Friday, December 11, 2009
Audio from Emergency Series at Penn
Here is audio from a reading I gave a couple weeks back with Julian Brolaski at Penn's Kelly Writers House. The reading is followed by a conversation in which Julian and I discuss our work in relation to community discourse, "New Brutalism," "composition by breath," biopolitics, and intertextuality.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Review of Paul Chan at Fanzine
My review of Paul Chan's Greene Naftali show, "Sade for Sade's sake," is now up up at Fanzine."Chan's tarrying with the negative also comes across in a series of poems he wrote from 2005 through 2009, Texts, in which many of the words of the poem are crossed out. These "erasures" (the popular term for poetic texts produced by the crossing-out of words) form interesting language effects. Reading the poems for a first time, the words that are crossed-out stand out. Reading them a second time, I read them without the cross-outs. The meaning differs radically depending on whether you read the poem with or without the cross-outs; the first reading yielding a wildly aphoristic poetry, the lines of the poem wending and cutting-off like a poem by Emily Dickinson or Robert Creeley, the second reading yielding something more bare. In the second reading you get something radically reduced, yet equally pithy and contradictory—like a koan or revolutionary slogan from May ‘68. These poems I read beside much of my favorite lyrical poems being written today for the ways that they foreground dialectic tension, and negotiate a theoretical lingo with common speech."
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
SEGUE series presents Alan Bernheimer and Danny Snelson
Saturday, December 12, 2009
4:00pm - 6:00pm
The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery
New York, NY
Alan Bernheimer’s Spoonlight Institute was published this fall by Adventures in Poetry. Earlier books include Billionesque and Café Isotope.
Danny Snelson is a writer, editor, and archivist recently relocated to Philadelphia. He is the founder of Aphasic Letters (with Phoebe Springstubb) and No Input Books (with James Hoff). Recent writing projects include Endless Nameless, Equi Nox, and Radios.
4:00pm - 6:00pm
The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery
New York, NY
Alan Bernheimer’s Spoonlight Institute was published this fall by Adventures in Poetry. Earlier books include Billionesque and Café Isotope.
Danny Snelson is a writer, editor, and archivist recently relocated to Philadelphia. He is the founder of Aphasic Letters (with Phoebe Springstubb) and No Input Books (with James Hoff). Recent writing projects include Endless Nameless, Equi Nox, and Radios.
Monday, December 07, 2009
David Buuck's "Exercises in Seeing"
"Audio guide for one night only exhibition 'Exercises in Seeing' at Queen's Nails Projects in San Francisco, held entirely in the dark. The guide to the works in the show was written by poet/artist David Buuck, without having seen any of the artworks. The exhibition was curated by Post Brothers." [...]
from "None of us have rules, none of us have scripture": CA Conrad’s Advanced Elvis Course and the Politics of Spirit
I have been trying to write an essay on CA Conrad's poetics via his recent Soft Skull book, Advanced Elvis Course. Here is a selection from the essay destined for publication in Paolo Javier's 2nd Avenue Poetry:"Conrad’s work puts forth a genealogy of morals in the spirit of Spinoza’s ethics and Nietzsche’s evaluative philosophy. This genealogy, like Spinoza’s and Nietzsche’s, radically calls into question the relationship between morality and law. Elvis, like a certain Jesus of recent liberation theologies, is that which permits, and he whose only law is love. Not “love thy neighbor” or “turn the other cheek,” but love for the body as that which grounds a just and reasonable society—Spinoza’s socius or Nitezsche’s active affects which overcome that which is resentful, disaggregating, and reactionary. One overcomes (or over-cums) because they are bursting with love for multitudes. As in Melville’s homoerotic law of sea articulated in “The Squeezing of the Sperm” chapter of Moby Dick, singularities “splice” singularities—affect-to-affect, man-to-man. Material bodies are plastic/synthetic; all flesh is just flesh as though related by a blank before or beyond social discursion. Melville makes an appearance in Advanced Elvis Course through reference to a concert Elvis gave in which he shouted the words “Moby Dick” during the break between “Jailhouse Rock” and “Don’t Be Cruel.” Conrad reads this eruption as having to do with American barbarism: “Consider, once more, the universal cannibalism of the sea; all whose creatures prey upon each other, carrying on eternal war since the world began.” (43) Yet Advanced Elvis Course, like Moby Dick, takes one figure as its central fact, and from this figure spins an allegorical compendium of socio-political consequence. Elvis, like the Whale, is in all of us. One becomes paranoid to seeing Him everywhere the more one looks."
Corina Copp: SEGUE introduction
I have a strong impression of first hearing Corina Copp read her work. It was at the bar on 11th Street between Avenues A and B in the spring of 2006. What left a strong impression was a sense that her language was doing something—that it was having an effect on me—and yet I could not tell where it was coming from, what was holding it down so too speak. The language was like pure performance—a gestural language seeking a referent.Or seeking characters? Four years later Copp now pursues an MFA in play writing at Brooklyn College, studying under the play write Mac Wellman. Reading her plays “Office Killer” and “Manon Maria Braun,” I am struck by how suited her playful language work is to the theater, and specifically a theater that prioritizes action and gesture over plot or character development per se. Characters are ciphers for what can or cannot be said. Fairly routine dialogue will suddenly kick into language acrobatics. I like this about Copp’s plays. I like the sense that a language for the theater becomes possible again. Conditions of possibility lurk in the leveling of character and dialogue through gestural lyric. The problem goes back to Stein, and continues in Copp’s other mentor, Fiona Templeton, whose recent "Medead" (or “me dead” as I prefer to call it)—a phonemic based representation of the intercultural figure of Medea—resembles Copp’s own concerns with sonic, rhythmic, and metonymic language values.
There is content of course to Copp’s work. And it has to do with being a woman, and the violence that is enacted against women. It also has to do with sex, and identity and many other recurrent concerns of any theater. These concerns, evoked through schizophrenic speech, evoke what Copp calls a “deep threat” in an essay she has written about Poets Theater and Rodrigo Toscano’s Collapsible Poetics Theater for the 2nd issue of ON Contemporary Practice:
“What’s incredible is that Poets Theater is a threat to order, and that entities are threats to equilibrium. Threat is deep; even multiplicity is still threatening. Polyvocal pieces are more and more prevalent among poets and play writes, hinting at our effort to equalize (provoking discomfort with lack of distinction), create cacophonies of sound, resist traditional structural modes, etc. What follows from an effort to equalize is the dissolving of individual character traits. In much current writing, for instance, characters A, B, and C might variantly have nervous legs, low IQs, or violet auras or not—but often they are types who witness strangeness in a place (the theater) meant to show something.”
