_ ____ ____ ___ __________ ...

Meandering slowly through the cluttering with eyes wide open and an observant mind, I tread carefully to make sure I don't damage some fatally important finer detail. The triviality of some things amaze, while the sheer carefreeness of a few others frighten. I see paths leading off , off to no particular destination, in no specific terms of creation and the purpose of them all, defeats me. Even as I hope the one direction I am in holds good, a bigger way takes over in a new sense, a new sense of direction. A maze like none others.

Obstruse obstacles and blasphemous booby traps become common sight. The fights through the barricades and the frustrations of a few dead ends too, become routine.You start thinking of yourself,at most times, in the second or third person.I do.Sometimes you don't. Sometimes you know you are close to something of significance, but the mere complexity makes sure that's the closest you'll get to it. Sometimes you'd wish you had a nuclear bomb to blow it all up. And yet, at other times, it'll all seem so lovely that you'll wish it remain exactly as it always has been. Clouds make you conveniently not-see a few mountain tops, around which there never would be a way. But again, a few earthquakes might, for all you know make sure you'll never see the mountain at all. Confusion over your journey, but you never stop. Frankly, my dear, you can't.

You'll be aghast to see specific sights on the journey, while a sense of sweet deja vu, too, is possible. You'll see your own creations, and fight with them to survive. Maybe, a few will be on your side too, but you don't really know. Atleast not until the battle is over. But then again, when does it get over? Do you get to know? How do you get to know?Is there some way to know? Any way to know? Do you find the answers written on the wall or would you rather take it from the mirrors?

The mirrors. Oh, the mirrors would try all they can. To make you more confused. If that is possible in the first place, that is. Confusion through deception. Or other ways. You'll get more confused by thinking you aren't. Each of them telling you a story. The same, sometimes. Different each, at others. Of how it used to, how it is and how it will be. Of how it could be, how it should be, and how it would be. And how it is, again. And what you will do about it. What do you do? Do you do anything at all? Say something? But isn't silence supposed to be golden? Do I walk away? Which way, then? Left,right or into the sunset? The choice will be yours, but only if you are brave enough to make it. Keep making them. There is no gaurantee, really, that your first one would be correct, after all.

And so you make them. Sometime or the other, you have to;the path will make sure of it. All your choices seem to be a result of chance. You felt one to be better, left the others, realized a few roads down that it wasn't, tried to turn back, were successful;weren't, tried again, gave up, took a new turn all over again and continued on.On and on and on.

There is no signboard saying "The End", with classical music composed by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart playing in the background, but you know. It is. The End. You turn back and you can see all your journey.The paths you took and the paths you didn't. You try to ask the question, "Why them?". Even before you finish the question you know. There is no answer. That's who you are. Retrospection comes into play. You may even become smug, you never know.A self-professedly scientific chap, you, are even reminded of the butterfly effect. One small right turn down a seemingly harmless gully somewhere and I would have ended up a few light years away.

And this little walk down the conscience might have got dumped into the bay.

Into The Wild - full throttle cult

Christopher McCandless : "I'm going to paraphrase Thoreau here... rather than love, than money, than faith, than fame, than fairness... give me truth."

Awesome Movie. Nothing but the truth.

Go watch it.

Freedom

There is freedom in having nothing. There is also freedom in losing everything.

Close to my heart - Madras

Read something which I've been feeling a lot.Felt couldn't put it better myself, so here it is,

GIVE MADRAS BACK TO US

"We don�t want any of those integrated townships. We don�t need no DLF. Nor a Mantri. Nor a Hiranandani. One thing that all these new age builders coming into the city has done is made this beautiful city of Madras completely unlivable. Land prices have shot up the roof. Rs. 4500 per sq. ft. in Siruseri. Rs. 10,000 per sq. ft in T Nagar. Come of it. This is Madras and the beauty of the city lied in its quaint colonies and the mada streets. Where are those now. Today when I drive past CIT colony in Mylapore it is difficult to see a single independent house. Only apartments. It is really sad. Look at SS Vasan�s House on Radhakrishnan Salai. It is a piece of disaster today. An ugly looking building which calls itself Acropolis. To people living in the city like me since birth we are quite happy to be wear the conservative hat. Of being a city with enduring values and new age thinking. Of being a city with a higher state of mind. I clearly see Madras going the Bangalore route and it is time to wake up."

I found it on Metblogs, a very interesting site.

India After Gandhi - Axes Of Conflict

In his book, India After Gandhi , Ramachandra Guha broadly speaks about four axes of conflicts which are pre-eminent in India.
He further says,his book is nothing but "a story,above all, of social conflicts, of how these arise, how they are expressed, and how their resolution is sought." .

First up, there is the issue of caste - whom we fight,whom we fight against,whom we vote for and a whole array of other decisions are often taken based on caste in our society. Caste conflates into two Indian words: jati, the endogamous group one is born into, and varna, the place that group occupies in the system of social stratification mandated by Hindu scripture. There are four original varnas, with the former 'Untouchables' constituting the fifth and the lowest strata. Into these varnas fit the 3,000 and more jatis, each challenging those in the same region,that are ranked above it, and being in turn challenged by those below.

