Essay on Warhol's portraits of his mother, Julia Warhola, in catalogue for Levy Gorvy's exhibitio... more Essay on Warhol's portraits of his mother, Julia Warhola, in catalogue for Levy Gorvy's exhibition, WARHOL'S WOMEN.
Writing and reading happen incrementally, one word, another; the speed of a reader, or writer, do... more Writing and reading happen incrementally, one word, another; the speed of a reader, or writer, doesn't count, really. A writer might draw a line through a word or phrase;
Phantom Thread (2017) has roles for several meanings of 'phantom': 'something apparent to sense b... more Phantom Thread (2017) has roles for several meanings of 'phantom': 'something apparent to sense but with no substantial existence; an object of continual dread; a representation of something abstract, ideal, or incorporeal.' Director Paul Thomas Anderson wrote lines to hear and follow, pull together, like seams in a gown designed by Reynolds Woodcock, its couturier protagonist. Portraying a man as an exquisite atavism, Daniel Day-Lewis's Woodcock is a severe character, rigid and also fragile. Skin is the largest organ of the body; it encases bodies. Fabric is a second skin, and can be malleable or stiff, and to clothe bodies can be used for different effects. A couturier creates dresses for specific bodies; he shapes the woman, the way she moves in space, say, to his taste, his heart's desire. Desire oversees every aspect of a garment's construction-bodice, hang, hem, buttons, snaps. Each detail-stitch-must be perfect, the way no psyche is, for example, Reynolds Woodcock's. His name, by way of Edith Wharton, is a perfect detail for Anderson's tale of gender relations. Is Woodcock made of wood, is his cock? Will it stand (up) for a woman? It is morning. Seamstresses march up several flights of stairs in Woodcock's London house, to the atelier; they don white coats. Woodcock is dressing, with no profligate movement. At breakfast, he drinks tea from a perfect white bowl. He reads the paper, he is in himself, won't tolerate noise, certainly not from his female lover also at the table. He refuses her entreaties, like material that won't give. His sister, Cyril, who oversees the business and him-she is a precision timepiece-watches everything. At dinner alone with Reynolds, she offers to get rid of her. It's time, she says. She takes care of even that untidiness.
In the beginning, there seems just one way to write, the way it comes out, and then that way beco... more In the beginning, there seems just one way to write, the way it comes out, and then that way becomes a debate, contested, most essentially, in and by its writer. Hopefully, a writer reads and reads and will become more conscious of decisions in style and form. Some writers make these choices more consciously than others, the decisions mark differences in fiction, though whether they might be experiments can't be assumed, certainly not by their authors. The term "experimental" and others that characterize or categorize writing have, for me, lost their explanatory power. Mainstream, conventional, innovative, progressive, whatever value they hold or once held, the notions are vague, and they lack agreed-upon meanings among writers, readers, and critics. Rather than being descriptive, the characterizations are predictive and can mark expectation, both writers' and readers'. Also, they are outmoded and unhelpful, even as heuristic tools; still, they survive, like the human appendix, without usefulness. Lacking other terms, we writers are their hapless recidivists.
Figments Before point-and-shoot cameras and a plague of selfies, there were photo-booth pictures.... more Figments Before point-and-shoot cameras and a plague of selfies, there were photo-booth pictures. Andy Warhol made art with them; he photographed himself in them, and seated others in those boxy photo-booth cameras. The pictures emerged out of a chute, still wet and in strips of four, in unforgiving black and white. Color happened later, softening edges, usually. People took these pictures, like Polaroids, to see themselves instantly and objectively. The wish to see oneself "as one is" is supremely naive. In the 1970s, I struck poses in many London photo booths, no self-portrait giving me what I wanted: me. Balanced on a round gray metal seat that swivelled, looking into a window/mirror, I anticipated the flash, but it was never one of recognition. A photograph's probity is defeated by the elements that determine it-light, angle, camera position, or camera person. No picture knows you, because, for one thing, you are not static. No picture authors its subject's authenticity or is conclusive of character and psychology. There is attitude, though, the pose, which intimates something, but again nothing conclusive. Warhol was engaged in, curious about, and maybe enamored of the pose. People posed for Andy Warhol, who painted and silk-screened many portraits. He selected people-brilliant ones, celebrities, friends-and some commissioned him. Warhol's celebrity, to some, outweighed his artistry, and owning a portrait by him proclaimed a certain hipness to a certain class. In reality, it claimed that those people had the money to buy his attention. Not so different from a Rembrandt or a court painter. Warhol made self-portraits, and in some he used violent colors, turning himself into a devil or "freak," a word appropriated in the Sixties by people thought "weird" by the mainstream. So-called "freaks" embraced the attribution, taking a perverse pride in their 1
... He was bouncing up and Page 4. LYNNE TILLMAN Reveal Codes, or Life Is a Joke 15 ... Some peop... more ... He was bouncing up and Page 4. LYNNE TILLMAN Reveal Codes, or Life Is a Joke 15 ... Some people burned incense day and night or wore disgusting perfume. Some taxidrivers hung furry green and white odor-eaters from rearview mirrors. Elizabeth was often nauseated. ...
