International Paneling/November 2022
Image by Horster
The Ghost of 1990s Berlin: Is it Over?
by Leo Kuelbs
Brooklyn
Back in Brooklyn, I ran into a cool, internationally-connected neighbor, whom I had not seen for three years, or so. He said he was doing fine and asked if I was still living in Berlin part-time. I said I was, but that it had changed a lot. He agreed and said all of his crew had rolled out of Berlin some time ago, citing the fact that it was just too expensive.
Rent, food, owning a place to live—the old days are gone. Cheap rooms are a memory. The clubs have re-opened, but the vibe has changed. It’s pretty tough for folks to label themselves as “artists” these days and make the scene, drinking and hanging out, when wages have largely held steady while inflation takes already big price hikes to ever higher elevations. Has the end come to cool, post wall-fall Berlin?
If you look at the famous “Tacheles” squat, you can find kind of a nice correlation. A Mitte Mecca of partying, raves, squatting—a mid 1990s utopia that managed to make it up to about 2009. Tacheles was cleared out, the scene sent into the wind, and now it boasts new, luxury flats for upwards of 30,000 euros per square meter. How is that even possible? Expensive places were set at 2500 per sq meter in about 2010 and were up to around 6K in the pre-virus times. That’s luxury folks!
But wait, if Berlin doesn’t offer a great, low-priced, high fun lifestyle, then what’s the deal? I mean, it’s gray and cold for a big part of the year, the architecture is suspect and the wealthy class is super douchy. Ahhh, the art scene, you say! I will agree that there is some great stuff in Berlin, as far as art goes. But the average is necessarily massive, as is the crap. I wonder when the memo will be delivered to the general population of the world, that though many want to make art, many more do not want to support the creation of the applicant’s efforts towards success. In short, by any account, there is more art in the world than can ever be enjoyed. And, at a certain point, even great artwork just becomes stuff. Speaking as an art collector, I am now concerned about less about presentation than about storage and conservation of works that are of questionable financial value, especially in a new world where property markets keep ascending. So, no cheap storge for works anymore and no cheap living for underground artists anymore in Berlin. And those who are already ensconced are battling away under dwindling circumstances and resources for connection to unicorn collectors, who are now basically the ringmasters of the remnants of a goofy party scene. Whew!
If you have been around a while, you may have a great deal locked in on a nice apartment or studio. I joke with older artists that I can tell their age by where their studios are located. The older ones are in the center, the younger ones are out in the sticks. So, in a way, the older Berliners who have secured the lower rents and have okay jobs, are keeping the scene alive. Younger artists and newcomers will find a much harder scene to get into.
A group that does seem to be thriving are the traveling programmer class. You can work from anywhere, getting a taste of all those cities you live/visit. English-speaking amateur stand-up comedy is the shared social interest.
A group that does seem to be thriving are the traveling programmer class. You can work from anywhere, getting a taste of all those cities you live/visit. English-speaking amateur stand-up comedy is the shared social interest. This group is all over the center of Berlin, though they will never quite be totally recognized by the real Berliners. The real Berliners actually have the power to vote and kind of wish things were the way they used to be.
In many ways, it can be said that the changes brought about by the massive property crisis—in part set up because of no capital gains after 10 years—as well as the influx of foreign investment and dwellers has created a brutal backlash. Those who can vote, many of whom were citizens in the previous regime, don’t like what the foreign money invasion has brought with it. And they show it. Meanwhile, those building new living spaces are exempted from rent caps and may likely also get other tax breaks. There are imbalances all around and possibly a lot of illegal money washing, too. It’s the wild Berlin West—a place where change brought about opportunity that was initially taken up by an international band of artistic wanderers, who spread a glorious reputation of art and excess. That legacy was sold and bought by 30 years of speculators, of all stripes. And here we are today. Berlin isn’t over. But it is in another life. But hey, have you heard what’s going on in Portugal?
Shorty of the Month! “Throwing Shadows” by Anton Marini and Danielle Ezzo!
“Throwing Shadows” originally appeared as part of the Digital Fairy Tales series in 2017. Since its debut, it has been shown in NYC at the old IFP in DUMBO, as well as LIGHT YEAR on the Manhattan Bridge, in Regensburg—home of the von Schönwerth fairy tale archive, in Berlin and other sites and cities. Mr Marini and Ms Ezzo are based in Brooklyn and they do/create a variety of art content with Marini working the digital side and Ezzo coming from more photographic and conceptual realms. “Throwing Shadows” is a good example of a collaborative work taking both approaches into account!
