International Paneling/March 2024
Image by Horster
Learning How to Relax
by Leo Kuelbs
Berlin
Since COVID hit us in humanity’s digital ascendency, a lot has changed. Divisiveness is everywhere, advertising is everywhere, content is everywhere—and with the onset of AI, all that stuff with grow exponentially.
In this environment, dark inner thoughts—basically how much we might hate/fear any “other”—are on the rise, as the creepy crawlies come out the anonymous shadows and dark corners of life online. And what about life online? How is your podcast? Life online is sometimes in a collision course with real life, and it is not yet certain which one will win. Do you prefer your one-way online self? Or are you better with real people, face to face. Face to face is suffering these days, for sure. The dissonance between what could be described as a type of virtual reality and the/a terrestrial is growing and your mental health might be getting stretched thinner and thinner.
We should not forget about the endless suffering from the ongoing wars, politics, inflation, rising housing costs, and gun violence. I think you get the picture. So, basically, when awake, people are always “on.” Always dealing with more information, requests, rudeness, and even potentially life-threatening situations. Based on these conditions, it is no surprise that many people’s behaviors are changing for the worse. Hopelessness? I think some of the carjacking kids in the USA are pretty hopeless. Or could it also be burnout?
Back in the day, there was Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, then Lyme Disease—now this extends to Long COVID and other hard to understand ailments. But maybe stress is a larger part of this than we realize.
Image by ANANI
I first heard about burnout as “Wall Street Burnout.” This is when finance guys in NYC lose it and drop out of normal life. That was about 15 years ago. Now I am hearing it more and perhaps seeing it more. Back in the day, there was Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, then Lyme Disease—now this extends to Long COVID and other hard to understand ailments. But maybe stress is a larger part of this than we realize. Could it be that people simply are not getting enough rest—enough time unplugged from the latest season of True Detective, or newest political outrage, or life crisis? Many of us are constantly on and online. Then when put into a potentially compromised health situation, vulnerability is increased due to exposure to constant stimulation and stress. I mean, if we keep this up, what will our brains be like in a few years? We may actually be in a state of global evolution as we speak. Is Natural/Digital Selection a thing to consider?
Just after the December holidays, I decided to unplug for a while. My wife was out of town, and I had about two weeks alone. Since the holiday spirit had completely drained me, I decided I would do my own version of hibernation. Basically, I slept a lot. I went to the gym. I watched less TV and tried to do internet stuff in more organized time clumps. It was not perfect, and I still spent hours picking through the same 200 videos at Youtube. But the resting really helped. Some of the darkness of Berlin’s winter began to lift and some laughter was actually heard. Far off laughter…
And for those of us around aging friends and relatives, mortality issues are never too far off—or for ourselves. So, unplugging, exercise, feeling emotions instead of burying them under alcohol, drugs, or the internet might be something to consider. Feeling, dealing with your actual “Humanness,” instead of just relating to the online world is pretty key, in my opinion. Spring is coming! Maybe get a little bit of serious rest in before it does…?
Video Shorty: Mike McGuirk and Alex Hamadey’s “The Sun’s Shadow”
This miniature treasure from 2017’s “Digital Fairy Tales: Album Two” uses technology as a vehicle to update and retell an old German Fairy Tale about the Sun, the Moon, Giants, death and more. Shot in California by Bliss Factory’s Mike McGuirk and with a sound track by Alex Hamadey—both from Brooklyn, NY, the story and the video have to do with change and uprooting the past for the sake of an a somewhat unknown future. Take a look! It’s really great!
What’s Wrong with Art Flipping?
by Dirk Lehr
Berlin
When I once bought a work by a young artist in a so-called mega gallery, I had to undertake not to put the work in an auction within the next 5 years. And, if I wanted to sell it within this period, to grant the gallery a right of first refusal.
In the article “Backroom deals for wet paintings,” in The Art Newspaper from April 6, 2023, the employee of an auction house describes that it is largely owners of contemporary art who come forward to prevent their works from being sold at a public auction, preferring to sell it by way of a discreet private sale. There is talk of a share of almost 60%.