... But Warhol was flummoxed by Ondine, who became exhausted or bored after just twelve, so the b... more ... But Warhol was flummoxed by Ondine, who became exhausted or bored after just twelve, so the book does not go twenty-four hours straight. ... 8. If Warhol had recorded a continuous twenty-four hours, a: a novel would Page 4. Tillman | The Last Words Are Andy Warhol 41 ...
People say, You are as old as you feel. Your age doesn't matter. How ridiculous, absurd, Madame R... more People say, You are as old as you feel. Your age doesn't matter. How ridiculous, absurd, Madame Realism thought, stormily. Anyone could see, walking on the street, how old people were pushed aside and disdained. They weren't new and shiny. And, old as she felt? She didn't know what she felt a lot of the time and had many simultaneous feelings, which canceled having just one "feeling." I feel good, I feel bad, I feel young, I feel old. What is a feeling? A psychiatrist
Conversation with Emily LaBarge, for Granta 20 Online, about my novel MEN AND APPARITIONS, which ... more Conversation with Emily LaBarge, for Granta 20 Online, about my novel MEN AND APPARITIONS, which was pubbed in UK Nov. 2020. Pubbed in US 2018.
While certain artistic practices of the 1990s asked how and for whom art serves, the economies of... more While certain artistic practices of the 1990s asked how and for whom art serves, the economies of the art worlds have since changed, with new implications. Nowadays the arts are arguably more embedded within society and culture at large than ever before—witness the rise of socially engaged art, political art, financialized art, and so forth—and thus exposed to a wider field of forces with divergent interests. Along with a growing number of participants, taxes, wages, and other standards are being introduced for better or worse. That the art worlds have, in any case, always been part of the life praxis of the “real” world, overlapping in economic, social, and political structures, attests that the intensification we observe has been gradually building over years. Today’s imperative, perhaps, directs our gaze ever outwards—toward arts’ entanglements with other fields in functionally differentiated societies; and equally, to follow their reverberations on the shifting terrain of the artistic field itself.
The PROVENCE REPORT AW 18/19 focal point is Art in the service of... We look at moments when artists use their practice and skills in the service of something or someone else. In the backdrop, we are confronted with an artistic field triggering “descriptions” and suggestions like the Content Industrial Complex’s false sublation of art into life or—on the other end of the spectrum— the self-abolition of all art and art workers. While the former is some sort of Kulturindustrie takeover, the latter is drafted as a left political practice. Paradoxically, with both comes the end of the art world. In this highly volatile period of criticism, how might a renewed interest in services comment on art’s relative autonomy? As thoughts without content are empty, primary research forms the basis for this issue of PROVENCE REPORT: where possible, we have elected for conversations held or reports written by practitioners in the field.
Contributions by Anke Dyes / Edgars Gluhovs / Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster and Philip Pilekjær / Raphael Gygax / Nina Hollensteiner with Nadine Fraczkowski / Tobias Kaspar, Inka Meißner, Karl Holmqvist and Rirkrit Tiravanija / Inga Lāce and Katerina Gregos / Matthew Linde Passageways / Adam Linder and Hannes Loichinger / llya Lipkin and Marc Asekhame / Tobi Maier and Jac Leirner / Emanuele Marcuccio / Isabel Mehl and Lynne Tillman Lynne Tillman's Critical Fictions/ Inka Meißner and LaKela Brown / Julia Moritz / Shahryar Nashat and Anne Dressen / Miss Needle / Cecilie Norgaard and Karsten Pflum / Silvia Simoncelli / Hisachika Takahashi by Yuki Okumura
PREVIEW
Copublished by Spector Books and PROVENCE
Conceived by Tobias Kaspar (Art Direction) and Hannes Loichinger (Editor)
Design by Pascal Storz and Fabian Bremer
October 2018
ISSN: 2624-7682
ISBN: 978-3-95905-264-1
Distribution: Bruil & van de Staaij (Single issues and subscriptions) and Spector Books
Essay on Warhol's portraits of his mother, Julia Warhola, in catalogue for Levy Gorvy's exhibitio... more Essay on Warhol's portraits of his mother, Julia Warhola, in catalogue for Levy Gorvy's exhibition, WARHOL'S WOMEN.