Image by Juliane Pieper
You have now Arrived at Poetry Place!
by Sanj Nair
Virginia Beach
Little Black Dress
remember that little black dress
that made you want
to grab the hem
tug at the neck,
linger there?
I donated it
to the years
the way a woman can become
invisible
the way a child’s shadow can loom
larger than life
even when she is
a woman’s life and reason and
reason is just another way
of saying
I want.
3 Questions with…Brooklyn-based Musician, Jessie Kilguss!
The career of Jessie Kilguss has been an amazing and wild ride. Her stage work includes blockbuster productions of “The Black Rider” (London, Sydney), “As You Like It” (London), as well as the film adaption of “The Crucible,” with co-stars Daniel Day Lewis and Winona Ryder. Since then, she’s moved into more musical realms of her own, and her new album, “What do Whales Dream about at Night?” has just recently been released. She sits in with the group Gramercy Arms and a few others, while also Directing Musicambia, an organization bringing music creation and performance into prisons! Wow! Let’s hear what Jessie has to say about all of this!
Here are the Questions:
1. Hello Jessie! Can you tell us a little bit about your background and how you wound up in NYC?
2. So, you are a solo artist, correct? What are some pluses and minuses of writing and playing in a group vs. the solo experience?
3. Can you tell us about your new album and what else you have up your sleeve?
Are Auction Houses the Better Art Galleries?
by Dirk Lehr
Berlin
With artist's choice, the auction house Sotheby's launched a new format and is thus entering the primary market, which has so far only been served by galleries. As part of the New York contemporary curated auction on September 30, 2022, artists could offer studio-fresh works directly in an auction for the first time.
But are such formats really attractive to artists? Do they benefit or harm them? Is it a sensible addition to gallery representation or does it even make it superfluous?
A gallery represents an artist. This means first and foremost that he builds it up, promotes it and also advises it. He creates a public for the artist, conveys the content of his work and works to buyers. With exhibitions, a gallery ensures that works meet an audience for the first time. Galleries are important filters to separate the relevant from the irrelevant, keeping an eye on what is leaving the studio and what is better left there.
The art market has become so international that all of this is often no longer sufficient to place an artist successfully in the „art operating system“. Most galleries simply lack the money and the manpower to open branches abroad or to attend one fair after the other.
The art market has become so international that all of this is often no longer sufficient to place an artist successfully in the „art operating system“. Most galleries simply lack the money and the manpower to open branches abroad or to attend one fair after the other. Let alone the time-consuming and costly public relations work. Which gallery can afford a press department? In the past, this has already led to artists no longer working exclusively with one gallery, but dancing at several weddings. Not necessarily because they want to, but because they have to.
The role of the auction houses has also become increasingly important for artists over the past 10 to 15 years. Whoever made it into the secondary market is relevant, at least as far as the art market is concerned. The big auction houses have become brands, as have the global players among the galleries. Being appraised as auctionable has become a value-creating factor for an artist. Anyone who made it into an auction is someone. Of course it can also be harmful if a work remains unsold or sells too cheaply. The reach that auction houses establish is global. The attention that is generated internationally. Auction catalogs resemble art historical publications and the auction previews resemble blockbuster museum exhibitions. Emerging artists are placed in the vicinity of stars and thus benefit from an image transfer. Online catalogs mean that auction houses are open 24/7 and classic auctions are streamed live. There is no inhibition to “enter” an auction house as opposed to a gallery. Here, as before, many do not dare to open a gallery door, let alone go in. This is not least due to the fact that, unlike in galleries, auction houses attach price tags to works of art. Thanks to digitalization, the buying process has become so easy that anyone can take part without running the risk of being labeled an art philistine. Yes, auction houses have become the better galleries in many ways. They are not afraid to show what it is ultimately (also) about: selling. Every gallery owner, every artist is asked shortly after an exhibition opening: And how did it go? And nobody means the number or duration of conversations about the content of the works shown, but rather whether something was sold. The success of a gallery exhibition is not measured by how many visitors there were, but whether something was sold or not. One must not push this aspect aside or ignore it. It is an integral part of the „art operating system“ and essential fuel to keep it running. In the recent past, the question has repeatedly been raised as to whether the gallery model has become obsolete. In a way, yes, at least in the form that we have been used to over the past decades. In the age of events, there is actually no longer a need for a gallery to be able to see and experience art. But that is precisely why galleries as places are maybe more important than ever. Places that give artworks space and time to get in touch with their environment.
