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Possible Subject Positions – Elena Kovylina @Lamont Gallery

novembre 18, 2017

For more information, click here


Ali Kazma : ce soir au SILENCIO

novembre 17, 2017

Ali Kazma : du Souterrain au Silencio

Ce soir, le SILENCIO, la Maison Européenne de la Photographie (MEP) et le Jeu de Paume ont le plaisir de vous inviter à une soirée autour de l’artiste ALI KAZMA

18h : Projection
20h : Conversation entre Ali Kazma et Barbara Polla
20h45 : Performance de Violaine Lochu

Inscription : barbara.s.polla(at) ou ici

142 Rue de Montmartre, 75002

À la suite de la projection et de la conversation entre Ali Kazma et Barbara Polla, Violaine Lochu présentera Hybird. Prolongeant une recherche sur le chant des oiseaux en France et en Laponie, l’artiste française, dans un exercice d’hybridation qui engage non seulement sa voix mais tout son corps, se réinvente en femme-oiseau. L’accordéon joué, raclé, gratté, frappé, accompagne cette métamorphose.

Violaine Lochu, à retrouver aussi pour le finissage de l’exposition « Souterrain » d’Ali Kazma au Jeu de Paume, avec sa performance ArchiVox (le 16/01/18 à 20h).

Cette soirée est organisée à l’occasion de l’exposition personnelle d’Ali Kazma au Jeu de Paume. Intitulée « Souterrain », l’exposition dont le commissariat est assurée par Pia Viewing, s’attache à montrer l’évolution du travail d’Ali Kazma au cours des dix dernières années. Elle comprend une vingtaine d’œuvres vidéo, dont deux ont été réalisées à cette occasion, et une publication photographique – un livre d’artiste. Immergé dans l’espace, le spectateur fait face aux rythmes et aux couleurs des projections créant des liens entre chacune d’elles. Depuis le début de son travail, Ali Kazma a réalisé plus d’une soixantaine de vidéos qui interrogent le sens de l’activité humaine et se déploient dans les champs économique, industriel, scientifique, médical, social et artistique, et constituent progressivement une archive de notre condition humaine.

Ali Kazma est aussi au Digital Art Center #2 – Espace d’art contemporain HEC

NEWWWAR, demain @Bandjoun Station

novembre 16, 2017

Janet Biggs with Nancy Princenthal for the Brooklyn Rail

novembre 15, 2017

©Janet Biggs

Breathtakingly beautiful, like all of Janet Biggs’s work, A Step on the Sun (2012) is also—again characteristically—a haunting account of several kinds of mortal danger. This wordless, five-screen video projection was mostly shot at a sulfur mine inside an active volcano in East Java, where unsupervised miners labor in unspeakable conditions. As always, Biggs was the principle cameraperson, and assumed some of the same risks her subjects did. We see a lone miner ascend the forbiddingly steep, rocky interior of the crater, bearing more than his body weight in sulfur crystals. Clouds of gas provide a poisonous, intoxicating yellow glow. Bookending the roughly ten-minute loop is footage taken by a camera attached to a weather balloon, along with documentation of the meteorological station the balloon serves: a note of buoyancy, however fragile. Music, a significant element throughout Biggs’s work, consists here of a cello composition written and played by William Martina.

Biggs’s videos, which she began exhibiting in the early 1990s, have lately taken her to the Taklamakan Desert in China; the Afar Triangle of East Africa; and the Norwegian Arctic. Most recently she has been a resident at a simulation site designed to prepare for manned travel to Mars. Her sensibility evokes Jules Verne and Joseph Conrad, and also such conflict-zone photojournalists as Tim Hetherington and Sebastian Junger, with this difference: Biggs’s geography is skewed not just to remote and dangerous areas, but to instability more generally, to places where sand whips up, lakes boil and oceans freeze. She likes going underground, and also diving deep into the mechanisms of consciousness and its vulnerabilities, as in individuals suffering from autism or Alzheimer’s. In short, Biggs’s subject is anything that could be called shaky ground.