Writing and reading happen incrementally, one word, another; the speed of a reader, or writer, do... more Writing and reading happen incrementally, one word, another; the speed of a reader, or writer, doesn't count, really. A writer might draw a line through a word or phrase;
Phantom Thread (2017) has roles for several meanings of 'phantom': 'something apparent to sense b... more Phantom Thread (2017) has roles for several meanings of 'phantom': 'something apparent to sense but with no substantial existence; an object of continual dread; a representation of something abstract, ideal, or incorporeal.' Director Paul Thomas Anderson wrote lines to hear and follow, pull together, like seams in a gown designed by Reynolds Woodcock, its couturier protagonist. Portraying a man as an exquisite atavism, Daniel Day-Lewis's Woodcock is a severe character, rigid and also fragile. Skin is the largest organ of the body; it encases bodies. Fabric is a second skin, and can be malleable or stiff, and to clothe bodies can be used for different effects. A couturier creates dresses for specific bodies; he shapes the woman, the way she moves in space, say, to his taste, his heart's desire. Desire oversees every aspect of a garment's construction-bodice, hang, hem, buttons, snaps. Each detail-stitch-must be perfect, the way no psyche is, for example, Reynolds Woodcock's. His name, by way of Edith Wharton, is a perfect detail for Anderson's tale of gender relations. Is Woodcock made of wood, is his cock? Will it stand (up) for a woman? It is morning. Seamstresses march up several flights of stairs in Woodcock's London house, to the atelier; they don white coats. Woodcock is dressing, with no profligate movement. At breakfast, he drinks tea from a perfect white bowl. He reads the paper, he is in himself, won't tolerate noise, certainly not from his female lover also at the table. He refuses her entreaties, like material that won't give. His sister, Cyril, who oversees the business and him-she is a precision timepiece-watches everything. At dinner alone with Reynolds, she offers to get rid of her. It's time, she says. She takes care of even that untidiness.
In the beginning, there seems just one way to write, the way it comes out, and then that way beco... more In the beginning, there seems just one way to write, the way it comes out, and then that way becomes a debate, contested, most essentially, in and by its writer. Hopefully, a writer reads and reads and will become more conscious of decisions in style and form. Some writers make these choices more consciously than others, the decisions mark differences in fiction, though whether they might be experiments can't be assumed, certainly not by their authors. The term "experimental" and others that characterize or categorize writing have, for me, lost their explanatory power. Mainstream, conventional, innovative, progressive, whatever value they hold or once held, the notions are vague, and they lack agreed-upon meanings among writers, readers, and critics. Rather than being descriptive, the characterizations are predictive and can mark expectation, both writers' and readers'. Also, they are outmoded and unhelpful, even as heuristic tools; still, they survive, like the human appendix, without usefulness. Lacking other terms, we writers are their hapless recidivists.
Figments Before point-and-shoot cameras and a plague of selfies, there were photo-booth pictures.... more Figments Before point-and-shoot cameras and a plague of selfies, there were photo-booth pictures. Andy Warhol made art with them; he photographed himself in them, and seated others in those boxy photo-booth cameras. The pictures emerged out of a chute, still wet and in strips of four, in unforgiving black and white. Color happened later, softening edges, usually. People took these pictures, like Polaroids, to see themselves instantly and objectively. The wish to see oneself "as one is" is supremely naive. In the 1970s, I struck poses in many London photo booths, no self-portrait giving me what I wanted: me. Balanced on a round gray metal seat that swivelled, looking into a window/mirror, I anticipated the flash, but it was never one of recognition. A photograph's probity is defeated by the elements that determine it-light, angle, camera position, or camera person. No picture knows you, because, for one thing, you are not static. No picture authors its subject's authenticity or is conclusive of character and psychology. There is attitude, though, the pose, which intimates something, but again nothing conclusive. Warhol was engaged in, curious about, and maybe enamored of the pose. People posed for Andy Warhol, who painted and silk-screened many portraits. He selected people-brilliant ones, celebrities, friends-and some commissioned him. Warhol's celebrity, to some, outweighed his artistry, and owning a portrait by him proclaimed a certain hipness to a certain class. In reality, it claimed that those people had the money to buy his attention. Not so different from a Rembrandt or a court painter. Warhol made self-portraits, and in some he used violent colors, turning himself into a devil or "freak," a word appropriated in the Sixties by people thought "weird" by the mainstream. So-called "freaks" embraced the attribution, taking a perverse pride in their 1
... He was bouncing up and Page 4. LYNNE TILLMAN Reveal Codes, or Life Is a Joke 15 ... Some peop... more ... He was bouncing up and Page 4. LYNNE TILLMAN Reveal Codes, or Life Is a Joke 15 ... Some people burned incense day and night or wore disgusting perfume. Some taxidrivers hung furry green and white odor-eaters from rearview mirrors. Elizabeth was often nauseated. ...
