This reminds me of an installation that fascinated us in Vienna, a kind of huge hills hoist dominated the space, on which were spaced massive bridal dresses. The whole thing began to spin irregularly, the dresses building up motion until puffed with air they assumed the shape of the woman in absentia. The thing ground to a halt and then jerk, they went through the whole wringer again. As we were there - the textiles staged revolt - one dress shaking itself free from this cyclical violence. Somewhat regretfully, I told one of the attendents that the art was coming undone - i would have liked to see for once the bride strip herself from the art world, rather than be stripped.

I went to Art Basel yesterday. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. Partially a colossal, coming-together of modern and contemporary art. Partially terrifying. It was what I imagine a press junket to be like. Commercial and forced to the extent that you lose track of the autonomy, integrity, context of the art itself. The place stank of wealth and smothered with good-looks. Pulchritudinous young buyers swanned about in their oversized, novelty 80s glasses and severe fringes. I asked a group of rich swedish hipsters selling zines for inflated figures if this was not contrary to their originary, swapping diy mentality They looked puzzled and offered me a cigarette to placate. Obviously I just didn't comprehend the spirit of the Basel Kunst Messe. Let the art be as radical, iconoclastic as it be wont, as long as it's sold by sunday.


I bought a zine. Sickened, and in retaliation I went home and began work on my own collage-come-zine. So good did come of it. I was simultaneously provoked by awful consumption and elated by masses of art.



I tried to take some photos of some of the smaller works, not already documented in the broshures. It was such a rush at the end though, that I didn't get to snap my favorite things. Besides, installations must be moved about in, not nuzzled out by a lens.




Edit: Although there was much mediocre stuff - as evident from some of these pictures - i will fondly remember dabbing my feet into a neon-lit swimming pool while John Cage reverberated through the make-shift enclosure.

Following a bout of feeling myself chained to, cowed by the internet I'll begin to jot down my travels once again.


Berlin and Athens have been and gone. I don't have the romanticizing urge to reminisce right now - but let it be noted that they were both absorbing, wondrous. Cities which respectively mythologise art and make an art of mythology. (disgustingly cute, i know)





The pictures follow a sequential narrative - one of my adoration for city that cruelly nicks off with my possessions, my pain and subsequent recuperation in the seat of the Gods. Done and dusty.