Their fear of ending up on a blacklist in galleries because they are seen as speculators is too great. A collector who is said to have had this happen took legal action against being on such a blacklist. In its article, “Lawsuit Describes Art Blacklist to Keep Some Collectors Away” from April 16, 2010, the New York Times dealt with the legal dispute of an art collector who claims that he ended up on a so-called blacklist because he had a work by the artist Marlene Dumas resold within a short period of time after its acquisition.
According to a gallery owner, Dumas kept a list of names of people to whom none of her works could be sold. The collector’s goal with the process was to be taken off the list and to have a specific picture of the artist sold to him. Since everyone is free to decide whether and to whom they sell a work, the court’s comment on this request was correspondingly harsh.
Art flipping occurs when buyers resell works of art within a short period of time after purchasing them in the hope of making a short-term profit.
Nevertheless, the question arises as to why it is viewed with such suspicion when collectors resell works of art, especially by the artists themselves and their galleries? Art flipping occurs when buyers resell works of art within a short period of time after purchasing them in the hope of making a short-term profit. Above all, art flipping poses a risk for young artists that their primary market will be disrupted if works are traded on the secondary market within a very short period of time. The associated speculative risk can cause lasting damage to artistic development, especially if it is accompanied by price jumps that are too rapid and too strong.
Such hype can prove to be a boomerang. If auction prices fall below gallery prices, it can damage the artist’s overall market credibility. The pressure of the market also makes it difficult for artists to build a sustainable career in peace. In this respect, it is understandable that artists want to protect themselves from these risks. On the other hand, artists and their galleries are market participants. Their main concern is to sell works of art, generate income from them and use a strategic approach to increase prices. When you participate in the art market; you shouldn’t complain if other participants pursue the same goals as you. Why shouldn’t a buyer be allowed to resell a work? In the end he is doing nothing different than artists and galleries. Why should one be morally questionable and the other not?
Ultimately, it’s about interests. Do the interests of artists and their galleries trump those of their customers? It can certainly be unpleasant when a young artist’s career in particular is exposed to the risks of the market. And it’s an understandable concern to want to protect your career. However, anyone who does not want to expose themselves to the market mechanisms should not participate in the market and should not sell his work of art, at all.
Let’s Run it Back with 3 Questions with...Veronika Rabinovich
Let’s take another look at this great interview with one of our favorite and most loved performance artists!
NYC-based Veronika Rabinovich’s brand of costumed performance art exists somewhere in world between fairy tales, storytelling, Surrealism, and the contemporary art world. It’s super refreshing to have an artist creating hand-made outfits in order to tell stories and perform in person in these increasingly digital days. So excited to see what she and “her friends” have to say! Here we go…
The Questions:
1. Hello Veronika! Can you tell us a little bit about your background? Also, describe your style of performance art/costume design.
2. What are some key differences between the experience of live performance as opposed to digital and more traditional media (painting, etc.)?
3. What are some performances/shows you are most proud of and what are you looking forward to?
That Knowledge is Unrecorded:
https://objkt.com/tokens/KT1Fc7naXm8XApN1EHoJXkC1Tggv2jK9eeZK/11
Flying Saucers
Image and text by Mark Bailey
Minneapolis
The winter has so far been mild here in Minneapolis. There have been a couple of subzero weeks, but it's nothing like last year, when we were buried in snow until springtime. Mild or not, any Minnesota winter naturally supports artistic and intellectual pursuits. Outdoor activities are limited. People leave each other alone. Social expectations are low.
Personally, I love it because I can just work and not worry about anything else. Lately, I've been deep into UFO lore for my job at WantToKnow.info. We're putting together a new UFO Information Center, so I've been going through endless archives of government documents and news reports related to the subject. Some of what I've found is surprising.
In the summer of 1952, flying saucers were seen over Washington, DC. The event was widely reported. That year, according to Wikipedia: "148 of the nation's leading newspapers carried a total of over 16,000 items about flying saucers." There were eyewitnesses and unusual radar readings, but the official explanation for the flying saucer sightings amounted to misidentified streetlights and bad weather.
UAP, or unidentified anomalous phenomenon, has replaced UFO in official considerations of the matter. Last summer, a man named David Grusch testified before the House Oversight Committee's national security subcommittee on UAPs. He said that the US had been studying UFOs for decades, and that we'd recovered non-human crafts and something termed "biologics." Before becoming a UFO whistleblower, Grusch worked for the Air Force, the National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency, and the National Reconnaissance Office. Whatever he is, he's not some crackpot.