I like this phenomenological description of what Poets Theater might contribute to theater at large. A leveling of hierachies between the essential elements of theater, which are obviously not just plot, setting, character, and psychological motivation, but language as a form of action and the expression of embodied affect among interchangeable bodies—the chain of substitution of post-industrial serialization comprised by “types.” Theater then becomes, as Copp tells us, more like an equilibrium of forces. By writing poems as plays or plays as poems (I can’t which) Copp is channeling the forces which inhere in language and make up our lives.
Friday, December 04, 2009
Call For Critical Writing on John Taggart's Poetics
The following is a call C.J. Martin and I are making for work regarding John Taggart's poetics. The call is one part of the feature we recently curated together at Little Red Leaves vol. 4:
"When C.J. Martin and I originally put out a call for the works collected in this feature, we had intended not only to include poetry ‘after’ Taggart, but also to gather critical responses to Taggart’s body of work thus far. For a future print volume, Martin and I would like to publish works having to do with the critical reception of Taggart’s work. These works may proffer scholarship about Taggart’s various sources, which derive from visual art, literature, theology, philosophy, music, and natural history. They may also address Taggart’s work through approaches in art history, cultural studies, political economy, ethnomusicology, literary theory, comparative religion, and gender studies (in other words “across fields”). While Taggart’s project continues to be served by festschrifts, Martin and I believe it all the more important that more criticism and scholarship be generated about the work itself. Robert J. Bertholf has compiled a comprehensive bibliography of critical responses to Taggart’s work, which we include here in the interest of soliciting submissions for the projected print volume. Bertholf’s contribution is an excerpt from his full Taggart bibliography—to be featured in its entirety in that volume—which includes (among other things) an exhaustive (and fascinating) record of Taggart’s journal publications. To be in touch with us with submissions and inquiries please contact tadonovan [at] hotmail [dot] com and littleredleaves [at] gmail [dot] com."
"When C.J. Martin and I originally put out a call for the works collected in this feature, we had intended not only to include poetry ‘after’ Taggart, but also to gather critical responses to Taggart’s body of work thus far. For a future print volume, Martin and I would like to publish works having to do with the critical reception of Taggart’s work. These works may proffer scholarship about Taggart’s various sources, which derive from visual art, literature, theology, philosophy, music, and natural history. They may also address Taggart’s work through approaches in art history, cultural studies, political economy, ethnomusicology, literary theory, comparative religion, and gender studies (in other words “across fields”). While Taggart’s project continues to be served by festschrifts, Martin and I believe it all the more important that more criticism and scholarship be generated about the work itself. Robert J. Bertholf has compiled a comprehensive bibliography of critical responses to Taggart’s work, which we include here in the interest of soliciting submissions for the projected print volume. Bertholf’s contribution is an excerpt from his full Taggart bibliography—to be featured in its entirety in that volume—which includes (among other things) an exhaustive (and fascinating) record of Taggart’s journal publications. To be in touch with us with submissions and inquiries please contact tadonovan [at] hotmail [dot] com and littleredleaves [at] gmail [dot] com."
Travis Nichols is in The Huffington Post
writing about Eric Baus, Christian Bok, Grand Piano, Bhanu Kapil, and Gertrude Stein:
This is Your Brain on Poetry!
This is Your Brain on Poetry!
Thursday, December 03, 2009
All Small Caps vol. 3
In the mail today I received Jess Mynes' wonderful All Small Caps reading series anthology. The third volume of this series features work by John Coletti, Arlo Quint, Frank Sherlock, Geoffrey Olsen, Alan Davies, Patricia Pruitt, Peter Gizzi, Lori Shine, Betsy Wheeler, Christopher Sawyer-Laucanno, Ed Foster, Thom Donovan, Dorothea Lasky, Joseph Torra, Geraldine Monk and Alan Halsey.
To get your own write allsmallcaps [at] gmail [dot] com.
To get your own write allsmallcaps [at] gmail [dot] com.
Dorothea Lasky on Object-Based Learning
Here is a wonderfully informative article by Dorothea Lasky on object-based learning for 21st century art education.
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
Copp and Reines at SEGUE series
SEGUE READING SERIES: Ariana Reines + Corina Copp
Saturday, December 5, 2009
4:00pm - 6:00pm
The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery
New York, NY
Ariana Reines is the author of The Cow and Coeur de Lion. Her first play, Telelphone, ran last February at the Cherry Lane Theatre.
Corina Copp is the author of the e-book Carpeted, and chapbooks Play Air and Sometimes Inspired by Marguerite. A staged reading of her performance text, “OK” was produced in 2008 by Theatreworks, and her play “A Week of Kindness” appeared in the 2007 Tiny Theater Festival. She is the editor of The Poetry Project Newsletter.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
4:00pm - 6:00pm
The Bowery Poetry Club
308 Bowery
New York, NY
Ariana Reines is the author of The Cow and Coeur de Lion. Her first play, Telelphone, ran last February at the Cherry Lane Theatre.
Corina Copp is the author of the e-book Carpeted, and chapbooks Play Air and Sometimes Inspired by Marguerite. A staged reading of her performance text, “OK” was produced in 2008 by Theatreworks, and her play “A Week of Kindness” appeared in the 2007 Tiny Theater Festival. She is the editor of The Poetry Project Newsletter.
Entangled Activisms at Vera List Center (NYC)
STREAMING CULTURE / ART AND POLITICS
Entangled Activisms: Emergence, Betrayal and the Possibility of Rethinking the Possible / Iain Kerr in Conversation with Brian McGrath, Petia Morozov and Nato Thompson
Tuesday, December 8, 2009 – 6:30 to 8:00 p.m.
Parsons The New School for Design
Kellen Auditorium, Sheila C. Johnson Design Center
66 Fifth Avenue at 12th Street, New York City
Admission: Free
"We still do not know what a body can do." (Spinoza/Deleuze)
The early Greek philosopher Heraclitus famously claimed, "You can never step in the same river twice." Comically, one of the rebuttals to this observation was, "You can never step in the same river once." The logics of activism invariably relate to ideas of how change happens – how we step in this seemingly paradoxical river. This discussion is an attempt to test and experiment with the linkages between activist practices, ideas of change, and theories of time.