Second comes language. The Constitution of India recognizes twenty-two languages as 'official'. The most important of these is Hindi, which in one form or another is spoken by upwards of 400 million people.Naturally, national unity and linguistic diversity have not always been seen to be compatible. Indians speaking one tongue have often fought with Indians who speak another and the practice continues to exist.

Then there is religion. Though the vast majority is Hindus, India also has the second largest population of Muslims in the world(about 140 million; only Indonesia has more). Substantial communities of Christians, Sikhs, Buddhists, and Jains exist too and it should hardly be a surprise that Indians of one religion have many a times quarreled with Indians worshipping another God.

The fourth and final major axis of conflict is class. India is a land of massive economic polarization.While a sizable number of the world's billionaires are Indians, fully 26 per cent of our population, about 300 million individuals, are said to live below the official poverty line. While the disparity is in the form of landholding in the countryside, huge gaps between incomes is a common sight in the cities.And of course, these asymmetries have fuelled many a movement of opposition.


P.S. A minor axis of conflict to be noted, I feel, is sex. With growing protests on gender equality and any expression of male domination coming under national scrutiny, sex might turn out to become the fifth major axis of conflict someday.

India After Gandhi

The most interesting,intriguing,inspiring,exasperating,shocking,stunning,-and a whole lot of other adjectives-,diverse,difficult country.
The one and only India .

Everyone says they've read about the history of India,in the process completely forgetting that an India came into existence only on 15th August 1947. What they do know is about the pre-independence struggles over-glorified in our pathetic history text-books, peppered with a hundred and one misconceptions and more.For all practical purposes (and a few not so practical) , history has become synonymous with one date : 15th August 1947. History ended for most people on this day with a few exceptions, the Gandhian fanatics , for whom the date was extended to Jan 30, 1948 .

To know about the history of Independent India (India after Gandhi??) , read India after Gandhi by Ramachandra Guha .

200 pages into the book , and after many a revelation came to light, I felt it would be a good exercise to jot down some stuff here,and sincerely hope I manage to do so without falling into the pitfalls of procrastination.

I shall speak on specific topics later on, while this post shall serve as a general one.This series of posts will contain quotes, taken from Guha's epic work .

Ever since I started reading this book, one constant feeling which has been growing in my mind is awe. Of two different subjects- the author , who must have gone through tons of reading material , literally speaking ; and of the fact that 60 odd years after Independence , India is still existing as a single entity.

Alongside, an exponentially growing fear also came into existence - how long is it going to be before India breaks up due to internal strife ???

"There was no Indian nation or country in the past;nor would there be one in the future"

"Unlike France,or Germany or Italy, there was here no national essence,no glue to bind the people and take them purposively forward."

I look around myself-

• the mumbai-marathi problem
• the hindu-muslim problem
• the sikh nation (khalistan) problem
• the communist problems
• the anti-hindi and likewise , anti-regional languages problem
  
• northie vs southie issue
• naxalites and internal terrorism
  
• blah blah blah ....
  

"The heart hoped that India would survive,but the head worried that it wouldn't."

Christian Marclay

Credited as one of the champions of "turntablism", outside of hip hop, Christian Marclay continues to provide much more than listening pleasure. Thanks Marc.

Tony Feher at PaceWildenstein

My first review of an artist published in NYArts Magazine. I enjoyed the experience. Thanks to all those who offered their help.

Somewhere along the east wall of PaceWildenstein�s 57th Street Gallery tin foil lies on the floor, rolled up in a small ball. With a step or two, you find a grid of eight columns and eight rows of diagonally cut pieces of silver painted wood arranged in no apparent order on the ground. If you look back up, in any direction, you see a few mundane objects strung from the ceiling. They hang; some are literally composed of hangers. This is what Tony Feher presents as his first solo exhibition at PaceWildenstein. Concurrently, an exhibition of his earlier work runs at D'Amelio Terras Gallery and the Public Art Fund project in Brooklyn at the MetroTech Center.

It is revealing that Tony Feher admires such a proto-conceptual heavyweight as Marcel Duchamp: he understands the power of the readymade and goes beyond it. He picks simple objects like connected black plastic bags that he hangs from the ceiling (ever so slightly spinning counterclockwise-clockwise-counterclockwise-clockwise). The ingenuity of his selections is quite amazing. In one case, he crushes Budweiser cans, places marbles on top of them, surrounds the cans with nickels and dimes, and then arranges all of these elements in a circle. In its vicinity, he tears off white masking tape placing several of the adhesive strips against the gallery wall forming another circle. Simple in its neutrality, this formal device is one he frequently references. In fact, he does exactly the same thing on the opposite side of the exhibition space, only this time the circle is formed of several pieces of torn blue tape stuck to a window.