Image by Tom Rotenberg
There are no Ghosts in Crypto
by Mark Bailey
Minneapolis
The trees in my neighborhood are displaying colorful autumnal foliage. The nights are getting longer. The grocery store has stacked dozens of giant pumpkins near its entrance. Fall has apparently begun.
This is the season of ghosts, and Minneapolis has no shortage of these. Just a couple of short years ago, the callous murder of George Floyd in a nearby neighborhood sparked international demonstrations. The shadow of that still hangs over my city, mingled with the horror of a pandemic which ended lives on too massive a scale to really make sense of.
Most deaths are not so widely known. Several years ago in my house, a roommate took his own life. We found the young man hanging in his bedroom, his time on Earth ended. I don't believe that his ghost haunts our old Victorian house. I don't think ghosts haunt places at all. Instead, they haunt minds, challenging us to make peace with our memories.
By now, I've lost count of all of the ghosts I carry with me. They're like weightless points of light that sometimes pass across my thoughts, as if to ask that I recall them for a moment. This is a level of haunting that I'm comfortable with. It seems fitting, in its way.
Although I've grown comfortable with the ghosts of people, there are some ghosts that scare me. These are the ghosts of systems; of tyrants and terrible regimes.
Although I've grown comfortable with the ghosts of people, there are some ghosts that scare me. These are the ghosts of systems; of tyrants and terrible regimes. The spirits of old despots, channeled by modern despots. The shadows cast by wars and corruption over too many endeavors.
I've given up on trying to exorcise these kinds of spirits. But I do spend most of my time in places that they can't inhabit, where everything is fresh and new. In the world of emerging technologies, these spirits of legacy systems have nowhere to hide. There are no ghosts in crypto, or in NFT art.
In this sense, emerging tech is a clean space. Perhaps one of the only such spaces remaining in a society perpetually held hostage by countless terrible histories. Blockchains are inherently clear and transparent. The only ghosts in my AI art are mere artifacts of algorithms executed on neural networks. True, these artifacts can appear haunting, but only in the way that shadows under a bed can appear to be cast by monsters.
Prison Laundry
Image and Text by Stu Spence
Sydney
I’d visit Pidge in the big house every other weekend. Hauled my sorry arse out there (two trains and a bus), waited for the cops, or whatever they’re called, to let me in, and we’d meet in the yard. Coz they only hit that one Seven Eleven, and ‘coz he was just driving the car, they give him a three stretch. Coulda been seven or eight, that’s what Damo got. Stupid fuck.
“When I get out..”
“When I get out...”
He musta said that fifty times a visit. I just smoked and nodded, chucked in a few “totally mate’s” now and then.
He was obsessed with his wife and kid. Mate, if I heard him say one more time he was sorry for what he done to them, fair dinkum, I was gonna walk.
But he was sorry, I understood that. That Damo fuckwit lead him down a path that went straight to hell. Pidge agreed, but he knew he was part of it, “No one held a gun to me head,” he’d say. Knowing Damo, though, that wouldna been out of the question.
The other thing he kept goin’ on about was getting one of them coin operated laundry shops when he got out.
The other thing he kept goin’ on about was getting one of them coin operated laundry shops when he got out.
“No hassle, mate, open day and night, fix a drive belt now and then, and just count money the rest of the time.”
By coincidence, I was walking past our local laundry one day as the Vietnamese bloke who ran it was sticking up a ‘Business for Sale’ sign in the front window. He wanted fuck all for it, and by the end of the day, it was mine.
When he got out, Pidge and I worked it together, it wasn’t as easy as he said, but it was better than luggin’ bricks or movin’ furniture. Fuck that for a joke.
In my head, when he found out I’d bought his dream for him, he’d work at it like a man possessed, a man who was never goin’ back inside. I imagined him getting there early, clearin’ the coins out, refilling the soap powder, cleaning out the filters, you know, new life, new fire in his belly, and for a time it was like that.
But you could tell something wasn’t sittin’ right.
“This is the life, eh Pidgo?” I’d say, sliding a beer down the lino floor on a Friday arvo.
“Not too shabby,” he’d say raising the beer up in a toast.