Arguing that theories of activism need to frame activism as essentially a theory of time, the presenters propose that the time of change not be defined chronologically but qualitatively. Rather than sequential time, they propose measureless time. But how can we think and experimentally work with qualitative time today? How do we take into account the ruptures, swerves, emergences, and folds of becoming that sweep us far beyond identity, being, and the logics of critique? What are the new possibilities and techniques of activism and activist art that develop out of these logics of the event? This is an evening to debate and develop new models of time, and in so doing to rethink and propose new ideas of artistic practice.
A presentation by Iain Kerr, artist, theorist and founding member of the research collective spurse, is followed by discussion with respondents Brian McGrath, architect, writer and Associate Professor of Urban Design at Parsons The New School for Design; Petia Morozov, architect, writer, educator and urban explorer; and Nato Thompson, writer and Chief Curator of Creative Time.
Presented as part of "Streaming Culture / Art and Politics," a new interdivisional initiative organized by Victoria Vesna, Visiting Professor (UCLA) and Director of Research, School of Art, Media and Technology, Parsons The New School of Design, in collaboration with the Vera List Center for Art and Politics at The New School, on occasion of its 2009/2010 program cycle on "Speculating on Change."
Entangled Activisms: Emergence, Betrayal and the Possibility of Rethinking the Possible / Iain Kerr in Conversation with Brian McGrath, Petia Morozov and Nato Thompson
Tuesday, December 8, 2009 – 6:30 to 8:00 p.m.
Parsons The New School for Design
Kellen Auditorium, Sheila C. Johnson Design Center
66 Fifth Avenue at 12th Street, New York City
Admission: Free
"We still do not know what a body can do." (Spinoza/Deleuze)
The early Greek philosopher Heraclitus famously claimed, "You can never step in the same river twice." Comically, one of the rebuttals to this observation was, "You can never step in the same river once." The logics of activism invariably relate to ideas of how change happens – how we step in this seemingly paradoxical river. This discussion is an attempt to test and experiment with the linkages between activist practices, ideas of change, and theories of time.
Arguing that theories of activism need to frame activism as essentially a theory of time, the presenters propose that the time of change not be defined chronologically but qualitatively. Rather than sequential time, they propose measureless time. But how can we think and experimentally work with qualitative time today? How do we take into account the ruptures, swerves, emergences, and folds of becoming that sweep us far beyond identity, being, and the logics of critique? What are the new possibilities and techniques of activism and activist art that develop out of these logics of the event? This is an evening to debate and develop new models of time, and in so doing to rethink and propose new ideas of artistic practice.
A presentation by Iain Kerr, artist, theorist and founding member of the research collective spurse, is followed by discussion with respondents Brian McGrath, architect, writer and Associate Professor of Urban Design at Parsons The New School for Design; Petia Morozov, architect, writer, educator and urban explorer; and Nato Thompson, writer and Chief Curator of Creative Time.
Presented as part of "Streaming Culture / Art and Politics," a new interdivisional initiative organized by Victoria Vesna, Visiting Professor (UCLA) and Director of Research, School of Art, Media and Technology, Parsons The New School of Design, in collaboration with the Vera List Center for Art and Politics at The New School, on occasion of its 2009/2010 program cycle on "Speculating on Change."
Monday, November 30, 2009
LRL4 with John Taggart Feature
C.J. Martin and I coedited a feature for the new Little Red Leaves, a gallery of poets writing in relation to John Taggart. The feature also includes an introduction I wrote for the gallery, a new long poem by Taggart, "Kitaj Angels," and a selected bibliography of John Taggart criticism and scholarship compiled by Robert J. Bertholf. More details below! Announcing the newest issue of Little Red Leaves!
Featured in this issue is a festschrift for John Taggart, edited by Thom Donovan and C.J. Martin, with poems from Theodore Enslin, Pam Rehm, Eléna Rivera, Joel Chace, Kevin Holden, Frank Sherlock, C.J. Martin, and Thom Donovan. Also in this section is a new long poem from John Taggart, "Kitaj Angels," as well as a selected bibliography of works by and about John Taggart, compiled by Robert J. Bertholf.
This issue also includes new video from Jesse Seldess, a pamphlet by David Brazil, and extended selections of new work from Tyrone Williams, Maryrose Larkin, and erica lewis, as well as poetry from Nathan Austin, Tamiko Beyer, Sarah Mangold, Elizabeth Zuba, Carter Smith, Carol Guess, Britta Kallevang, Rob Halpern, Kate Schapira, Lauren Ireland, Margaret Konkol, David Wolach, Anna Elena Eyre, Kate Colby, Alexander Dickow, dawn lonsinger, Richard Owens, Laura Goldstein, JenMarie Davis, and Felicia Shenker.
LRL4 sees the complete redesign of the LRL website, as well as the launch of three new books in our LRL e-editions series:
Tina Darragh's & Marcella Durand's collaboration, Deep eco pré
Divya Victor's first long player, SUTURES
Norma Cole's Do the Monkey
*See the ebooks page for further details: http://www.littleredleaves.com/ebooks/
Saturday, November 28, 2009
SHIFTER15:WILL
SHIFTER15:WILLEditors:
Sreshta Rit Premnath, Abhishek Hazra
Avi Alpert
Diana Artus
Lindsay Benedict
Daniel Blochwitz
Brandstifter
Steven Brower
Jon Cotner & Andy Fitch
Mark Cunningham
Chris Curreri
Thom Donovan
Nathan Haenlein
Nina Höchtl
John Houck
Devin Kenny
Richard Kostelanetz & Nick Eve
Matt McAlpin
Jean-Marc Superville-Sovak
Julie Tolentino Wood
CLICK HERE FOR PDF
RELEASE ON
DEC 15, 6-8 PM AT LUDLOW 38
Ludlow 38
European Kunsthalle Cologne / Goethe Institut New York
38 Ludlow Street
Between Grand and Hester
New York 10002
Tel. +1 212 228 6848
www.ludlow38.org
info@ludlow38.org
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Perform 09--Week 2 at BOMBsite
Here is the second installment of my journal for the 09 Performa biennial, at BOMBsite. It features coverage of performances by Alexandre Singh, Omer Fast, Shana Moulton, and Tan Lin."Had Singh’s performance been shorter, I think it would have been more palatable. However, I also understand that time was a crucial aspect of the piece. How long can one sustain telling a story? (Scheherazade of The Arabian Nights, the archetypal storyteller, did so for a thousand and one nights in order to save her neck.) How can one pleat the discrete elements of a story in such a way that narrative strands and characters return after long tropes, detours, and hiatuses? How does storytelling embody an act of mind—both of remembering and imagining—that gets an audience to think about how they are processing something being heard and made-up in their own minds separate from the storyteller?