With a nod to minimalism and conceptual art, his simple compositions feel detached, and rightly so. He does this by transforming the selection of the readymade and its possible arrangements. He utilizes repetition and transparency, both of which have important roles to play in his work. They allow a certain vocabulary to emerge from within his formal and conceptual choices. He arranges objects like glass marbles, glass jars, plastic bottles, plastic berry baskets, metal screw lids, and even food coloring. These arrangements recur, but they are also oblique to our understanding of how certain objects like bottles, for instance, can be arranged.

There is much to Tony Feher's work. He is a couth artist that cannot easily be classified. His work is both creative and personal: he lives with these objects for some time before he displays them. The result is a beautifully installed exhibition replete with subtlety. If a second look isn't granted, it will be hard to notice the small moments, such as the small tin foil ball, resting simply against a wall.

Void

What if
The weather's never been better
breakfast wasn't ever tastier
every single thing
going just the way
you want it to

time's at your command
problems a thing of the past
misery merely a myth
and on your face ,
the smile a perennial sign .

You are so happy
so , so happy
that you feel like
you're gonna go bust.

And what if
all this pleasure
were sucked inside out
leaving
an unfathomable void ...

even that ,
wouldn't come close
to losing a dear friend.

An Ode

Sitting in my seat , long before
the professor arrives to spread his wisdom.
For once , in all of four months
I ain't dying with boredom .

I can't wait to take down notes.
My pen races across the paper
without missing a single word .
And for once , I ain't
looking at my watch every five minutes .

Because I know that
when the bell eventually rings
The professor , the lecture hall,
the subject , and it's mystery
will all be history ,
that I won't care about .

The last lecture of the semester
Is truly a great experience to remember .

This Weather Bleddy Well deserves a post !!!

What's common to

• A tornado at a speed greater than 100km/hour and
  
  
  
• A blizzard , like the ones they got up at the north pole , harassing all those poor eskimos ?

If you said they are two extreme weather conditions , you would only be partially right .The more specific answer would be - these are the only two weather conditions Kanpur hasn't seen in the past two years .

Yeah , I know , it's a great opening for a blog post , but the credit ain't mine . It's been blatantly copied from this amazing review of Dasavatharam . Thanks , Mr.Jalsa-and-Jilpa .

Anyways,back to our topic - the weather .
A month and a half back , we had a sandstorm here in Kanpur . I saw people praying like it was the end of the world and yet others close their mouths only when they realized it was full of mud.At two o' clock in the afternoon , it become night here . An everlasting one for few - a coupla dozen poor souls lost their lives on that day .
It was C-R-A-Z-Y .

One month back , it was scorching hot and it was highly humid as well . For one week , it was like hell incarnate.Everything was hot .My notebooks , my shoes , my laptop , my bedsheet even . Sweating like crazy in prickling hot sunlight .
Whoever invented prickly heat powder is God . Really .
And then , it rained . And rained. And rained .

After two days of rains , for close to two weeks , we had what was definitively the best weather in Kanpur I've seen . So much it led my friend to go and blog about it .
And then , suddenly one day , I got up early in the morning , at 7 or so and opened the door to find summer staring at me in my face . It was so hot , I couldn't see without squinting my eyes .

For one day .

The next day it rained . A bit . But not much .

The next day was H-U-M-I-D . I had sweat written all over me .
But thankfully , it was not too hot .

And then , it was bleddy dry for two , the past two days . And it was that way till today afternoon . When it started raining . I look down from my room now and it's pretty much impossible to find a square metre of visible ground . Forget dry ground , that ain't here . It's been raining for 7 hrs on a trot , and heavily at that and shows no signs of slowing down .
.
.
.
.
Tomorrow , it is expected to snow here.Not a blizzard,most probably, but they say it's a possibility .
Well , just kidding , but I wouldn't be surprised if it did .

Dost , Nanban , snehithudu , Friend - College .

Sigma mnu into alpha delta will give the percentage of the faulty pieces in the output.
Sigma mnu into alpha delta.
Sigma mnu into alpha delta .


I was nervous and I had reason to be . In five minutes time , I had to give my presentation, and my head was swimming with greek alphabets I had no interest in. It doesn't really matter here . Your interest . What matters is the grade you get. Copy karo , bheek mango , fraud maaro , bas accha grade la do bas . Kaam Katham .

I was trembling as I took the mike and spoke first about the basics of the course and then this new innovative assembly line idea I had come up with. I had taken huge pains to learn all the coursework and had come up with something new that I thought would work out well .
But as I spoke with shivering notes in my hand and a trembling voice , I realized my thoughts had no relevance to the grading .My ideas fell upon deaf ears and my interests had no takers . I was a misfit here.

Frustrated I was. Anger swelled up in me as I returned to my hostel .
That fucken professor should be dismissed .
Chalo yaar , chai piyo , mast jiyo . Kai ke liye itna tension le rao ?? Chill mar bhai !!
As always ,Dhiresh was there to make life easier . And a few others .

Kya ? Fukka kaa liya ? Tik hai yaar ... agle baar dekh lete hain . Kya dikkhat hai ? ...

Chod diya ? Tumko chod diya ? Arey baap re ... Pagal hogi wo ladki . Tu chinta mat kar , usse sau guna zyaada mast bandi milegi tumko . Tumhari to kismat hi waisa hai ...