Janet Biggs and Nancy Princenthal met at the Neuberger on October 4 for a public conversation about A Step on the Sun. The following is an edited version of that discussion.

Nancy Princenthal (Rail): One place where we could start is where you started—how did you get to Ijen? How do you make your first contacts, how do you establish relationships, how do you choose the sites where you’re going to be doing your work?

Janet Biggs: Sure. I think I first learned that there was an active volcano where people were mining sulfur in East Java, Indonesia from the pages of National Geographic. I was intrigued and then obsessed. I continued researching Kawah Ijen and came across Michael Glawogger’s film Workingman’s Death (2002)—which is an extraordinary documentary film that presents different segments of unimaginable labor, the mining at Kawah Ijen being one of the segments. I became absolutely committed to going there, but needed to figure out how that would happen. How that happened was a process. Eventually, I found someone online who self-promoted as a guide in the Ijen plateau region. So, I hired this man, Aan, as my guide and translator—having no real idea what that actually meant— and somehow convinced my husband, who occasionally backs me up with a second camera, to join me. We got on a plane. After twenty-six hours, we got off the plane. At the airport I saw someone that I vaguely recognized from a JPEG on Facebook as our guide, got in a van with him, and drove for the next twelve hours—on a road that had no defining traffic lines. Donkeys, ox carts, motorcycles, cars, vans, and big trucks were all going as fast as they possibly could. We arrived at the Kawah Ijen plateau, which is this beautiful, verdant landscape, but still had to figure out how to get inside the volcano, how to meet miners, and how to convince the miners to allow us to film them. I’ve learned that no matter how much research and preparation goes into a project, as soon my feet hit the ground I realize how little I know or understand about the place where I’m standing. It is impossible to be prepared. One of the first things that shocked me was: it’s a really tall volcano, kind of like an isosceles triangle, which means a forty-five-degree angle of ascent. When you finally get to the rim and look down into the volcano there is a brilliant turquoise lake at the base of the caldera. It is stunningly beautiful. The lake is the largest sulfuric acid lake in the world. There are sulfur dioxide fumes billowing up out of it, and the miners move like dancers under the weight of the sulfur they are carrying.

©Janet Biggs


Rail: We talked earlier about the surprise of the mining operation being self-regulated—there’s not a mining company, per se. Miners instead organize themselves, to the extent that there is organization.

Biggs: Which is very minimal, but there is some organization.

Rail: Was that something you knew going in, or was that one of those things that became a point of interest when you got there?

Biggs: It wasn’t something I knew going in, but something I needed to grasp quickly to be able to navigate in that area. I knew that the volcano itself was owned by the Ministry of Forestry. I also knew that there was no overarching organization or structure that oversaw the miners. I learned that Indonesia is a culture of consensus. It’s a norm that you have to adhere to and I was grateful that Aan skillfully guided me through this process. We met with the military police, we met with the Ministry of Forestry, we also met with students from the University in Surabaya. All these meetings gave me a fuller understanding of the local dynamics, the history of mining in Ijen, and why there is no mechanization in place for extracting the sulfur. I also learned that a culture of consensus means sitting in rooms for hours, having long discussions about why and how access should be granted. Often, these long conversations ultimately ended in a consensus on how much bribery I would pay. I learned the necessity of buying as many loose cigarettes, as much chocolate, and getting as many small bills as possible every morning. This was how I made my way through roadblocks, paying officials, and the miners too. You know, gaining access to places and people around the world is a fascinating art unto itself.

To read the rest of the interview, please click here.

Les Amis d’Analix Forever

novembre 13, 2017

38) Merci à Nicolas Jaquet, d’être entré un jour dans la galerie en disant « je cherche mounir fatmi… » et reparti avec DADA — et d’être revenu souvent depuis…

© mounir fatmi

Les Amis d’Analix Forever

novembre 11, 2017
37) Giovanni Milesi : Un italiano vero
Thank you Giovanni for your passion for art forever and for this beautiful exhibition. We are looking forward to the next one !!

