slctdby

Upon the request to make a contribution to the blog slctdby – to contribute a resource that has inspired myself throughout my work, so far – has struck me with anticipation, but equally with the burden of responsibility, that is to say, impossibility: to select a single image as a representative measure. For the sake of brevity and as preventive act as to avoid any maniacal tendencies, I have decided to make an inscription based on my more current engagements. In other words still, it is by no means I consider myself to be an intellectual, for I have no surplus knowledge. I engage with sources, objects, materials, texts, static and non–static, scopic and non–scopic for my work as a curator on a daily basis, but refrain from any interaction with matters beyond this timely investment. I feel reluctant to create this kind of reservoir of surplus knowledge – do you happen to know the various existing types of sea weed? No. In the end this might be nothing to speak of.

What I think is worthwhile to share with you is a recent novel that crossed my path and is read at present – Part III, page 95 [10/05/2013]: The Museum of Unconditional Surrender (1996) by Dubravka Ugrešić. As you might have guessed, the reading of this novel goes beyond sheer indulging, rather it has crossed my domestic threshold in order to inform a forthcoming exhibition. Again, this might be nothing to speak of.

Since I haven’t actually finished this book, I do not feel empowered yet to comment on its potential structural problems, unity and harmony, plot and the story, time, textual effects, verisimilitude, narrative technique, characters, dialogues, settings, style, experience and its linguistic register. You know the criteria. However, I would like to bring forward the prologue which (especially Roland) makes me feel empowered, motivated and enriched to continue to conduct my work…

In the Berlin zoo, beside the pool containing the live walrus, there is an unusual display. In a glass case are all the things found in the stomach of Roland the walrus, who died on 21 August 1961. Or to be precise:

a pink cigarette lighter, four ice–lolly sticks (wooden), a metal brooch in the form of a poodle, a beer–bottle opener, a woman’s bracelet (probably silver), a hair grip, a wooden pencil, a child’s plastic water pistol, a plastic knife, sunglasses, a little chain, a spring (small), a rubber ring, a parachute (child’s toy), a steel chain about 18 ins in length, four nails (large), a green plastic car, a metal comb, a plastic badge, a small doll, a beer can (Pilsner, half–pint), a box of matches, a baby’s shoe, a compass, a small car key, four coins, a knife with a wooden handle, a baby’s dummy, a bunch of keys (5), a padlock, a little plastic bag containing needles and thread.

The visitor stands in front of the unusual display, more enchanted than horrified, as before archaeological exhibits. The visitor knows that their museum–display fate has been determined by chance (Roland’s whimsical appetite) but still cannot resist the poetic thought that with time the objects have acquired some subtler, secret connections. Caught up in this thought, the visitor then tries to establish semantic coordinates, to reconstruct the historical context (it occurs to him, for instance, that Roland died one week after the Berlin Wall was erected), and so on and so forth.

The chapters and fragments which follow should be read in a similar way. If the reader feels that there are no meaningful or firm connections between them, let him be patient: the connections will establish themselves of their own accord. And one more thing: the question as to whether this novel is autobiographical might at some hypothetical moment be of concern to the police, but not to the reader.

 — Niekolaas Johannes Lekkerkerk is a curator and writer, currently living and working in Rotterdam, The Netherlands.

A poem about one independent woman, written by another independent woman. Makes me want to explore my own willpower through journeys in physical inner space, and outer landscapes. Live and give, take place and change space. From breath to death.

 — Lene Aareskjold  is a dance artist with affiliations in Stavanger, Norway.

Whilst the film focusses mainly on the muted tones of polluted psychologies and grey landscapes, this monologue concentrates on a solitary celebration of a mesmerising world stuck between reality and imagination.

 — Danae Valenza is a multidisciplinary artist from Melbourne.

This extraordinary map was drawn in the 13th century on an animal skin of 1.59 by 1.34 meter. It has an organic and chaotic aura full of wonders and horrors. The map has geographical but also mythical and biblical details. It introduces a story into geography. This map shows a physical and a spiritual travel and also embodies all human history in one image. It projects the history of the world through locations, from east to west, from beginning of time to end.

 — Alison Darby is a painter and musician based in Berlin, Germany.

The Moss Temple called Saihoji, or Kokedera, sits on a hillside northwest of Kyoto. To visit the temple, one must mail a written request to the Rinzai Zen Buddhist monks with a return postcard, weeks or months in advance.

The temple was sited sometime during the Nara period (710 – 794 AD), and was at some point landscaped entirely in white sand. During the Meiji period (late 1800s) it was completely landscaped in moss. The grounds are now dotted with custodians carefully sweeping fallen leaves and plant debris off the moss with straw brooms.

Upon arrival, the monks lead you into the main building where they chant sutra for about an hour – and you, as visitor, copy it onto rice paper, with each person kneeling at a small lacquered writing desk on the tatami floor with sumi ink and brush.In this room, there is a set of gold leafed screen doors (or fusuma). I stared at the striking paintings on these doors for an hour or so while the monks chanted.

In Japan we experienced several instances of viewing works of art in an optimal, or even utopian setting, including a visit to see Monet’s late waterlilies on an island reachable only by ferry, in natural light, in a Carrera marble-tiled room, wearing slippers.

I would later learn that these fusuma paintings were commissioned by Insho Domoto in 1969, and are exemplary of his late abstract work. They seem contemporary; materially present in their saturated color.

We were asked not to take photographs in the building. This is a photo shot quickly with a cellphone from outside, on the wooden walkway.

 — Beka Goedde is a sculptor and printmaker based in Brooklyn, New York.