Rest le . Tu rest le pehle . Padai wadai sab bandh . Doctor ne rest lene bola hai aur wo hi karega tu . Chup Chaap juice piyo aur so jau . Chicken pox hai bhai , koi mazaak nahi ho rai idhar .

Cricket team mein select nahin hua , to kya ? Aur koi sport hi nahin hai kya ? cricket ke alava koi jeevan hi nahi hai kya ? Lite le lo yaar . . . Ek kaam kar , tu mere saath guitar seekhne aa jao , ek hi saal mein naya band form kar lete hain ...

Akele chal rahe ho ?Bahut door hai yaar service center . Bore ho jaoge . Ruk , mein bi aata hoon .

College mein dosti hoti hai .
Dosti mein masti hoti hai .
Aur padai bi usi mein hoti hai .

College main dosti bindaaz
to baaki sab bakwaas

Well , almost .
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

College has , is , and will always be about the friends and their friendships . It's them who shape your personality , views and character . IITK is no exception . The technical demographics , the grades , cpi , spi , resumes , project reports , assignments , etc . will remain as pure details and nothing more .

The above post is part fiction and part non-fiction . The line between the two , is also , merely a part of the details .

I tribute this post to Dhiresh,Pratik,Pranay,Adarsh,Vinay,Sai and Sukrit . These guys have made my life at IITK memorable . Thank you chaps .

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

It was a sad thing to do
loved her more than his own self
but it had to be done
for it was the right thing to do

he had sacrificed a lot
for the few moments spent with her
memories of a lifetime
and grief for many more
but he still had to do it

it sure was not the happiest thing to do
but it was the right thing to do

it was a tough job
before , during and after
her blood would make his skin crawl
suck his soul right out of him
but it had to be done

though it was not the easiest thing to do
it definitely was the right thing to do

many souls , one plight
betrayal of love and trust
the worst crime of all
unknown brothers would thank him
while he would sink into sadness
but he still had to do it

it was not the most practical thing to do
but it was the right thing to do

one single thought kept nagging his mind
many a men she slept with
making each think he was the one
what if , I really was THE one ?
or was this how she had lived on ?
making everyone think they were ...

No more second thoughts
He would do it
for it was the right thing to do
and it had to be done .

-----------------------------------------------------

He shot me down
Bang Bang
I hit the ground
Bang Bang
that awful sound
Bang Bang
My baby shot me down
Bang Bang

On Kawara

Gabriel Orozco

Dark Wave
2006
Calcium carbonate and resin with graphite
119 11/16 x 154 5/16 x 541 5/16 in. (304 x 392 x 1375 cm)

Barry Le Va

Barry Le Va, Bunker Coagulation (Pushed from the Right), 1995/2005. Installation view, Institute of Contemporary Art, Philadelphia, 2005.

Mel Bochner

Portrait of Eva Hesse, 1966

Lili Dujourie

Sonate: 63 x 79 x 37 cm, 2007

Douglas Huebler

Variable Piece #70 (in process) Global, Crocodile Tears "Woody Wright", 1981
photostat xerox paper collage, text, oil on canvas
paper: 19 7/8" x 32 1/4"
framed: 21" x 33

Swivelling Layers of Condescension

I was born into this world hale and hearty
It was decided early on I was a smarty
And was written off to write the J E E
though elsewhere lay the interests of yours truly

With heart set to break tradition
I went into film and action
a hundred people had a hundred things to say
and made my family's view on me sway

this field became unworthy of my family's attention
they had to take care of their lofty reputation
My family withheld it's supple support and
I was left to find my own life transport

A few hardships for me and pity in my family stirred
All I had to do was shake my head and nod
I could become half my family business' head
and Prove to the world I was still of sterling breed

I did indeed , after a lengthy monologue , shake my head
A strong no it was and doors were forever shut
I was left alone , amidst confused love and tension
sinking , in the swivelling layers of condescension



The title and inspiration was a podcast I heard , by Suresh ......tamilians , do check out his podcasts...they are amazing .

P.S. This poem is not some self-reflecting poem or anything . I chose to write the JEE of my own stupidity .

Hans Haacke: Condensation cube 1963�65

Lynn Hershman Leeson

Found Objects
April 26 - May 31, 2008
bitforms gallery nyc
Opening April 25th

Lynn Hershman Leeson returns to bitforms gallery in NY with the first showing of a new series, Found Objects, April 26 - May 31.

Including the premiere of the sex doll installation, "Olympia: Fictive Projections and the Myth of the Real Woman," a provocative and updated version of Edouard Manet's notorious painting, "Olympia".