These are some questions I think may be important to ask after Singh’s performance, but also after a performance I saw later in the week, Omer Fast’s Performa commissioned “Talk Show.” ”Talk Show,” like Singh’s stories, takes up storytelling as a practice, and as a problem of cognitive-phenomenological investigation. Only while Singh was more concerned to investigate storytelling as an art of construction—of assembling disparate elements and making them hang together in one’s attention—Fast’s piece was concerned with storytelling as an art of transmissability—handing-down and bearing across cultural information."
Tan Lin's Chalk Playground pics
Check out over 400 pics of Tan Lin's chalk playground performance this past weekend here. My write-up of the event is forthcoming hopefully later today.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Emergency Reading in Philly
If you are in Philly next Tuesday (Nov. 24th) come hear me read with Julian Brolaski at the Kelly Writer's House on the UPenn campus. Details here.
Thanks to Julia Bloch, Sarah Dowling, and Jason Zuzga for inviting me!
Thanks to Julia Bloch, Sarah Dowling, and Jason Zuzga for inviting me!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Performa09 Week 1: November 1st-7th, 2009
Performa09--Week 1: Arto Lindsay's SOMEWHERE I READ, Guy Ben-Ner's Drop the Monkey and talk with Jon Kessler, Dexter Sinister's First/Last Newspaper and film showing of David Loeb Weiss's Farewell, Etaion Shrdlu, Tacita Dean's Craneway Event
On Sunday, November 1st I went to Times Square where Guy Ben-Ner's Performa commissioned video, Drop the Monkey (2009), was being shown on one of the bright lcd billboards with subtitles (the film is originally in English and Hebrew). I am a Ben-Ner fan, so was looking forward to seeing what he had come up with for the 09 biennial. My first impression of the video was that it was a bit of a fuck you to the biennial. The backstory for the video, revealed to me during Ben-Ner's conversation with sculptor Jon Kessler the following evening, is that Ben-Ner submitted a proposal to make a video which would be shot as Ben-Ner travelled between Israel and Germany to be with a girlfriend who he was seeing at the time. Free airfare? While Drop the Monkey may be taking the piss, its motivations are clearly not as simple as that. The radical procedure at work in Ben-Ner's video is that each shot occurs after Ben-Ner has traveled to Berlin or Tel Aviv by plane. So, as Ben-Ner put it poetically at Cooper Union, each border crossed produces a shot.
I like thinking about Ben-Ner's traveling in his video after the other videos he's made, all of which feature domestic spaces transformed into sets, and which use Ben-Ner's family as props and players. With Drop the Monkey it is as if Ben-Ner has broken through the interiority of his work--a world of play, perversity, and odd transferences featuring literary characters such as Herman Melville's Ahab and Daniel Defoe's shipwrecked protagonist, Robinson Crusoe. The fact that Ben-Ner flies back and forth to see a girlfriend in Berlin is significant since Ben-Ner would seem to seek a line of flight away from (or out of?) the nuclear family in his previous videos while negotiating domestic responsibilities such as taking care of his children.
During the talk, in response to questions from Kessler and the audience, Ben-Ner insisted that he made the video in order for his work and his life to be involved with one another. The commission with Performa seems, then, created from a genuine want to be with a loved one, and to also risk capturing that other person through Ben-Ner's contractual obligations to Performa (Ben-Ner used the word "capture" numerous times during his interview with Kessler). Whenever Ben-Ner spoke about his commission there was an anxiety that he seemed to perform: that he may lose the loved one through his commitment to the art project (which he did); that he may also not fulfill his obligations to his employer (which he was only able to do under emotional duress). The situation is perverse, and intended as such by Ben-Ner. The perversions of the film raise more question than they resolve. What is art when making art becomes inextricable from the practical dilemmas of our life (such as how to be with a loved one when this being with is inconvenient or unfeasible)? What happens when our lives become the actual vehicles of live art (rather than the opposite). Life itself becomes a kind procedure, or form, determining the work. Inversely, the work becomes a set of consequences in one's life.
In the video, Ben-Ner is still a loner, as he is in his earlier films such as Berkeley Island and Moby Dick. He is a one man band as he plays both parts (himself in Tel Aviv and himself in Berlin), and operates a video camera via remote control and clever makeshift remote devices (in one scene he attaches a pole to a tripod so he can track himself as he circles the camera). Through the video, Ben-Ner comes off as both a comedian and a deject. Travel is always bound up with melancholy, and almost every piece of art or literature involved with travel may be said to be a work of longing. In the video, Ben-Ner writes on a t-shirt that he eventually wears for the duration of the video "I wish I were somewhere else." Never does Ben-Ner make reference to the Holocaust, but as an Israeli traveling back and forth between Germany and Israel the fact looms. (As Ben-Ner joked during the Q&A: "It [Berlin/Germany] is one of the last places in the world where we [Israelis] can go and still feel like victims.") To "prove" to his patrons that he was in Germany or Israel for discrete shots, Ben-Ner often filmed himself in front of monuments and other sites indicating place. In this regard, Ben-Ner's obligations to Performa also become obligations to history: to prove that he was 'there', at a definite place in space-time. These debts haunt any diasporic people; Ben-Ner's very personal art becomes an allegory for more universal experiences: longing, remembering, loving and, mainly, keeping one's promise.
