Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Surrogate Abolition
I.V. Nuss
Die Liebe im Konvexen, in der totalen Rundung und zur Slutifizierung aller Männer westlich des Bosporus
Marie Glassl, Sophie Lewis
Stellvertretende Abschaffung
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philology
Sina Dell’Anno
Punk / Philologie
Donatien Grau, James Spooner
Afropunk Philology
Donatien Grau
Une vie en philologie
Michael F. Zimmermann
Courbet als Assyrer
Marlene Streeruwitz
Der Autor ist nicht die Autorin
Felix Stalder
Feedback as Authenticity
Tom McCarthy
Toke My Asymptote – or, The Ecstatic Agony of Appearance
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
Wofür steht der Tod der Avantgarden?
Jean-Luc Nancy
Après les avant-gardes
Mehdi Belhaj Kacem, Philippe Sollers
What is the Meaning of the Avant-garde’s Death?
Lars von Trier im Gespräch mit Mehdi Belhaj Kacem & Raphaëlle Milone
Johannes Binotto
Shrewing the tame
Alexander García Düttmann
Cold Distance
Ines Kleesattel
Art, Girls, and Aesthetic Freedom Down Below
Angelika Meier
Who I Really Am
Zoran Terzić
Transplants politiques
Maria Filomena Molder
The Alms of Time
Helmut J. Schneider
How Distant Can My Neighbor be?
Michele Pedrazzi
The Next Bit: un corps à corps avec l’inconnu
Wolfgang Plöger
After This Comes That Before That Comes This
Elena Vogman
Dynamography, or Andrei Bely’s Rhythmic Gesture
Nicole Bachmann
Questionnaire Nicole Bachmann
Dieter Mersch
Digital Criticism
Maël Renouard
Modifications infimes et considérables
Eric Baudelaire
Abecedarium
Jelili Atiku, Damian Christinger
Venedig, Lagos und der Raum dazwischen
Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau
On Realism
Mário Gomes
The Poetics of Architecture
Bruce Bégout
L’homme de Venise
Johanna Went
I remember (Johanna Went)
Barbara Basting
Der Algorithmus und ich 6
The Transversal Shelf of Printed Books in Times of Accelerated Opaque Media
Michael Heitz
Noch ein neuer Gott in Teilen
What do I remember? My memories of my life have always been very limited. I only remember single fragments, good...
A Little Paris Nightmare
I loved Paris, even as a little boy, long before I lived there. I was like Pinocchio...
Ich erinnere mich an gewellte goldene Kornfelder.
Ich erinnere mich an mich; in der Peripherie des Bildes.
Ich erinnere mich an die...
L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée
…rather alarms, to truth to arm her than enemies, and they have only this advantage to scape from being called ill things, that they are nothings…
DIAPHANES fragt nach Relikten von Zukunftsvisionen in den Bildräumen der Vergangenheit, nach Spuren und Signaturen eines einst Vorstellbaren und zeitlos Möglichen.
Lärmende Zeitkapseln, rare Bijous, unverzichtbares Sperrgut aller Epochen, Sprachen und Genres.
Meine Sprache
Deutsch
Aktuell ausgewählte Inhalte
Deutsch, Englisch, Französisch
»Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, MAESTRO DI COLOR CHE SANNO. Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see.
Rhythm begins, you see. I hear. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs
marching. No, agallop: DELINE THE MARE.
Open your eyes now. I will. One moment. Has all vanished since?
If I open and am for ever in the black adiaphane. BASTA! I will see
if I can see.
See now. There all the time without you: and ever shall be, world
without end.«
James Joyce
Dire works on the bogus regime—not just of art—but endowed with wit, beauty and irresistible fetish character.