In the media and at private parties, Grusch has talked about fantastical technologies that bend time and space. He's implied that grand secrets are ready to be uncovered. Yet everything Grusch has said has been very carefully worded and he doesn't claim to have personally seen any ETs or alien technology. Although this is disappointing, it's a disappointment that's familiar to UFO researchers.
Personally, I think UFOs are possibly important but not very relevant.
Delving into the topic for work, I've found it maddening. There's a ton of information out there and the vast majority of it goes nowhere. Forged documents. Deliberately spread misinformation. Secondhand stories from anonymous sources.
And yet, through all of the noise, patterns do emerge. The UFO issue is a thing, but we can only speculate on what kind of thing. Serious people take the issue seriously and there are probably good reasons for that. Personally, I think UFOs are possibly important but not very relevant. And I'd love to see more evidence of them come to light.
Art and Cars
by Balazs Kulcsar
Brussels
Perhaps you are a white male from the middle-class from somewhere in Europe. And maybe you are interested in cars, because your father had a small MG from the sixties. Or anyway, you are a male, so you buy car magazines from the age of 8. Or, just like myself, have a sport BMW to drive on quiet roads where the hills never heard of speed cameras, and you can test what sound is like when the tachometer hits the red line. Maybe you are a frequent visitor of Le Mans or tried the Nürburg-ring and know by heart what time Sabrina Schmitz achieved with that Ford Transit.
You are also talented, so you figured out early that sport cars and art are actually quite close to each other. You pay more for less--otherwise you take a seat in a '95 Daewoo Matiz which is the cheapest solution for move A to B and has more space for luggage than a Ferrari Rome. The same in art, you can buy a poster at Ikea for 20 eur, and it’s 90 % the same compared to the original, so you can save immediately 5 million bucks on a Picasso, right?
Images: Armand Fernandez Bmw 507, at Mamac Museum Nice: Keith Haring Buick Car Painting in Art Basel Miami catalogue; Hajnal Németh CRASH - Passive interview catalogue; Franz West’s Rolls-Royce with custom hood ornament, outside the Hermann Nitsch Museum, Mistelbach, Austria, 2007. Photo: Alison Gingeras.
Of course not. You are a subscriber for Rolls Royce & Bentley driver magazine, so you are intelligent. You also know Jay, who knows Mr. Z. who has a Ferrari, I mean a real one. OK, not the 250 GTO, just a Mondial or a 348, best case a 355, which are cheaper than a BMW 7, slower than any Audi A6, and more expensive to maintain than a Citroen Ds. In other words: the Ferrari what Mr. Z. has is slower than any new car today (except the Dacia Sandero), needs a lot of maintenance, and breaks down in every 5000 km. Why would anyone choose that?
Let’s pass the word to Mr. Z: "What a masterpiece! Look at the form, this is a true art piece..." Aha. An “art piece.” Of course, we know well the car auctions, where a Hispano Suiza, a Spanish Rolls Royce, cost more than a villa in Miami, but can a car be a real art piece?
The answer is yes. And if you follow closely the art world, the answer is even a bigger yes. Just go to Mamac Nice, a contemporary art museum; on the third floor you will see a burned BMW 507, as Arman (Armand Fernandez 1928-2005) often worked with burned or deconstructed materials. And not far from Mamac, in La Station, there is another artwork called “Espace,” which is literally a Renault Espace in the middle of the wall. This is an open space for conversations, explained Cedric Tessaire, founder of the art foundation. I liked that Espace so much that I still use this piece in my Paris-Budapest-Metro videos.
Berlin-based artist Hajnal Németh made an installation with a crashed BMW, the title of the artwork is "Crash - Passive interview" - and it’s reflecting of an accident. And Hajnal made an opera from the discussions between the driver and the passenger right before the accident. So, as we can see, a car could be an object of art. Plus, artists use them as an everyday object just like a chair or any other object.
As an art and car lover, I was always fascinated by the BMW art car series. Started by an Alexander Calder painting on a car, art icons like Andy Warhol, Robert Rauschenberg, David Hockney, and others showed how easily a car can be transformed into a piece of art. Car as a canvas. The idea is amazing, who will save me from painting my own car, transforming it to an art piece?