I read once in Henri Bergson's Creative Evolution that poetic rhyme schemes offer an intuitive way to proceed in composition, as though language were itself a life form growing and evolving. In Ben-Ner's Drop the Monkey it is significant that the artist has chosen to rhyme his script, and even more so that the rhymes seem to work both in Hebrew and English subtitles. It is as though Ben-Ner's rhymes were composed in both languages at once, something inconceivable to my uniglot mind. Hearing the rhyme scheme, it struck me as Shakespearian, but then everything rhymey (ABAB) tends to sound a bit Shakespearian. Is the function of the rhyme scheme to remember? Is it to add an additional risk-factor (what will the next line be? how can it fit with the narrative arc of the work?) Does it function procedurally—a generator of the text? The only moment of the video when Ben-Ner speaks English is when he recites T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock": "I grow old ... I grow old ... / I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. // Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? / I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. / I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. // I do not think they will sing to me." The recitation of Eliot's love song is appropriate given the similarities between Eliot's dramatic persona and Ben-Ner's character in Drop the Money. Both are neither here nor there; they are indecisive, naval gazing, and self-deprecating. They long for what they do not possess, and from this sense of dispossession derives both comedy and tragic ironies.
The second work I encountered at Performa09 followed immediately after Ben-Ner's video premiere in Times Square. Just to the left of the Times Square bandstand, a group of people with cell phones and tan trench coats were gathering to participate in Arto Lindsay's processional sound piece, SOMEWHERE I READ. The participants formed a line and proceeded to the bandstand. While they did so they held up their cell phones so that the public audience could hear what sounded like a camera rhythmically clicking. With each "click" the participants turned their heads, mimicking the mechanical motion of pre-digital cameras reloading. The gesture was appropriate to Times Square, given how much picture taking goes on there, especially on the bandstand.
Before Lindsay's participants occupied the bandstand I saw numerous couples and groups of people posing for each other with cell phones and cameras. From the bandstand the procession strutted down Times Square halting frequently so that it did not lose anyone. It also performed a dance, which resembled "classic" Hip-hop choreography (imagine 80s Hip-hop moves post MJ's Thriller). The reference to Hip-hop reminded me at once that Times Square was once a place where break dancers would show-off their routines and aspiring rappers their acts. It also reminded me that Hip-hop dance mimics mechanical technologies in dances such as "the robot" and in the "popping and locking" of your basic old school break dance routine. Given the "futurist" theme of this year's biennial (09 is the 100th anniversary of the Futurist manifesto) Lindsay's choreographic choices seemed historically resonant.
As with all public art, what can be most interesting about the artwork are the ways it is received by an unsuspecting public. One middle-aged woman snidely warned that the procession was some kind of "cult"; teenangers with hoodies and baggy jeans asked incredulously, "people are watching this?" Teenagers in "free hug" shirts appropriated the event, giving hugs to the crowd walking beside the procession. As a contemporary art format, there is a sense that the procession/parade/march is a emancipatory format inasmuch as it proves there is power in the mere assembly of bodies, and especially in bodies organized for dance/music/discourse. Is this Lindsay's point?
Where I thought SOMEWHERE I READ was unsuccessful was in the scale of the work. The sound piece playing from the camera phones was barely audible amidst the many sounds and noises of Times Square; likewise, one wanted more bodies, more mass for effect. 500 people marching in tan trench coats instead of 30 (at most). One also wonders (as with much art), if one would not be better off organizing bodies for a particular political cause. Do Lindsay's processions not represent a longing for collective demonstration, thus the potential for action? How can art not seem alienated in this regard, when there are so many urgent causes for whom bodies should collectively gather, protest, and demonstrate?
The third event I attended was the opening of Dexter Sinister's The First/Last Newspaper pop-up in the Port Authority Bus Terminal. I didn't know what Dexter Sinister was going to do, I just knew it was going to be good given Dexter Sinister's track record for blending high concept art with cheap and dirty design. I was not disappointed. After bumping into Cory Arcangel and discussing with him Dexter Sinister's projects in relation to his own (both of which appropriate heavily from the work of others, and address obsolescent technologies), I realized that Dexter Sinister was showing a film. The film it showed is a rarely screened film by documentary filmmaker David Loeb Weiss called Farewell, Etaoin Shrdlu that chronicles the night of July 2nd, 1978 when The New York Times switched from analogue to digital printing technologies.
What I saw was really like nothing I've ever encountered. Elegant in its simplicity, wondrous in its artifactuality, one is first shown the Linotype printing process, a process involving large machines that produce metal letters from a vat of molten lead. After watching this process from start to finish, one sees Times editors working with type-setters who, Tetris-like, fit all of the type for the individual newspaper pages and accompanying spaces into a metal frame (a frame per page). While the type-setter reads (upside down and backwards) what is written, the editor proofreads. Meanwhile, the clock is ticking.
Carl Schlesinger, an ex-Linotype operator himself and the narrator of Weiss's film, was in the audience for Dexter Sinister's screening and talked about the film explaining how dramatic the night of July 2nd 1978 was, and how difficult it is for our present to imagine the risk the Times took by changing from analogue to digital at that particular moment in history when digital technologies were as yet unproven. In a kind of reversal of this 'progressive' technological movement, Dexter Sinister is undertaking a project fitting with the spirit of their design practice as it engages technological obsolescence: they are printing digitally using electronic scanners and contemporary multimedia software, but then posting the news via wheat glue (the original adhesive for early printed news). In doing so, they will both historicize newspaper printing processes and have a public reflect on the current state of the news as, currently, printed editions are overtaken by electronic ones. Where 100 years ago the Futurist manifesto embraced technologies of militant speed heedlessly (a phenomena which Paul Virilio and other historians have been highly critical of), Dexter Sinister puts on the brakes provoking critical reflection, if not alternative utopias inherent in the obsolete.
I attended a few other Performa events this past week, but the event which most affected me was Tacita Dean's contemplative and painterly documentary featuring the late Merce Cunningham and company, Craneway Event. Although Dean's film requires patience (at times I was brought back to my experiences of watching certain films by other painter-filmmakers such as James Benning, Michael Snow, and Stan Brakhage), I believe the film was worth spending time with.
In the opening shot of Dean's film one sees a seagull stretch its wings repeatedly, each time about to take-off. Finally the bird does take off. The rest of the film alternates scenes of Cunningham rehearsing with his company. While one can view the film as a document of Cunningham's rehearsals in late life (there is something particularly beautiful about the fact that we see Cunningham wheelchair bound throughout the film given the many iconic images of the dancer-choreographer caught by camera in mid-air), the film transcends documentary becoming a work of art in itself. Dean, who has made other works of art after such art world heroes as Robert Smithson, advances her own problem of how to be in conversation with the work of other artists while preserving the integrity and singularity of her own practice.