February 2008, New York, NY - San Francisco-based artist and filmmaker Lynn Hershman Leeson returns to bitforms gallery in New York for a new solo exhibition, Found Objects, running April 26-May 31. With a body of work that spans over 35 years and ranges from early conceptual and performance pieces to artificial intelligence robotic works and films, Hershman Leeson is one of the most influential artists working in new media today. Updating the notion of "readymade" introduced by Marcel Duchamp, Found Objects is a new series that features assembly-line produced female sex dolls to examine issues of projected fantasies and the mythology of artificial women. With the installation, "Olympia: Fictive Projections and the Myth of the Real Woman," Hershman Leeson restages Edouard Manet's "Olympia," projecting images of the painting on a doll to offer a provocative, updated version of the notorious artwork. Also on display are several digital prints in which the dolls appear to be emotionally involved in their predestined situations.

In 1865, Edouard Manet's painting, "Olympia," shocked the art world by depicting a naked woman who, it turned out, was a prostitute. She lay down, unabashed about what she wanted, looking at the viewer, part invitation, part dare. Incorporating the scandalous history associated with Manet's painting, "Olympia: Fictive Projections and the Myth of the Real Woman" exposes both the cultural practice of representing women as object (lost or found), and an art historical predilection to create objects of displaced desires. Hershman carefully selected the doll's various body parts so that it would closely resemble Manet's painting - a process that took 7 months. The installation consists of the sex doll reclining on a longue chaise, exactly as in "Olympia," while images of the painting are continuously projected on her body. The use of a traditional slide projector displaces and updates Manet's "Olympia," thereby creating today's readymade in a Real Doll version.

The Found Objects series continues the investigation of artificial women Hershman Leeson began with the "Roberta Breitmore" project in the 70's. As for her preceding fictitious and virtual personas - which included dolls such as "CybeRoberta" (1970-1998) and "Tillie" (1995-98) - Olympia's true reality surfaces through her artifices. The exhibition will also feature a series of original digital prints that explore the elements of fear and horror, contained in Olympia and brought forth through the photographic medium. These include "No Body," "Warning," and "Olympia Rising," among others.

In conjunction with bitforms gallery's solo exhibition, 17 pieces from Hershman's Roberta Breitmore series will be on display at PS1 Contemporary Art Center (NY) as part of WACK! Art and the Feminist Revolution - the first comprehensive, historical exhibition to examine the international foundations and legacy of feminist art (February 17-May 12, 2008). Her exhibition No Body Special is currently on view at the de Young Museum, San Francisco.

About Lynn Hershman Leeson
Over the last three decades, artist and filmmaker Lynn Hershman Leeson (b. 1941) has been internationally acclaimed for her pioneering use of new technologies and her investigations of issues that are now recognized as key to the working of our society: identity in a time of consumerism, privacy in a era of surveillance, interfacing of humans and machines, and the relationship between real and virtual worlds.


(Thanks Sarah for the email)

CITATIONS, Yinka Shonibare, MBE: Prospero's Monsters at James Cohan Gallery

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands:
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.

Epilogue of THE TEMPEST

Haim Steinbach

One Minute Managers V.2 1990
2 plastic laminated wooden shelfs, aluminum alloy stock pots, leather medicine balls
72.5 x 445 x 355 cm
Murderme Ltd, London
� 2006 Haim Steinbach

William Pope L.

The Polis or the Garden or Human Nature
1998-2005
Painted onions on shelf (aged for 2 months), mirror,
custom shelf dimensions variable

Tom Wolfe: On Conceptual Art

"�there, at last, it was! No more realism, no more representation objects, no more lines, colors, forms, and contours, no more pigments, no more brushstrokes. � Art made its final flight, climbed higher and higher in an ever-decreasing tighter-turning spiral until�it disappeared up its own fundamental aperture�and came out the other side as Art Theory!�Art Theory pure and simple, words on a page, literature undefiled by vision�late twentieth-century Modern Art was about to fulfill its destiny, which was: to become nothing less than Literature pure and simple"


Bergesen, Albert (January 1979). "The Painted Word".
American Journal of Sociology 88: 1021�24. In Shomette 1992.

Francis Al�s: �When Faith Moves Mountains� (2002)

Scooping up sand, five hundred laborers worked alongside each other in the parched dunes adjacent to Lima, Peru. Their effort moved the sand dune 4 inches. The documentation of the performance exists in video, photography and written documentation.

John Armleder

� John Armleder
Galerie Van Gelder
Furniture Sculpture 189, 1988
acrylic on canvas:110 x 270 cm /
silent drum kit: 91 x 86 x 66 cm

JUDD FOUNDATION: MARFA, TEXAS

From it's website:

Marfa, Texas
Located in West Texas approximately 200 miles southeast of El Paso, Marfa is situated near the Chinati mountain range of Presidio County, the second-largest county in Texas.

Judd Foundation holds and maintains artist Donald Judd�s private living and working spaces in Marfa, Texas. Comprised of a total of 15 spaces, these include studios installed with artwork�by Judd and others�living quarters, ranch and architecture offices, and libraries.


Architecture Studio
101 North Highland Avenue
Purchased by Judd in November 1989, this prominent building in downtown Marfa was formerly a bank, which Judd renovated to create an architect�s studio. The building contains early paintings and drawings by Judd that have been installed throughout two stories and more than 15 rooms. An extensive collection of modernist furniture and paintings by prominent 20th- century artists and designers are also featured in the building.