I was genuinely happy for him, but for those first few months I kept stopping myself at any given moment of the day and look over at Pidge. He’d be doin’ whatever, and I’d think, ‘that prick’d be lining up with the others right now for a tray of soggy eggs, or, he’d be bored shitless watchin’ Oprah or some crap right now. He’s bloody free!’ But there in our launderette, early sun streaking in, Pidge workin’ away on busted drive or loose tumble drier, you could just tell, he was far from free.
One day he never turned up for work, I called, but he didn’t answer.
Three days he was gone.
“Where ya been, dick head?” I said, bashing a bent twenty out of a slot.
“Had to go to...Mailtland, mate needed a hand.”
I could tell he was searching for a name when he come up with ‘Maitland.’ I left it.
It happened more and more. He was moody and shitty at me, but, I dunno, somehow happier, walkin’ around the launderette like, more confident, strong.
When the pigs got him for pinchin’ the Jag from that garage in Punchbowl, he didn’t say anythin’ to me.
“Don’t worry mate, I’m good for the bail,” I shouted as the cops pulled him out onto the highway and into the back of the van.
He looked back across at me just before they pushed his head down through the door, he kinda smiled, and said something I couldn’t hear over the traffic, but I knew what it was, “Don’t bother.”
Image originally appeared in the Minnesota Daily, Minneapolis, circa 1992. It was found at a junk sale and sent to my in about 2015.
Visited by a Musical Ghost: 90s Grunge Band does Time Travel!
by Leo Kuelbs
They say that cats have nine lives. I wonder then how many a healthy person may get? Nine? Twelve? I guess it’s a story that is told individually, over and over. But in my story, a recent encounter reminds me that there are more than a few….
In the late 1980s and early 1990s, I was learning about music. I started as a front man, since no one else had the confidence. Many friends and band members participated in TYPHOID, our first band inspired by Spinal Tap--blending improv with music. We actually got pretty good and played around our suburban surroundings, then into Minneapolis, once we went off to college. I eventually moved to drums, in order to calm down the burgeoning confidence of the singing bass player; and not long after that, TYPHOID ended and new roads were to begin.
Jams with TYPHOID alumni melded with jams with college colleagues and soon enough, The Baked Potatoes (no need to explain) was born in River Falls, Wisconsin; with Nate and Jeff, from the olden days, and Kari from the contemporary college times. A demo was recorded on a boom box. New band nights and crappy bars were played. A better demo, a name change to 900 lbs (Nate thought of it based on a Bukowski shorty), road gigs, new friends, graduation, moves to the city, brushes with notoriety, another demo, road trips and finally, it ended in 1995 with me being fired after a New Year’s eve gig from hell.
As for me, I always saw myself as the glue guy. I was good at arrangements and booking—being organized. Everyone else did a great job with their own musical responsibilities, but I could see shapes in the song structures. I loved the Kinks, CCR, the Minutemen, and everything that displayed well or messed a little bit with classic rock song structure.
Anyway, it ended. We all grew up, moved on and stayed friends. Most of us went on to other bands, other jams. Life kept going and going and going. Marriages, divorce, no kids weirdly…jobs. I moved to NYC and then Berlin, the virus happened and everything changed again. We were all tucked away into our lives, as they were, in Minnesota, for the others and Berlin/NYC for me.
A guy named Dario in Pennsylvania was searching for a link to 900 lbs. His mix tape had worn out and he no longer had access to tunes like “Juicy Lucy,” “OINK!” and “Cigarette Machine.” He was wondering if I knew anything about 900 lbs or its seemingly lost music. For there was no mention of this group anywhere online.
Then, in October 2022, an interesting email came through LinkedIn. A guy named Dario in Pennsylvania was searching for a link to 900 lbs. His mix tape had worn out and he no longer had access to tunes like “Juicy Lucy,” “OINK!” and “Cigarette Machine.” He was wondering if I knew anything about 900 lbs or its seemingly lost music. For there was no mention of this group anywhere online.
What a nice surprise! The ghost of the old band was still floating around out there in the ether. In this case, Pennsylvania, where had never played or even considered visiting, back in the day. Within about 3 hours, I had gathered the dwindling digital files and loaded the 19 best tracks onto Bandcamp under the banner “900 lbs: 19 Greatest Hits!” I made a couple of little internet ads, and announced the “release” in a few social media sites. The ghost of 900 lbs walked the digital realms!
