Uncategorized


I hope I can correct a false picture about me. I am not a Jewish James Bond, and I am not a Don Quixote, and I am not [in] between. I am only a survivor who pays with a dedicated work for the privilege to remain alive.

Simon Wiesenthal (1908 – 2005), architect, survivor of death camps across Europe, documenter of Nazi war crimes, and intrepid and dedicated hunter of war criminals.

At one time, almost all American TV programs were filmed in midtown New York.

Consider the history and style of funk dancing, as a form of expression in urban black America, and then as a popular American dance form. Consider how this form has disappeared, in a sense, from our everyday physical vernacular. How are popular dances, ways of moving and self expression, archival practices?

Notes on Funk I (excerpt)
by Adrian Piper
1985

From 1982 to 1984, I staged collaborative performances with large or small groups of people, entitled Funk Lessons. The first word in the title refers to a certain branch of black popular music and dance known as “funk” (in contrast, for example, to “punk,” “rap,” or “rock”). Its recent ancestor is called “rhythm and blues” or “soul,” and it has been developing as a distinctive cultural idiom within black culture since the early 1970s. Funk constitutes a language of interpersonal communication and collective self-expression that has its origins in African tribal music and dance and is the result of the increasing interest of contemporary black musicians and the populace in those sources elicited by the civil rights movement of the 1960s and early 1970s (African tribal drumming by slaves was banned in the United States during the nineteenth century, so it makes sense to describe this increasing interest as a “rediscovery”).

(more…)

(from a paper, given with Barbara Adams, at the Royal Academy of British Architects, London, July 2009)
I remember the first Michael Jackson music video I ever saw; in my grandparents’ living room in Lagos, during the evening hour when state television showed the latest in American, British and Caribbean black pop music.

The glowing halo of curly black hair, the even skin, shy white smile. The fragile teen-aged body. Tuxedo jacket open, with a large, loosely-tied bowtie, sleeves pushed up to the elbows, one hand finger-snapping, one hand in pocket. White socks, black loafers.

Falling suddenly, into a marbled sky, and to me, an avid marble collector, and fan of blowing soap bubbles, this seemed like a dream—I want to be there! I want to be where he is. He splits into 3 loosely synchronized selves in this music video, each one imploring me, in stereo, not to stop til I get enough rocking, snapping, spinning, freezing.

Here, I should tell you what this is not about:
(more…)

“If I’m honest, as least as a philosopher, I [must say] don’t have answers. We intellectuals do not have answers. If you ask me what to do about ecology, bah! What do I know? What we can do is change the very questions. We can show to what extent the very way we approach a problem, which is a very real problem, is part of that problem.”

–Slavoj Zizek, on Democracy Now with Amy Goodman, New York City, March 2008

The Sudden Walk

by Franz Kafka
translated by Willa and Edwin Muir

When it looks as if you had made up your mind finally to stay at home for the evening, when you have put on your house jacket and sat down after supper with a light on the table to the piece of work or the game that usually precedes your going to bed, when the weather outside is unpleasant so that staying indoors seems natural, and when you have already been sitting quietly at the table for so long that your departure must occasion surprise to everyone, when, besides, the stairs are in darkness and the front door locked, and in spite of all that you have started up in a sudden fit of restlessness, changed your jacket, abruptly dressed yourself for the street, explained that you must go out and with a few curt words of leave-taking actually gone out, banging the flat door more or less hastily according to the degree of displeasure you think you have left behind you, and when you find yourself once more in the street with limbs swinging extra freely in answer to the unexpected liberty you have procured for them, when as a result of this decisive action you feel concentrated within yourself all the potentialities of decisive action, when you recognize with more than usual significance that your strength is greater than your need to accomplish effortlessly the swiftest of changes and to cope with it, when in this frame of mind you go striding down the long streets – then for that evening you have completely got away from your family, which fades into insubstantiality, while you yourself, a firm, boldly drawn black figure, slapping yourself on the thigh, grow to your true stature.

All this is still heightened if at such a late hour in the evening you look up a friend to see how he is getting on.

(more…)

Who needs realism?

Luckily, the nature of fashion is anti-realistic and the perfect place to park one’s own understimulated, grey realistic everyday life. This is a place of dreams, a place where almost impossible beauty is created; a place where curiosity, wonderment and fiction thrive–all things that block out the sneaky boredom of mediocrity that threatens to take us down.

–Uffe Buchard, DANSK magazine, S/S 2010, editorial note.

(more…)

It’s not the load that breaks you down,

it’s the way you carry it.

-Lena Horne

A New York night, 1985

« Previous PageNext Page »