Cobb House & the Whyte Building
104 West Oak Street
The Cobb House and Whyte Building and their gatehouse were renovated by Judd in the early 1990s. The Cobb House is installed with early Judd paintings dating from 1956 to 1958 along with Judd�s collection of early 20th century Swedish furniture. The Whyte Building holds four important paintings from 1960 to 1962 and furniture pieces by Rudolf M. Schindler, which were commissioned by Judd in 1991 specifically for this space.


Architecture Office
102 North Highland Avenue
Across the street from the Bank Building is the Architecture Office, which was purchased by Judd in January 1990. The street level of this two-story structure was renovated for use as an architecture office. The building contains furniture and objects designed by Judd, as well as plans and models of his architectural projects, including the Basel Bahnhof and his former Swiss residence, Eichholteren


La Mansana de Chinati/The Block
400 and 416 West El Paso Avenue
As Judd�s residence and studio in Marfa, The Block is the site of some of his first large architectural projects and installations. It measures one full city block. Donald Judd first used The Block in 1973 when he rented one of the two former army buildings and began installing the property with his art. In 1974, he bought the entirety of The Block, which also includes a rectangular two-story home, formerly offices of the U.S. Army�s Quartermaster Corps. The property is enclosed with adobe walls, which use local construction techniques, as is the interior courtyard, which is landscaped with cactus gardens and Judd furniture. Also on the property are a Judd-designed swimming pool and private garden; two large, permanently installed spaces that house the artist�s studio; and a personal library comprising more than 10,000 volumes.


The Print Building
104 and 108 South Highland Avenue
Donald Judd purchased this large, two-story building, formerly a hotel during the 1930s and �40s, with the intention of creating a print museum. He intended to install the complete collection of his prints, spanning the years from 1951 to 1994 in the thirty rooms on the top floor. The fa�ade of the structure has recently been restored.


Art Studio
124 West Oak Street
In March of 1990, Judd purchased this former Safeway grocery store and converted the facility into an informal studio. The open area contains long worktables and shelving, which display Judd-designed prototypes and samples for fabrication. These materials and installation make it possible to trace the artist�s concept development and work process.

Vanessa Beecroft

�VB 50�, 2002
� Vanessa Beecroft

Plaza de Toros Mexico city: Ol�

Although I would rather see a bullfight in the immense Plaza de Toros, it was still refreshing to experience the energy of 50,000 people doing the wave and chanting Ol�. The event was international motorcross freestyle. While the crowd heckled the American extreme sport athletes (a Swiss won the competition), it wasn't surprising for one American athlete to stick both middle fingers up. As if that wasn't enough, he had to grab his crotch for added effect. The announcer sympathized with him. He said: "it's not your fault, it's Bush."

ICE CANDY

My name is Sanjay Ramaswamy. Though there will be millions of people who would have never heard of me, I am sure there will be thousands of people who know a lot about me and at least a few hundreds who are inspired by me. I was after all, one of the richest men on the face of this planet.

I am a success, in every conventional connotation of the word. It has been that way ever since my very birth. My dad used to tell me how I was one of the healthiest babies the doctor had ever seen. Born into an upper class aristocratic family, I never had to undergo any sort of failure in my childhood. The best schools , the best colleges , branded clothes , custom made footwear and of course , the silver spoon were all part of daily life for me . I did my schooling in a very posh boarding school atop a hill station and my family used to fly down to meet me every month. A truckload of goodies were normal expectations on these visitations. A protected childhood it was .As soon as my schooling was over, I was packed off to Britain for my graduation, and then, the States for my post graduation. I was my dad's lifetime achievement, his showcase trophy and heir to his kingdom, Sanjay Industries Private Limited.

I spent two years learning the ropes, patiently waiting for my chance on the throne, which I knew would come to me. With a business degree from the Sloan school, I was all set to take over the company on my 25th birthday, when my dad signed over everything to me. All 3.2 billion dollars worth of property. For those who are weak on exchange rates, it converts to approximately 12800 crore Indian rupees. Ours was the only company in the Indian top 10 richest companies which was completely privately held. And it was not too far away when it would become the richest in India and break into the world's top 10. India was the perfect setting for me. Cheap labor, gullible people and a corrupt political system. I went from strength to strength and as I foresaw, I soon became a household name in India. I was the employer of close to 900,000 people and contributed graciously to the campaign chests of almost all the political parties. I traveled in custom built limos and pricey private jets. Vacations were spent on private islands, with preposterous yachts to play with. But I was not happy. As with most stories, this one too, involves love .