While watching the film, I was intensely aware that Dean's background is in painting. While we see the figures of the dancers clearly, they are often transformed by the light in the building where the dance takes place--a dock warehouse converted into a performance space along the Craneway Pavillion in Richmond, CA. Cunningham's dancers rehearse within a building with walls of towering, latticed glass. There is something religious about the experience of the warehouse bathed in light, only instead of stain glass we just have regular glass. One is also aware of the time of day in the film, and how diurnal shifts effect how the dancers are perceived, the dancers being at times transfigured by a certain incident of light, or obscured by shadow and glare.
The glass walls of the Craneway building also allow the film's audience to see much of the San Francisco Bay. The view is panoramic. And the wide lens Dean uses enhances the panoramic effect. Throughout the film we see boats and ships in the background--phenomena which Cunningham comments on repeatedly. There becomes a sense that the dance is native to this landscape. Not just the landscape as a series of physical facts, but as a series of durations overlapping and occurring synchronically--coevally. Certainly the movements of the dancers reflects the specific goings-on of the docks, and of the larger area of the San Francisco Bay. Again and again one is reminded of the gull from the first shot of the film. At other times the dancers mimic the creaky mechanical movements of nautical technology (ropes and cranes), and a general feeling of transport (goods being brought in and out of port).
While Dean is certainly painting with light, I believe that she is also providing a loving portrait of Cunningham, whose practice is a practice--clearly--of patience, and of a deep attention to duration as an essential quality of one's environment. The dance, Craneway Event, is born out of this fact and Dean's film shows it. The dance is an event and the film what expresses event--event being that which happens, and through which time finds shape, structure, and integral form. When the film was over I heard people speaking admiringly about Cunningham's dance techniques. One person exclaimed, “it [the film] makes me want to dance." It was difficult not to be moved by this film, which got to essences by carefully observing physical facts, and acted generously towards someone who, like so few artists, made of their life a continuous work of generosity—an overflowing cup of care and concision. For many in the audience who knew Cunningham, I don't doubt that Dean's film may have also seemed a somber farewell. In the closing shots the glare of a setting sun is at the center of the shot and lights the dancers moving separately in clusters. The light of the sun is the diurnal light of an actual day. That light gives way to something else. Mainly applause. The dancers bow to Cunningham having finished their dance. The credits roll, the lights come on, and we clap in the main chapel of St. Mark's Church.
On Sunday, November 1st I went to Times Square where Guy Ben-Ner's Performa commissioned video, Drop the Monkey (2009), was being shown on one of the bright lcd billboards with subtitles (the film is originally in English and Hebrew). I am a Ben-Ner fan, so was looking forward to seeing what he had come up with for the 09 biennial. My first impression of the video was that it was a bit of a fuck you to the biennial. The backstory for the video, revealed to me during Ben-Ner's conversation with sculptor Jon Kessler the following evening, is that Ben-Ner submitted a proposal to make a video which would be shot as Ben-Ner travelled between Israel and Germany to be with a girlfriend who he was seeing at the time. Free airfare? While Drop the Monkey may be taking the piss, its motivations are clearly not as simple as that. The radical procedure at work in Ben-Ner's video is that each shot occurs after Ben-Ner has traveled to Berlin or Tel Aviv by plane. So, as Ben-Ner put it poetically at Cooper Union, each border crossed produces a shot.
I like thinking about Ben-Ner's traveling in his video after the other videos he's made, all of which feature domestic spaces transformed into sets, and which use Ben-Ner's family as props and players. With Drop the Monkey it is as if Ben-Ner has broken through the interiority of his work--a world of play, perversity, and odd transferences featuring literary characters such as Herman Melville's Ahab and Daniel Defoe's shipwrecked protagonist, Robinson Crusoe. The fact that Ben-Ner flies back and forth to see a girlfriend in Berlin is significant since Ben-Ner would seem to seek a line of flight away from (or out of?) the nuclear family in his previous videos while negotiating domestic responsibilities such as taking care of his children.
During the talk, in response to questions from Kessler and the audience, Ben-Ner insisted that he made the video in order for his work and his life to be involved with one another. The commission with Performa seems, then, created from a genuine want to be with a loved one, and to also risk capturing that other person through Ben-Ner's contractual obligations to Performa (Ben-Ner used the word "capture" numerous times during his interview with Kessler). Whenever Ben-Ner spoke about his commission there was an anxiety that he seemed to perform: that he may lose the loved one through his commitment to the art project (which he did); that he may also not fulfill his obligations to his employer (which he was only able to do under emotional duress). The situation is perverse, and intended as such by Ben-Ner. The perversions of the film raise more question than they resolve. What is art when making art becomes inextricable from the practical dilemmas of our life (such as how to be with a loved one when this being with is inconvenient or unfeasible)? What happens when our lives become the actual vehicles of live art (rather than the opposite). Life itself becomes a kind procedure, or form, determining the work. Inversely, the work becomes a set of consequences in one's life.
In the video, Ben-Ner is still a loner, as he is in his earlier films such as Berkeley Island and Moby Dick. He is a one man band as he plays both parts (himself in Tel Aviv and himself in Berlin), and operates a video camera via remote control and clever makeshift remote devices (in one scene he attaches a pole to a tripod so he can track himself as he circles the camera). Through the video, Ben-Ner comes off as both a comedian and a deject. Travel is always bound up with melancholy, and almost every piece of art or literature involved with travel may be said to be a work of longing. In the video, Ben-Ner writes on a t-shirt that he eventually wears for the duration of the video "I wish I were somewhere else." Never does Ben-Ner make reference to the Holocaust, but as an Israeli traveling back and forth between Germany and Israel the fact looms. (As Ben-Ner joked during the Q&A: "It [Berlin/Germany] is one of the last places in the world where we [Israelis] can go and still feel like victims.") To "prove" to his patrons that he was in Germany or Israel for discrete shots, Ben-Ner often filmed himself in front of monuments and other sites indicating place. In this regard, Ben-Ner's obligations to Performa also become obligations to history: to prove that he was 'there', at a definite place in space-time. These debts haunt any diasporic people; Ben-Ner's very personal art becomes an allegory for more universal experiences: longing, remembering, loving and, mainly, keeping one's promise.