... But Warhol was flummoxed by Ondine, who became exhausted or bored after just twelve, so the b... more ... But Warhol was flummoxed by Ondine, who became exhausted or bored after just twelve, so the book does not go twenty-four hours straight. ... 8. If Warhol had recorded a continuous twenty-four hours, a: a novel would Page 4. Tillman | The Last Words Are Andy Warhol 41 ...
People say, You are as old as you feel. Your age doesn't matter. How ridiculous, absurd, Madame R... more People say, You are as old as you feel. Your age doesn't matter. How ridiculous, absurd, Madame Realism thought, stormily. Anyone could see, walking on the street, how old people were pushed aside and disdained. They weren't new and shiny. And, old as she felt? She didn't know what she felt a lot of the time and had many simultaneous feelings, which canceled having just one "feeling." I feel good, I feel bad, I feel young, I feel old. What is a feeling? A psychiatrist
Conversation with Emily LaBarge, for Granta 20 Online, about my novel MEN AND APPARITIONS, which ... more Conversation with Emily LaBarge, for Granta 20 Online, about my novel MEN AND APPARITIONS, which was pubbed in UK Nov. 2020. Pubbed in US 2018.
While certain artistic practices of the 1990s asked how and for whom art serves, the economies of... more While certain artistic practices of the 1990s asked how and for whom art serves, the economies of the art worlds have since changed, with new implications. Nowadays the arts are arguably more embedded within society and culture at large than ever before—witness the rise of socially engaged art, political art, financialized art, and so forth—and thus exposed to a wider field of forces with divergent interests. Along with a growing number of participants, taxes, wages, and other standards are being introduced for better or worse. That the art worlds have, in any case, always been part of the life praxis of the “real” world, overlapping in economic, social, and political structures, attests that the intensification we observe has been gradually building over years. Today’s imperative, perhaps, directs our gaze ever outwards—toward arts’ entanglements with other fields in functionally differentiated societies; and equally, to follow their reverberations on the shifting terrain of the artistic field itself.
The PROVENCE REPORT AW 18/19 focal point is Art in the service of... We look at moments when artists use their practice and skills in the service of something or someone else. In the backdrop, we are confronted with an artistic field triggering “descriptions” and suggestions like the Content Industrial Complex’s false sublation of art into life or—on the other end of the spectrum— the self-abolition of all art and art workers. While the former is some sort of Kulturindustrie takeover, the latter is drafted as a left political practice. Paradoxically, with both comes the end of the art world. In this highly volatile period of criticism, how might a renewed interest in services comment on art’s relative autonomy? As thoughts without content are empty, primary research forms the basis for this issue of PROVENCE REPORT: where possible, we have elected for conversations held or reports written by practitioners in the field.