Akhila. Akhila Yadav. The one and only woman I ever really loved. I've had numerous flings with ravishing females, but most of them were behind my money and the strings attached to it. Akhila was the one who slapped me in front of a thousand people for flirting openly with her. The only one who told me exactly what she thought of me .The one I lost my heart to, and the one I never tried getting it back from . I couldn�t. She was Rakesh Yadav's wife. Married to a dynamic IAS officer meant she could get away with saying most things to most people. Rakesh being the Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister's only son only added to her liberties. But the most people did not include me. I could have destroyed both her and her husband, and her dear father-in-law couldn't have done a thing about it .But even as I was watching into her angelic green eyes, I knew that I would have destroyed myself in the process. That's when I knew nothing would ever be the same again. But I refused to believe it. I couldn't stop myself for a woman, after all. I was Sanjay Ramaswamy, India's richest business man, and still in my thirties. I drove myself harder and harder after that, never leaving sight of Akhila along the way. I knew where she went, what she ate, what she bought, even her perfume labels. But the one fact that she was not mine and never would be served as a bed of thorns on which my life was being spent. For the first time in my life, I prayed to God. Sitting alone in my ridiculously large office praying, I cried.

All the crying and the numerous gods were of no immediate help for my quagmire. Slowly, though, the wheel of time took over and I all but forgot about Akhila. The boardrooms and bank accounts took over, but I was not the same happy go businessman I once was. The company was now worth ten times what it was when I took over. Newspapers flashed my name every day. I became tabloid news; even page 3 stuff .I was linked with n number of pretty damsels. Some affairs were true, but most were non-existent. The relationships were mostly physical and expensive gifts and silent threats made sure none of my private secrets were spilled out. Life moved on. I bought more companies, made more money, got into and out of politics. Every move of mine resulted in success. But I was not happy.

I knew I wouldn't find happiness in the rat-eat-rat world of business and politics. I had to get out. Only, no one cared to show me the exit. I waited patiently, knowing I would find it someday, somehow. And I got ready for it. Exactly four years back, Sanjay Industries went public. The IPO was a historic keynote in Indian business and a blazing success. I sold all my shares but one and stepped out of the organization with around 40 billion dollars. And nothing to do.

I started traveling, going from anywhere to anywhere with no fixed schedules. I started off with jet hopping from one country to another, but none of the infinite luxuries money could buy brought me satisfaction. It was not until I saw a show of Kalari-Payattu in Kerala did it hit me how little I knew about my own country's cultural heritage. So, next came all those exotic places in India. Cottages which came at one lakh rupees a day to local bachelor mansions at thirty rupees a night, ridiculously expensive massage treatments to one rupee shoe shines, exquisite escorts in historic palaces to cheap prostitutes in road side pubs -India sure was an eye-opener, and knowing about my homeland bought me some sort of consolation. But I still was not happy.

She was buying an ice candy for another kid. The kid was wearing only a pair of dirt-streaked shorts and no shirt to protect him from the scathing sun. Rough hair, bare feet, bruises all over the body and a million watt smile on his face, I felt jealous looking at the kid. For the first time in my life, I looked at another human with envy in my heart. My glare moved from the kid to the girl and I realized the kid was actually in a better physical condition than the girl. She couldn't have been older than thirteen or fourteen. Somehow, I knew for a fact that the ice candy stole away all of her pocket money. But she had a grin brighter than the kid's and was happy, while I was not .The traffic signal turned green , and my driver revved the Audi away ,but the scene I saw at the signal near the Dharavi slum in Mumbai etched itself onto my mind . Like an i-pod on repeat mode, I kept rewinding and forwarding it until I got frustrated of my own unhappiness. In this dark hour of utter desolation, the truth of it hit me like a tsunami. And I knew what I had to do to become happy.

That was the birth of Operation India Tomorrow. Forty billion dollars was a lot of money to give away and my precious education came back to help me in using the money properly. I put all my expertise, connections, political clout and the media to aid my efforts at educating the under-privileged kids of my country. In three years since then, we have come a long way. More than a thousand schools, close to a hundred colleges, not to mention the extensive Student Placement Network in place to make sure the kids don't join the unemployed. Being unmarried and no big family to boast of, I put all my self into the project and received back more from it. Seeing each kid smile in my schools made my heart flutter. Their parents bowing to me in respect made me feel real self-importance. We have taken more than a tenth of India's uneducated children away from the list. More than a third of the orphaned babies nowadays find their way into some or the other of my orphanages. I have managed to inspire enough people to join the organization, and spread their love among the less fortunate. I have raised India's hopes of become a truly prosperous country. But more importantly, for once, I am happy.

Throughout my journey of life, with mostly ups on a constant down, I have realized that only one thing matters. Your Happiness. Money, women, power may bring you happiness. But it's very much possible that they may not bring you happiness as well. That small girl buying an ice candy with all her money for another kid turned my life. From darkness to light, from listlessness to sanctity. She didn't realize it, but she was buying education for all her fellow faceless children living under poverty across our country. The world even, if by God's grace we can do it. And I am happy.

Gabriel Orozco

Mis Manos Son Mi Coraz�n, 1991

John Baldessari

House Beautiful

ln her April 1953 issue the editor of House Beautiful came forward with a ringing editorial denouncing the ' Threat to the New America ' . The gist of the editorial was that a sinister group of International Stylists, led by Mies, Gropius, and Corbu, and supported by the Museum of Modem Art, was trying to force Americans to accept an architecture that was barren, grim, impoverished, impractical, uninhabitable, and destructive of individual possessions, as well as of individuals themselves. There was a hint or two that Communists were behind the whole thing. A list of International Style characteristics was published to warn readers of House Beautiful against the 'threat' - much in the same way that the F.B.I. warns the public against the 'ten most wanted' criminals of the day.


