A daily function of a city-pop-dynamics... Waiting for the elevator with a bag of fresh oranges or tangerines...

Result #1

The tools are all there. We have our go-to pantries: our bags of salt, our fruit and veg. But the oranges have broken and we are all being whisked away to some strange place, to a new garden of sorts. Well, it turns out that the redolent freshestness of the particular fruit may be our new companion. Or perhaps we are to believe that the redolent taste of the particular fruit belongs to the all-consuming utopia of the new garden (I cant see where the green vegetables are going). Who knows? In fact, each fruit and vegetable is so redolent as to look a little like the other, but not quite. Its like being cursed with a giant bouquet of the same color as you might imagine. The remnants of the Orange Order have been stolen and it is up to you to decide which fruit(es) to ask to be reconstructed in your garden.Hence, the fascinating second part of her performance. In her second act, she will display the seeds of these vegetables (small potatoes, apples, dates, onions) in her garden. We could then witness that we have become the privileged masters of our own destiny. These are the vegetables that our world has been growing and growing in ever greater abundance for thousands of years, until now, after centuries of cultivation, we will have no choice but to grow them ourselves. One might even say that the ultimate, unalterable fates of the vegetables are our own. The seeds are thus ours to rule over, to frame, to waste. We are the organic masters of nature. We are their slaves.

Result #2

A daily function of a city-pop-dynamics... Waiting for the elevator with a bag of fresh oranges or tangerines... <|startoftext|>It is hard to describe the images of Kim Boals group of Egypia sollembros (all works 2000) since they are so obscure. Seemingly they are mannequins, but in a way that ends in utter isolation: The bodies are somewhat distorted, and all of their features are covered with a layer of dye, a coloring not typically found in Minimalist art, but here it is apparent. Their skin is dyed black, and they are quite literally impossible to identify.They are carved out of wood like certain male pieces of marble, and placed on the floor; the paint is applied carefully, with a brush and a knife, and the two-dimensional works look like typical Minimalist sculpture, though they are slightly larger than most. Some of the pieces are dejected, others are haphazard, some appear to be two parts: the right part is visible, the left. The sculptures seem like them, except that they are extremely fragile—unlike the pictures. One hopes they will eventually be moved out of their gallerys, and they will be replaced by other, more conventional pieces of marble, but for the moment they are all alone. The effect is profound: the pictures seem almost grotesque.An additional piece, Tauso (Reality), consists of six stones, each about one-and-a-half feet in height, placed in a rigid grid pattern in front of a very high table. Its simple, probably simple in the world, and if it is, it has to do with an esoteric, pre-Renaissance ritual; the natural order would seem to be of another order altogether. On top of this table there are two little pedestals, one filled with books—from a formalist point of view—that are strikingly similar to the type of marble used in the pieces.

Result #3

A daily function of a city-pop-dynamics... Waiting for the elevator with a bag of fresh oranges or tangerines... The result of a divine vision, the tableau that gave this exhibition its title, the moment of exchange of bodies between the opposite sex, was resplendent, recalling the complicated, fascinating energy of the early years of the Cold War. In this, it attests to the undeniable vitality of contemporary art that brings together diverse styles and traditions to create new relations of power, as in the case of Lisa Yuskavage and Eli Jankowski. The most prominent examples are Julie Mehretus sculpture, in which modernism is represented by her 1979–82, released version of the N.A.M.E. (Negro African American Movement) doll, and Amy Winethoms fiberglass figures, a genre in which she has pursued her own deeply invested interests for several years. But the show also signals a return to the immediate past, with many prominent figures from the early 90s, including John Baldessari, Nina Simone, Joseph Beuys, and Tilda Swinton, appearing. (Swinton was a bit younger than the other two, and just seven when the exhibition opened, but she was already considered an influencer.) The only lingering legacy of the 70s is the unresolved, painful question: What form will the work of art inherit from the AIDS crisis?The episode is played out on four video monitors: one on each wall of the gallery, all facing each other, and with jittering sound effects that bring to mind the sound of an earthquake. We see the tape in full, but a portion of it is cut from the tape and is played on the monitors, which are set on the floor. From a distance, the scene looks like a remake of an early Michelangelo Antonioni movie, with the sound mixing with that of a handheld camera. As the scenes become progressively more personal, the camera becomes more and more frantic, as in a movie with a sound track in the claustrophobic corridors.

Result #4

A daily function of a city-pop-dynamics... Waiting for the elevator with a bag of fresh oranges or tangerines... <|startoftext|>When the siren goes off in Haakou-kwa, a long flight of stairs down from A-grade freaks, it leaves us feeling a bit dizzy. Why cant anyone just walk in? What should I do? A series of vertical staircases, cordoned off, and topped with lush, velvety white diva scallops, have been formed with pink splotches of velvet. Shattering the magenta-stippled white carpet and looping one of the ascension steps around the piece, the S/he-artist-in-green-dildo dresses the stage as an abandoned dollhouse. Is the premonition of naughty naughty step-daughter-of-the-beach a coincidence?In the past, Haakou-kwa has staged such manic performances of a dead-end stairway as her recurring goal. So, a bemused hermeneutic activity—one might say the eroticization of an auteur—would have made sense here, but its shock-and-awe action stripped away the sheer sweetness. Instead, one feels that Haakou-kwa, who has done lots of stuff that involves expensive materials (note her's pinky-lace pedestal [11]; and her awesomely elaborate scene of stasis and sensation), was having fun, but not much. The piece was tense and precise, but then as a spectacle it was compromised, not because it was a repetitive, symbolic act but because it was too obvious. The experience of what the work showed us was mostly simply a series of facile physical gestures. For all its sophistication, its edge was clear and well-nigh neutral.There was nothing quite so depressing as waiting for the elevators to start. When they finally did, I felt an anxiety-fueled twinge of masochism.

Result #5

Waiting for the door... Waiting for the sound of banging pots and pans, for the smell of nuts, for the click of the door, for the sound of clothes, for the sight of mirrors—not, for example, for New York, but for Los Angeles, which in the early 1960s was also the city of oranges and pans. But there is nothing like the beauty of ancient Egypt in Los Angeles, and even the great tombs and pyramids are not yet visible. What, then, of the ancient idols?Everything that is not built, it stands in front of, still it is curious: The New York is a city without architecture. Architecture is a desire. The city is not built, it stands in front of nothing. This is the inscription of the modern landscape, of the city where we do not seek anything, and which is in itself nothing.In the city, one cannot go straight: One must go left. This is a theme of the city. The city is not the place, not the structure, not even the position. The citys movement is produced through a contraction, a contraction. It is a contraction that invents the street. The street is a space of entrance and exits, but it is a space where the body does not desire its own liberation.It is a question of the passage of time. The journey of the journey is based on time. In the modern landscape, time is the absence of an ideal, on a world of shadows, the absence of a presence. What is needed is a change of human vision, an acknowledgment of the necessity of entering a new and unknown space, of a new kind of vision. It is a change of perception, of perception through which one can realize the impossible.