Contributions by Anke Dyes / Edgars Gluhovs / Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster and Philip Pilekjær / Raphael Gygax / Nina Hollensteiner with Nadine Fraczkowski / Tobias Kaspar, Inka Meißner, Karl Holmqvist and Rirkrit Tiravanija / Inga Lāce and Katerina Gregos / Matthew Linde Passageways / Adam Linder and Hannes Loichinger / llya Lipkin and Marc Asekhame / Tobi Maier and Jac Leirner / Emanuele Marcuccio / Isabel Mehl and Lynne Tillman Lynne Tillman's Critical Fictions/ Inka Meißner and LaKela Brown / Julia Moritz / Shahryar Nashat and Anne Dressen / Miss Needle / Cecilie Norgaard and Karsten Pflum / Silvia Simoncelli / Hisachika Takahashi by Yuki Okumura
PREVIEW
Copublished by Spector Books and PROVENCE
Conceived by Tobias Kaspar (Art Direction) and Hannes Loichinger (Editor)
Design by Pascal Storz and Fabian Bremer
October 2018
ISSN: 2624-7682
ISBN: 978-3-95905-264-1
Distribution: Bruil & van de Staaij (Single issues and subscriptions) and Spector Books
Uploads
Papers by Lynne Tillman
Other by Lynne Tillman
The PROVENCE REPORT AW 18/19 focal point is Art in the service of... We look at moments when artists use their practice and skills in the service of something or someone else. In the backdrop, we are confronted with an artistic field triggering “descriptions” and suggestions like the Content Industrial Complex’s false sublation of art into life or—on the other end of the spectrum— the self-abolition of all art and art workers. While the former is some sort of Kulturindustrie takeover, the latter is drafted as a left political practice. Paradoxically, with both comes the end of the art world. In this highly volatile period of criticism, how might a renewed interest in services comment on art’s relative autonomy? As thoughts without content are empty, primary research forms the basis for this issue of PROVENCE REPORT: where possible, we have elected for conversations held or reports written by practitioners in the field.
Contributions by Anke Dyes / Edgars Gluhovs / Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster and Philip Pilekjær / Raphael Gygax / Nina Hollensteiner with Nadine Fraczkowski / Tobias Kaspar, Inka Meißner, Karl Holmqvist and Rirkrit Tiravanija / Inga Lāce and Katerina Gregos / Matthew Linde Passageways / Adam Linder and Hannes Loichinger / llya Lipkin and Marc Asekhame / Tobi Maier and Jac Leirner / Emanuele Marcuccio / Isabel Mehl and Lynne Tillman Lynne Tillman's Critical Fictions/ Inka Meißner and LaKela Brown / Julia Moritz / Shahryar Nashat and Anne Dressen / Miss Needle / Cecilie Norgaard and Karsten Pflum / Silvia Simoncelli / Hisachika Takahashi by Yuki Okumura
PREVIEW
Copublished by Spector Books and PROVENCE
Conceived by Tobias Kaspar (Art Direction) and Hannes Loichinger (Editor)
Design by Pascal Storz and Fabian Bremer
October 2018
ISSN: 2624-7682
ISBN: 978-3-95905-264-1
Distribution: Bruil & van de Staaij (Single issues and subscriptions) and Spector Books
The PROVENCE REPORT AW 18/19 focal point is Art in the service of... We look at moments when artists use their practice and skills in the service of something or someone else. In the backdrop, we are confronted with an artistic field triggering “descriptions” and suggestions like the Content Industrial Complex’s false sublation of art into life or—on the other end of the spectrum— the self-abolition of all art and art workers. While the former is some sort of Kulturindustrie takeover, the latter is drafted as a left political practice. Paradoxically, with both comes the end of the art world. In this highly volatile period of criticism, how might a renewed interest in services comment on art’s relative autonomy? As thoughts without content are empty, primary research forms the basis for this issue of PROVENCE REPORT: where possible, we have elected for conversations held or reports written by practitioners in the field.
Contributions by Anke Dyes / Edgars Gluhovs / Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster and Philip Pilekjær / Raphael Gygax / Nina Hollensteiner with Nadine Fraczkowski / Tobias Kaspar, Inka Meißner, Karl Holmqvist and Rirkrit Tiravanija / Inga Lāce and Katerina Gregos / Matthew Linde Passageways / Adam Linder and Hannes Loichinger / llya Lipkin and Marc Asekhame / Tobi Maier and Jac Leirner / Emanuele Marcuccio / Isabel Mehl and Lynne Tillman Lynne Tillman's Critical Fictions/ Inka Meißner and LaKela Brown / Julia Moritz / Shahryar Nashat and Anne Dressen / Miss Needle / Cecilie Norgaard and Karsten Pflum / Silvia Simoncelli / Hisachika Takahashi by Yuki Okumura
PREVIEW
Copublished by Spector Books and PROVENCE
Conceived by Tobias Kaspar (Art Direction) and Hannes Loichinger (Editor)
Design by Pascal Storz and Fabian Bremer
October 2018
ISSN: 2624-7682
ISBN: 978-3-95905-264-1
Distribution: Bruil & van de Staaij (Single issues and subscriptions) and Spector Books