It turns out that the band was actually really good. Though it was intimidating to a lot of people, I think. It’s loud, very fast and powerful, and though we were well respected by other musicians, attention eluded us. And our combustible music was a reflection of the combustible nature of our (especially the three guys’) long-term and not always pleasant friendship/rivalries. No one was especially sad when it ended. But now, weirdly, it was back. 30+ years later and sounding like an explosion through time.
So, after a millennial’s lifetime, those who wanted to could finally catch up with those old demos. And many did! Only two weeks ago the local alternative radio station in Minneapolis contacted me, asking for a file of the tune “OINK!” That song is an anti-police number, penned by Nate, about an awful and random harassment he experienced back in our long-hair grunge days when things like marijuana were more than just illegal. You could go to jail for having that stuff. Cops were everywhere chasing anyone who possibly might even ever have known anyone who touched it. But we also all knew what was going on, in general, with the police in the Twin Cities, since before we were born. Also, when it came to the overall music scene, race sort of faded out of view as similar musical aspirations were shared by all. There were a few common enemies and an officer hungry for a bust or some trouble was definitely one of them. If you seemed vulnerable, they may pounce.
When Diane, the DJ at the Current, requested the “OINK!” file, I didn’t mention what Kari and I had talked about already, just how timeless the sentiment felt. All these years later, the song resonated more than it had when it was released to its limited audience of interested kids. I waited patiently for the song to be played. I waited over 30 years. And when it finally came bursting through the speakers, sounding huge, though tinny and tiny via the cheap recording technique, I had to smile. How many lives ago was this? Listening to Nate howling away, I could practically smell the 7th St Entry toilet and the overall reek of Popcorn Tavern. I could see the floor bending under the rocking crowd at O-Cayz Corral. The music, the interest, the memories empowered the ghost of our 900 lbs to stand back up and live once more.
Napoli Photo Diary: Images of an Ancient, Evolving City
Text and Images by Bob Vitali
Berlin
This is a collection of photos that I took during my first and yet so far only visit to Naples back in Easter 2019, therefore information regarding places and exact locations might be a bit off track. Memory goes on its own while watching back at these photos, a stream of consciousness starts just by looking at the first scene that I captured with my daily 35mm camera and from there I can gather back all the feelings, smells and scenes that moved something inside me.
Before the trip I have just been finished reading a book by Pier Paolo Pasolini, “La Lunga Strada di Sabbia”. In summer 1959 Pier Paolo Pasolini, travelled along the Italian coastline driving a Fiat Millecento, to carry out “The Long Road of Sand”: a wide report commissioned by the magazine Successo on Italy between tradition and transformation, middle-class holidays and remains of a difficult post-war period.
In the chapter in which he describes Napoli I was caught up by emotions of every kind and for this trip I had in mind to capture as much as possible my own view of the city of Napoli and its people. Once I stepped out of the train at Napoli Centrale I was already surrounded by scenes and people that immediately caught my attention.
An antique shop and its owner
Art installation on a church in Rione Sanità
A cook removing leaves from a plant outside his restaurant in Quartieri Spagnoli
People digging through second-hand books on Spaccanapoli
A couple and a dog resting on the stairs of an abandoned church in Rione Sanità
A glimpse onto someone’s terrace on the way to Castel Sant’Elmo
In Napoli I tried to go everywhere, to listen to any recommendation and try every typical food, rushing from one place to the next. At night I was exhausted but thirsty for life and emotions. After a few days in Napoli, it was time for Rome. At the station it was a warm sunny day and I wish I could spend more time in that magical city to capture more of its soul. Writing this short photo diary made me nostalgic about that trip and I can’t wait to be back again to document more of its beauty.
Ongoing Artist’s Visual Report from Kiev
by #headacheeartlaboratory
Kiev
Warning: Some images are pretty graphic.
Meanwhile…Just South of Albany, NY…
As the leaves turn and we slip into mid-term elections in the USA, another holiday season and what promises to be a stressful winter beyond, we want to wish you peace, safety, friendship and health. Please check in with your people and keep creating and communicating. If there is one thing that everyone can agree on, it is that the media (and other things) you choose to consume has an overwhelming impact on your point of view and your overall well-being. Full immersion in anything with its own set agenda is a risky proposition. Stay calm, stay loose, stay connected and keep your temper. There’s a lot of stress ahead.
Take a deep breath and do the best you can.
Looking forward to catching up and checking in next month.