of Greece’s struggle for national independency, in Kolonaki square. The monument - as for now composed of three identical bases holding two busts of the brotherhood founders -skoufa and Tsakaloff- - will be “complete” by Theopsy with a third marble bust placed on the central base that till now remained empty.To take this central place, the Artist chose the fictional character of Uncle Scrooge, the famous Duck kindly obsessed with gold and money. 

"I walk by very often and it’s really obvious to everyone that the central figure of this monument was missing. Although the central column is obviously deliberatly empty and dedicated to the famous Oath written upon it: (I voluntarily swear before the true God, that I will remain faithful during all my life and above all circumstances to the Company). Scrooge represents the patrons of Independence and freedom, and today, the same dehumanized institutional figure from which we all want to be freed from. but on who we depend, because it’s made of our own flesh and blood.

" SCROOGE YOU! Και όλοι οι φίλοι σου" 

Η γέφυρα μεταξύ τέχνης και πολιτικής είναι για τον καλλιτέχνη Gregos Theopsy ο πιό πρόσφατος αγαπημένος του τόπος διασκέδασης . Από την αρχή της κοινωνικής κρίσης που ερήμωσε τη χώρα καταγωγής του, ο καλλιτέχνης χρησιμοποιεί δημοφιλείς ανατρεπτικές τεχνικές πχ γκραφίτι, αντικείμενα, τα μηνύματα και τεχνητά μέσα,  για την παραγωγή  πλαστών δημοσιογραφικών βίντεο, εντύπων και παραβατικών εγκαταστάσεων με σκοπό τη δυναμική ειχώρηση της πολιτικής στην τέχνη  και αντίστροφα.
Μετά την έκθεση μιας πραγματικής βόμβας δικής του κατασκευής  στο μουσείο σύγχρονης τέχνης Palais de Tokyο στο Παρίσι, o Gregos Theopsy παρουσιάζει ένα νέο εικονοκλαστικό έργο στο κέντρο της Αθήνας.Αυτή τη φορά χρησιμοποιεί ένα μνημείο για τη Φιλική Εταιρία, ένα ιστορικό σύμβολο της εθνικής ανεξαρτησίας, στην πλατεία Κολωνακίου. 
Το ”ανολοκλήρωτο” κατα τον καλλιτέχνη μνημείο - το οποίο αποτελείται απο τρείς ίδιες βάσεις που φιλοξενούν δύο προτομές των ιδρυτών της αδελφοσύνης Σκουφά και Τσακάλωφ, θα ολοκληρωθεί απο τον ίδιο  με μια τρίτη μαρμάρινη προτομή που θα τοποθετηθεί στην κεντρική βάση που παρέμεινε μέχρι τώρα κενή. 
Για να πάρει αυτήν την κεντρική θέση, ο καλλιτέχνης επέλεξε τον πλασματικό χαρακτήρα του θείου Scrooge, τη διάσημη πάπια που είναι εμμονική με το χρυσό και τα χρήματα. 
" Περνώ απο το συγκεκριμένο σημείο πολύ συχνά και είναι πραγματικά προφανές οτι το κεντρικό πρόσωπο αυτού του μνημείου έλειπε. Αν και η μεσαία στήλη είναι προφανώς επίτηδες κενή αναγράφοντας τα παρακάτω ’ Ορκίζομαι ενώπιον τού αληθινού Θεού οικειοθελώς, ότι θέλω είμαι επί ζωής μου πιστός εις τήν Εταιρίαν κατά πάντα. ’ σκέφτομαι οτι θα ήταν άδικο να μην δίνει μια ελάχιστη εύφημο μνεία στους χορηγούς του μοντέρνου κόσμου μας. Ειδικά όταν μιλάμε για την Ανεξαρτησία και την Ελευθερία, ο χορηγός είναι σήμερα ο ίδιος θεσμοποιημένος,μη-ανθρώπινος ”χαρακτήρας” απο τον οποίο όλοι ζητούν να απελευθερωθούν… Έτσι, βρίσκω το θείο Scrooge αισθητικά και συμβολικά πολύ σχετικό, πρώτα επειδή είναι καρτούν και δεύτερον επειδή είναι αυτός που στηρίζει οικονομικά όλη την οικογένεια του.  Εάν θελήσουμε πραγματικά να πάμε παραπέρα, θα σήμαινε πως πρέπει να αποδώσουμε τα του Καίσαρος τω Καίσαρι. Και δεν νομίζω πως κανείς απο εμάς είναι έτοιμος να κάνει κάτι τέτοιο" 

May 16, 2011

Pourquoi je crée L’impossible ?

1 – Parce que des journaux m’ont donné, dès mon plus jeune âge, des informations sur l’état du monde. Du monde entier. Sur l’état de la société dans laquelle je vivais. Parce que certains de ces journaux ont façonné mon esprit – mon esprit critique, parce que certains journalistes dans ces journaux – ou parfois certains écrivains, certains penseurs, certains artistes, certains intellectuels, certains chercheurs, certains photographes, certains dessinateurs, certains inconnus dans ces journaux, ont bouleversé fugacement ou durablement mon état d’esprit. À l’égal des œuvres d’art ou de pensée. À l’égal de certains livres, de certains films, de certains manuels ou traités, à l’égal de certaines pièces de théâtre, à l’égal de certains films, à l’égal, parfois, de l’art entre tous énigmatique – la musique. Et aussi à l’égal de certaines rencontres, de certains voyages, à l’égal de certains amis, à l’égal de certains enfants, à l’égal de certains sages, à l’égal de certaines amours.

2 – Parce que je veux changer le monde. Je pense qu’on ne peut pas décider, préméditer, organiser le changement vrai du monde. Mais on peut changer l’état d’esprit de ceux qui habitent ce monde et qui, un jour, si les circonstances le permettent, contribueront au vrai changement du monde. Qui, pour être vrai, devra être inspiré par le souci de justice dans l’ordre de l’organisation des sociétés humaines, par le souci de loyauté dans l’exercice de la pensée, par le souci de célébration de la beauté de la vie sur terre dans toutes ses manifestations y compris les plus folles, les moins imaginables.

3 – Parce que l’information est morte, c’est-à-dire illisible, inaudible, invisible, si elle n’est pas animée-ranimée par les mots, par une langue, par un style, par une pensée, inédites. Un journal doit être un événement, au sens radical de ce mot, dans la vie de chacun. Il doit troubler. Il doit inquiéter. Il doit émouvoir. Il doit transmettre l’énergie vitale sans quoi nous nous effritons de jour en jour. Ainsi, drogue entre toutes bienfaisante, il créera une addiction.

4 – Parce que tout part toujours d’une communauté qui se forme et qui s’identifie, puis qui, progressivement, forme une autre communauté, plus vaste qui se forme et qui s’identifie. Qui, elle-même, se forme et qui, progressivement (ou soudainement – qui sait ?) forme une autre communauté. Ainsi d’une vague, ainsi des vagues, ainsi de la mer (ainsi parfois de la tempête). Ainsi de la première communauté de ceux et de celles qui créent ce journal. Ainsi de la communauté à venir de ses lecteurs : à l’impossible, nous sommes tous tenus.

Michel Butel
janvier 2011

March 20, 2011

ANTONIS VATHIS “Xeironomies” , handmade book, 2010

February 22, 2011



Bus Stop (DETAIL), 2005

Mixed Media

From White Box New York 

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