Well, the authorities, of course. There are legal regulations stipulating that the majority of the car has to be painted by one colour only. And that’s because police try to avoid the situation when you mess up their radio communication like this: "We following a redyellowwhiteblueblack car..."
But as always, there are some exceptions. Look at Janis Joplin’s Porsche 356, painted by Steve Weber. It was inspired by John Lennon's psychedelic Rolls-Royce and was famous in the streets of San Francisco in the 10960s. I can imagine how strange that car was, in the city at that time, but Janis loved it and used it until her death. The car, after Janis, had a hard life. It went to his manager's hand, afterwards, it went back to the family where they repainted the artwork to grey, basically destroyed it, and only 30 years later, it was restored by another artist.
I never had the luxury of having a big garage where I can put a car which never moves. And my girlfriend was always pointed to the fact that a car which sleeps only in a garage has no value. And after all, it would be impossible to sell it. Sell it? Come on! Who sells a car like this?
I just walked in the Art Basel Miami Beach unsuspectingly when a Buick with a Keith Haring painting popped up.
Actually, I know someone who did. I just walked in the Art Basel Miami Beach unsuspectingly when a Buick with a Keith Haring painting popped up. Keith’s style is so evident and we all know he worked very fast, so yes, this car is genuine. I wish I could see more in traffic, but someone gave more than 2 million for that car so I guess it's very unlikely that it appears in the morning traffic. I mean, everyone has a girlfriend or partner, and imagine that conversation:” Baby, today I go to the office with the Keith Haring car.”
“No way! If you crash the car, it looses half of its value! " I know. But us car boys still need to dream. So, I think the art car series continues, somewhere, somehow...
A Communiqúe from the Early 1970s. Shit on the Wall!
The Baby Card
by Leo Kuelbs
Circa 2003
Image by Juliane Pieper
There once was an interesting little boy born into a big family in late 1968 -- a thunderous year of murder, war and revolution and not a bad year for our little friend to come onto the scene. No one is around to tell us what he was like in those first dim years and of course his own mind was then just flickering into existence. But the tumultuousness of the times was born into the lad and would remain with him throughout his life.
By summertime 1971, he had just learned to handle his hand-me-down tricycle and could be seen with pants full of diaper, pedaling behind the funeral home next door or past his older brothers drinking their smelly cans of Olympia on the back stoop. Once, while exploring the back yard, he came across hippies passing a mysterious cigarette, guilty but friendly and a little put-off by the curious visitor. Rushing home, a controversy began when the boy reported his discovery. The parents argued with the oldest kids over the need for police. Instead, the bigger boys went looking for the hippies, returning eventually with glassy eyes and no news.
There was a younger sister, about fourteen months behind, who had her own crib tucked into an interior corner of his room. Once, when sister was still a newborn, the boy instinctively pulled apart a box of crayons, stumbled to the big wall opposite his crib and felt his hand move around freely. Excitement pulsed through his body as his little hand left irregular trails of color wherever it passed -- a tiny glimpse into the glory of creation! By the time Mother discovered the wall and the shredded crayon box, the boy was asleep on the floor next to sister’s crib – an aqua-marine crayon beside him. Mother had already forgiven him when her husband returned home from the bar. To save a scene, she leaked the news in a calming, peaceful way, promising that she herself would paint the wall just before the family’s planned move in winter. Father agreed and made no further mention of it. Then she went further and turned it into a positive. Whenever she had chores upstairs, she would pass out crayons and turn the babies loose to scribble on the wall. Paper was expensive and this let the children create on their own instead of soaking in the light of the continual television. When she was satisfied with her work, the crayons were taken away and the children put to bed for their afternoon nap. There he would lay, looking at the wall with all the new scribbles down low, lots of open space for future artworks above. If only he could reach that high.