I read once in Henri Bergson's Creative Evolution that poetic rhyme schemes offer an intuitive way to proceed in composition, as though language were itself a life form growing and evolving. In Ben-Ner's Drop the Monkey it is significant that the artist has chosen to rhyme his script, and even more so that the rhymes seem to work both in Hebrew and English subtitles. It is as though Ben-Ner's rhymes were composed in both languages at once, something inconceivable to my uniglot mind. Hearing the rhyme scheme, it struck me as Shakespearian, but then everything rhymey (ABAB) tends to sound a bit Shakespearian. Is the function of the rhyme scheme to remember? Is it to add an additional risk-factor (what will the next line be? how can it fit with the narrative arc of the work?) Does it function procedurally—a generator of the text? The only moment of the video when Ben-Ner speaks English is when he recites T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock": "I grow old ... I grow old ... / I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. // Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? / I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. / I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. // I do not think they will sing to me." The recitation of Eliot's love song is appropriate given the similarities between Eliot's dramatic persona and Ben-Ner's character in Drop the Money. Both are neither here nor there; they are indecisive, naval gazing, and self-deprecating. They long for what they do not possess, and from this sense of dispossession derives both comedy and tragic ironies.
The second work I encountered at Performa09 followed immediately after Ben-Ner's video premiere in Times Square. Just to the left of the Times Square bandstand, a group of people with cell phones and tan trench coats were gathering to participate in Arto Lindsay's processional sound piece, SOMEWHERE I READ. The participants formed a line and proceeded to the bandstand. While they did so they held up their cell phones so that the public audience could hear what sounded like a camera rhythmically clicking. With each "click" the participants turned their heads, mimicking the mechanical motion of pre-digital cameras reloading. The gesture was appropriate to Times Square, given how much picture taking goes on there, especially on the bandstand.
Before Lindsay's participants occupied the bandstand I saw numerous couples and groups of people posing for each other with cell phones and cameras. From the bandstand the procession strutted down Times Square halting frequently so that it did not lose anyone. It also performed a dance, which resembled "classic" Hip-hop choreography (imagine 80s Hip-hop moves post MJ's Thriller). The reference to Hip-hop reminded me at once that Times Square was once a place where break dancers would show-off their routines and aspiring rappers their acts. It also reminded me that Hip-hop dance mimics mechanical technologies in dances such as "the robot" and in the "popping and locking" of your basic old school break dance routine. Given the "futurist" theme of this year's biennial (09 is the 100th anniversary of the Futurist manifesto) Lindsay's choreographic choices seemed historically resonant.
As with all public art, what can be most interesting about the artwork are the ways it is received by an unsuspecting public. One middle-aged woman snidely warned that the procession was some kind of "cult"; teenangers with hoodies and baggy jeans asked incredulously, "people are watching this?" Teenagers in "free hug" shirts appropriated the event, giving hugs to the crowd walking beside the procession. As a contemporary art format, there is a sense that the procession/parade/march is a emancipatory format inasmuch as it proves there is power in the mere assembly of bodies, and especially in bodies organized for dance/music/discourse. Is this Lindsay's point?
Where I thought SOMEWHERE I READ was unsuccessful was in the scale of the work. The sound piece playing from the camera phones was barely audible amidst the many sounds and noises of Times Square; likewise, one wanted more bodies, more mass for effect. 500 people marching in tan trench coats instead of 30 (at most). One also wonders (as with much art), if one would not be better off organizing bodies for a particular political cause. Do Lindsay's processions not represent a longing for collective demonstration, thus the potential for action? How can art not seem alienated in this regard, when there are so many urgent causes for whom bodies should collectively gather, protest, and demonstrate?
The third event I attended was the opening of Dexter Sinister's The First/Last Newspaper pop-up in the Port Authority Bus Terminal. I didn't know what Dexter Sinister was going to do, I just knew it was going to be good given Dexter Sinister's track record for blending high concept art with cheap and dirty design. I was not disappointed. After bumping into Cory Arcangel and discussing with him Dexter Sinister's projects in relation to his own (both of which appropriate heavily from the work of others, and address obsolescent technologies), I realized that Dexter Sinister was showing a film. The film it showed is a rarely screened film by documentary filmmaker David Loeb Weiss called Farewell, Etaoin Shrdlu that chronicles the night of July 2nd, 1978 when The New York Times switched from analogue to digital printing technologies.
What I saw was really like nothing I've ever encountered. Elegant in its simplicity, wondrous in its artifactuality, one is first shown the Linotype printing process, a process involving large machines that produce metal letters from a vat of molten lead. After watching this process from start to finish, one sees Times editors working with type-setters who, Tetris-like, fit all of the type for the individual newspaper pages and accompanying spaces into a metal frame (a frame per page). While the type-setter reads (upside down and backwards) what is written, the editor proofreads. Meanwhile, the clock is ticking.
Carl Schlesinger, an ex-Linotype operator himself and the narrator of Weiss's film, was in the audience for Dexter Sinister's screening and talked about the film explaining how dramatic the night of July 2nd 1978 was, and how difficult it is for our present to imagine the risk the Times took by changing from analogue to digital at that particular moment in history when digital technologies were as yet unproven. In a kind of reversal of this 'progressive' technological movement, Dexter Sinister is undertaking a project fitting with the spirit of their design practice as it engages technological obsolescence: they are printing digitally using electronic scanners and contemporary multimedia software, but then posting the news via wheat glue (the original adhesive for early printed news). In doing so, they will both historicize newspaper printing processes and have a public reflect on the current state of the news as, currently, printed editions are overtaken by electronic ones. Where 100 years ago the Futurist manifesto embraced technologies of militant speed heedlessly (a phenomena which Paul Virilio and other historians have been highly critical of), Dexter Sinister puts on the brakes provoking critical reflection, if not alternative utopias inherent in the obsolete.
I attended a few other Performa events this past week, but the event which most affected me was Tacita Dean's contemplative and painterly documentary featuring the late Merce Cunningham and company, Craneway Event. Although Dean's film requires patience (at times I was brought back to my experiences of watching certain films by other painter-filmmakers such as James Benning, Michael Snow, and Stan Brakhage), I believe the film was worth spending time with.
In the opening shot of Dean's film one sees a seagull stretch its wings repeatedly, each time about to take-off. Finally the bird does take off. The rest of the film alternates scenes of Cunningham rehearsing with his company. While one can view the film as a document of Cunningham's rehearsals in late life (there is something particularly beautiful about the fact that we see Cunningham wheelchair bound throughout the film given the many iconic images of the dancer-choreographer caught by camera in mid-air), the film transcends documentary becoming a work of art in itself. Dean, who has made other works of art after such art world heroes as Robert Smithson, advances her own problem of how to be in conversation with the work of other artists while preserving the integrity and singularity of her own practice.