Ci sono solo pochi giorni per visitare la mostra di Jhafis Quintero a Palazzo Barolo, Torino

novembre 9, 2017

A Palazzo Barolo i “santi malandrini” di Jhafis Quintero

Esposte le opere dell’artista “nato” in carcere: un tempio racchiude la devozione delle favelas per i criminali-Robin Hood

«i santi cattolici non sempre arrivano alle favelas e allora la gente delle favelas trova dei “santi” più vicini, che rendono l’esistenza dei disperati, un po’ più accettabile. Così nasce il culto intorno alle figure di delinquenti, di trafficanti, che hanno donato parte dei loro bottini. Robin Hood moderni che i poveri pregano…». Jhafis Quintero, artista panamense, classe 1973, i «santi malandrini» li ha portati nella casa di Giulia e Tancredi di Barolo, la coppia della santità sociale torinese che credeva nella forza salvifica della bellezza, impegnata contro l’ingiustizia che nasce dalla povertà. Nella sua opera, «Domus Sanctorum», da ogni statua di gesso esce una preghiera. Le parole, in spagnolo, suonano come assoluta normalità e al tempo stesso assoluta accusa di abbandono. In carcere, l’artista (che vive a Verona) ha trascorso dieci anni e in quegli anni, grazie ad un incontro fortunato (Haru Wells), ha scoperto nell’arte la via in cui incanalare la spinta verso la trasgressione che l’aveva portato a delinquere. Dagli anni del carcere, la sua fama è internazionale.


Nel tempio ovale (l’uovo simboleggia il sincretismo), costruito con studenti, artigiani, cittadini torinesi con e senza dimora, c’è Ismael, di Caracas, accoltellato in una lite, ladro innocuo che difendeva il suo territorio da altre bande di teppisti, rapinava le banche per dividere il bottino con i più bisognosi. C’è Tomasito, morto per 132 colpi di pistola. I suoi complici lo lasciarono solo all’arrivo della polizia. Poi, Johnny, di buona famiglia, ucciso dai trafficanti di droga. E Jesus Malverde, un bandito conosciuto come «il santo dei narcos» che fece in modo di farsi consegnare agli agenti da un amico che avrebbe dato il denaro della taglia ai poveri…

L’opera di Quintero fa parte della collettiva «Fuoriserie», in corso fino al 12 novembre a Palazzo Barolo, Polo delle Arti Relazionali Irregolari (PARI), con le altre due mostre del progetto Singolare e Plurale («Chiaroscuro» e «Divergoconarte»): venti artisti internazionali, emergenti o del tutto sconosciuti, torinesi e non, espongono in dialogo o in assolo. «”Fuoriserie” esprime un’area “porosa”, artisti affermati, altri che sono affermati ma si confrontano o si sono confrontati con la marginalità, con la disabilità, altri ancora sconosciuti. Tante condizioni diverse, ma ciascuno qui è presente solo con la propria ricerca, senza dichiararsi», spiega Tea Taramino, riferimento storico dell’«arte irregolare» torinese, curatrice della rassegna con Daniela Rosi.


Tra le opere dei venti artisti di «Fuoriserie», quella di Quintero è una storia nella storia. «La gente, quando vive in posti così lontani dallo Stato e dalla Chiesa, fa come può. Gli uomini nascono tutti uguali, ma l’ambiente di una favela in Venezuela, in Messico, a Panama, in Cile, Colombia o Argentina li modifica. In una favela facilmente sei bollato come delinquente. Questi santi popolari riflettono esattamente com’è la vita al di fuori della protezione dello stato economico e sociale», ricorda l’artista, che alla Biennale di Venezia 2013 ha rappresentato Panama con un’installazione video. «Questo progetto l’avevo in testa da tempo, si lega alla mia biografia complicata, dalla linea mossa come il registro del cuore. È il risultato di una lunga ricerca e della mia esperienza sull’evoluzione della malavita nei tempi moderni. E della cultura parallela che si sviluppa ai margini della società con i propri rituali».

Maria Teresa Martinengo, La Stampa Torino
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