The two kids were very close, watching out for each other with a certain childish esprit des corps. Once the little girl could handle her own tricycle, the boy led her to the funeral home parking lot. For the first time, the front and rear doors were open, making the roadway out front visible to the parking lot behind and vice-versa. The children looked through and saw several well-dressed people talking, looking at a fountain in the building’s center. Suits and fancy dresses hadn’t existed in the children’s little world, nor had the solemn look of the people in them. With traffic passing visibly behind them, the mourners waved and smiled sadly at the children who raced off in embarrassed glee. With her brother along, she could do things reserved for an almost three year old and since Mother was very busy with laundry or cooking or cleaning, they were relatively free. Dad was rarely around but when he did appear, smelling of Hamm’s, he would set down a grocery bag and call the two youngest children. Sliding to a halt, they would knock the bag over and out would pile a bunch of corners and ends of old 2x4s—the ultimate toy for poor children – Catholic Lincoln Logs. They would play with the scraps, look at the fire and laugh along with their parents and older siblings to “All in the Family.” Then the scraps would be burned too and the little ones set on Father’s knee or on the floor by their favorite older brother, mimicking the laugh track, following the conversations, trying to prove they were mature beyond their years.
Rough hockey games in the basement, wrestling, fighting, used cars, big dinners on Sundays – two cheap roasts, cruel babysitting aunts, the basement’s wood room, old Mrs. Day next door – all these things would be lost shortly when the family made their move to the countryside. Many of the older ones would not follow the rest and begin their own lives closer to the city. But that would be later, in the far-off wintertime. Now it was high summer and our little friend was again laid into his crib – almost three years old, still in diapers, but growing fast. Downstairs, the older ones guffawed and teased in front of the television as usual, and the little boy fidgeted resentfully over the forced separation. Mother came in to check the babies one last time and put out the light. In her little corner crib, sister was already out cold, sighing in calm and deep sleep. Then to her wide-eyed boy whose diaper was brimming full – never a surprise for a mother of her productivity. The diaper was undone and left, with its contents, next to the baby. Mother smiled at him and went into the bathroom across the hall for a washcloth. She was even singing to herself.
Then he sat up, suddenly drawn into the space above the scribbling -- the pure open space waiting to be filled with something wonderful, something explosive.
Calmed by her song, the boy looked dreamily at the wall. Then he sat up, suddenly drawn into the space above the scribbling -- the pure open space waiting to be filled with something wonderful, something explosive. A familiar feeling of excitement took hold as he spied Mother running warm water over the cloth. Soon she would return. Then he looked at the solid, brown thing in its open diaper – so very inviting. A new thought popped into his mind. Was it right? He didn’t think so. Could he get away with it? There had been no punishment before, when the scribbling began, but this was different, he was older now; he laughed at TV like the big boys. But no one treated him like a big boy. A baby would be forgiven. Babies don’t know. Mother was in a good mood but still it was a chance. The water was shut off. Just to see, he scooped the warm thing up. In his little hand it was very solid and reassuring. It was good. He stared at it another moment, cooed a little and looked at the wall. Then with all his might, he flung it high and with a low thud it exploded like dirty fireworks before dribbling down onto the scribblings below. It was glorious, liberating; he stared in amazement at the impact point, at the petals that shot out then thickly down. Hearing the thump, Mother rushed into the room, looked at her baby then followed his eyes to the wall. As she soaked it in, he decided to slip into an innocent, baby-like state, his last “grown-up” thought before falling into a mode that would save him from Father’s wrath. He lay down with his legs in the air as Mother again looked at him, then back at the wall, stunned in silence. She kept looking back and forth – the sounds of laughter and television drifting up and around. Then she too began to laugh. She looked at him again, laughing and pulled the remaining mess from the crib, wiped him off and called downstairs for her oldest daughter.
Once the other kids knew, they abandoned the TV and poked their heads in to admire the work of the little one. Safely away in his baby-mode, looking up through himself, he couldn’t believe the lack of anger. Instead, he had brought the family together, laughing, around him. Amusement filled the place where his punishment should have been. Heads shook and everyone was delighted--except for the eldest sister who was immediately sent to fetch a bucket and brush to clean up the starry explosion. Eventually the excitement dissipated and the other kids went back to the television or out while big sister grumbled and scrubbed away, the music of her work lulling the baby boy into innocent sleep.
In the morning, a stain still loomed over the bleached remnants of the scribblings below. It was the end of an era. Soon, the wall would be painted over and no more crayon-work would be allowed. Then as 1972 ended, the whole family would be gone from here forever. But for now, it was open season on that wall and the two smallest took full advantage, creating freely, crayons in hand while the visible remains of the dirt star silently watched over them.