While watching the film, I was intensely aware that Dean's background is in painting. While we see the figures of the dancers clearly, they are often transformed by the light in the building where the dance takes place--a dock warehouse converted into a performance space along the Craneway Pavillion in Richmond, CA. Cunningham's dancers rehearse within a building with walls of towering, latticed glass. There is something religious about the experience of the warehouse bathed in light, only instead of stain glass we just have regular glass. One is also aware of the time of day in the film, and how diurnal shifts effect how the dancers are perceived, the dancers being at times transfigured by a certain incident of light, or obscured by shadow and glare.
The glass walls of the Craneway building also allow the film's audience to see much of the San Francisco Bay. The view is panoramic. And the wide lens Dean uses enhances the panoramic effect. Throughout the film we see boats and ships in the background--phenomena which Cunningham comments on repeatedly. There becomes a sense that the dance is native to this landscape. Not just the landscape as a series of physical facts, but as a series of durations overlapping and occurring synchronically--coevally. Certainly the movements of the dancers reflects the specific goings-on of the docks, and of the larger area of the San Francisco Bay. Again and again one is reminded of the gull from the first shot of the film. At other times the dancers mimic the creaky mechanical movements of nautical technology (ropes and cranes), and a general feeling of transport (goods being brought in and out of port).
While Dean is certainly painting with light, I believe that she is also providing a loving portrait of Cunningham, whose practice is a practice--clearly--of patience, and of a deep attention to duration as an essential quality of one's environment. The dance, Craneway Event, is born out of this fact and Dean's film shows it. The dance is an event and the film what expresses event--event being that which happens, and through which time finds shape, structure, and integral form. When the film was over I heard people speaking admiringly about Cunningham's dance techniques. One person exclaimed, “it [the film] makes me want to dance." It was difficult not to be moved by this film, which got to essences by carefully observing physical facts, and acted generously towards someone who, like so few artists, made of their life a continuous work of generosity—an overflowing cup of care and concision. For many in the audience who knew Cunningham, I don't doubt that Dean's film may have also seemed a somber farewell. In the closing shots the glare of a setting sun is at the center of the shot and lights the dancers moving separately in clusters. The light of the sun is the diurnal light of an actual day. That light gives way to something else. Mainly applause. The dancers bow to Cunningham having finished their dance. The credits roll, the lights come on, and we clap in the main chapel of St. Mark's Church.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Aufgabe 8 Release Event
BELLADONNA SERIES and DIXON PLACE host
AUFGABE #8 RELEASE READING & CELEBRATION
Tuesday, November 10th, 7:30 pm
Dixon Place
161 Chrystie St.
NYC
doors open at 7pm, $6
with guest editor Matvei Yankelevich and local contributors Ari Banias, Paolo Javier, Rachel Levitsky, Kimberly Lyons, Tim Peterson, Matt Reeck, & Laura Sims
Editors: Rachel Bers, Julian T. Brolaski, E. Tracy Grinnell & Paul Foster Johnson
Contributing editors: Jen Hofer & Nathalie Stephens
Featuring Russian poetry & poetics, guest edited by Matvei Yankelevich
Poetry, essays & reviews by
Nathan Austin, Ari Banias, Jasper Bernes, Damaris Calderón, Xochiquetzal Candelaria, Miles Champion, Corina Copp, Phil Cordelli, Alan Davies, Geoffrey Detrani, Elena Fanailova, Inti García, Dmitry Golynko, Linor Goralik, Noah Eli Gordon, Sarah Gridley, Suzanne Jacob, Paolo Javier, Paula Koneazny, Sergey Kruglov, Dmitry Kuzmin, Rachel Levitsky, Kimberly Lyons, Catherine Mavrikakis, Kirill Medvedev, Eduardo Milán, Alan Mills, Anton Ochirov, Akilah Oliver, Tim Peterson, Matt Reeck, Margaret Ronda, Trish Salah, Andrey Sen-Senkov, Laura Sims, Aleksandr Skidan, Maria Stepanova, Nathalie Stephens (Nathanaël), François Turcot, Dmitry Vodennikov, Dana Ward, Diane Ward, Karen Weiser, Elisabeth Whitehead, Tyrone Williams, Sergey Zavyalov, Igor Zhukov, Tatiana Zima, and Olga Zondberg.
Cover and interior art by Kim Beck
AUFGABE #8 RELEASE READING & CELEBRATION
Tuesday, November 10th, 7:30 pm
Dixon Place
161 Chrystie St.
NYC
doors open at 7pm, $6
with guest editor Matvei Yankelevich and local contributors Ari Banias, Paolo Javier, Rachel Levitsky, Kimberly Lyons, Tim Peterson, Matt Reeck, & Laura Sims
Editors: Rachel Bers, Julian T. Brolaski, E. Tracy Grinnell & Paul Foster Johnson
Contributing editors: Jen Hofer & Nathalie Stephens
Featuring Russian poetry & poetics, guest edited by Matvei Yankelevich
Poetry, essays & reviews by
Nathan Austin, Ari Banias, Jasper Bernes, Damaris Calderón, Xochiquetzal Candelaria, Miles Champion, Corina Copp, Phil Cordelli, Alan Davies, Geoffrey Detrani, Elena Fanailova, Inti García, Dmitry Golynko, Linor Goralik, Noah Eli Gordon, Sarah Gridley, Suzanne Jacob, Paolo Javier, Paula Koneazny, Sergey Kruglov, Dmitry Kuzmin, Rachel Levitsky, Kimberly Lyons, Catherine Mavrikakis, Kirill Medvedev, Eduardo Milán, Alan Mills, Anton Ochirov, Akilah Oliver, Tim Peterson, Matt Reeck, Margaret Ronda, Trish Salah, Andrey Sen-Senkov, Laura Sims, Aleksandr Skidan, Maria Stepanova, Nathalie Stephens (Nathanaël), François Turcot, Dmitry Vodennikov, Dana Ward, Diane Ward, Karen Weiser, Elisabeth Whitehead, Tyrone Williams, Sergey Zavyalov, Igor Zhukov, Tatiana Zima, and Olga Zondberg.
Cover and interior art by Kim Beck
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