Mies van der Rohe, Architecture and Structure

by Peter Blake

Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1964, pp. 85-89.

Hussein Chalayan

Lawrence Weiner

A SQUARE REMOVAL FROM A RUG IN USE

Nr. 054, 1969

Dramatic Subtraction

For those of you who have felt the acute pain of a stiletto, Antonio Berardi's ingenuity in removing its cause while maintaining its height (and some will argue "sexiness") is nothing short of remarkable.
Price tag: �2,400, special order only, by Antonio Berardi

Studio Museum Harlem

From its website:

FLOW

Flow is the 21century exhibition focusing on art by a new generation of international artists from Africa. These artists are uniquely conscious of, and responsive to, recent African history, global economics and the idiosyncratic culture of the new millennium. Presenting approximately seventy-�ve works in all media by approximately twenty emerging international artists under the age of forty, this exhibition will feature models of imaginary architecture, wall sculptures of beads and decorative elements, digital photography, new video, paintings and site specific installations, among other media. The artists, who hail from eleven African nations, reside mainly in Europe and North America and travel to and from Africa regularly. The majority of them have never been included in major U.S. museum exhibitions and are virtually unknown in this country. Modeled after Freestyle, our landmark 2001 exhibition, which was followed in 2005 by Frequency, Flow will illustrate the individuality and complexity of the visual art produced by a dynamic generation of young artists, this time with a global perspective.

(Thanks Gayla for the email)

A Revealing Statement by Marcel Duchamp

"I believe that art is the only form of activity in which man shows himself to be a true individual...Only in art is he capable of going beyond the animal state, because art is an outlet toward regions which are not ruled by space and time."


--Marcel Duchamp, in James Johnson Sweeney,
"Eleven Europeans in America," Museum of Modern Art Bulletin, pp. 19-21

Robert Morris

scatter piece

Home - The Comfort Of Familiarity

The same old creaking sound of the gate greets me and looking down the pathway on which I've done a thousand and one things and more brings an ear-to-ear grin to my face . Seeing my mom stand at the door sends the fatigue of the journey flying . My heart does a little somersault and gives itself a high five as I go in and notice all the minute changes since I've last been here . More importantly , I take comfort from all those familiar unchanged objects , in their same old places , all those tiny nooks and corners , embracing in their intimacy . The same old teddy staring from atop the television . Mr.Laughing Buddha smiling at me from the bookshelf . Lord Venketeshwara keeping an eye on me from the walls of my bedroom . The unkempt garden at the back of the house . My brother , sister , grandpa and last but not the least , Mr.Sols , my pseudo-brother . Even as I unpack my luggage , strong coffee smell wafts into the room , the familiar red nescafe cup in my mom's hands . I settle comfortably into the sofa and spread out The Hindu , M S Subbalakshmi's voice singing the Suprabatham in the background .
Ah , finally , back home again .

Dan Flavin

monument to V. Tatlin

Robert Mangold

acrylic and pencil 'X Within X Orange', 1981
62 x 62 in.
The Phillips Collection (Washington D.C.)

La Sape

This is an oldie; I thought I should post this. Seven years ago, I and a close friend wanted to do a feature on la sape for a publication we worked on together. However, the world trade center tumbled down. A reality check to say the least. So I've decided to post a BBC 4 interview.

Director-producers Cosima Spender and George Amponsah talk about Papa Wemba and the cult of the cloth.

BBC Four: As your documentary shows, the members of La Sape are fiercely devoted to designer clothes. Could you elaborate on the symbolic importance of high fashion for the sapeur?
George: The Sape emerged from the chaos that was the Congo during the reign of Mobutu. It was really one way of coping with a society that had broken down. For a young person growing up at that time, there wasn't much to grasp hold of to help you feel better about yourself. Politics was out, so you found a lot of cargo cult religions in the Congo. The Sape is essentially one of these. The distinctive look of the sapeurs was also a rebellion against one of Mobutu's dictatorial decrees, which was that everyone was expected to dress in a very traditional, standard African costume - the abacost.
Cosima: The sapeurs in Paris and Brussels are using these European status symbols not to integrate into European society but to 'be someone' back home in the Congo. This separates them from European fashionistas. They aren't so much concerned with proving anything to the outside world but rather to one another, among their own community. These people have grown up with no kind of social structure to rely on. The Sape is a mini-state providing its own social strata: president, ministers, acolytes and so on.

BBC Four: At what stage in the production did you find out that Papa Wemba, the King or President of Sape, had been arrested for smuggling illegal immigrants into Europe for a profit?
Cosima: We had just got the money and were literally about to start shooting. We were petrified! It was lucky that we had already spent two years establishing a relationship with him because by the time he came out of jail he didn't want journalists around him. We wrote to him in jail and spoke to his manager on a regular basis so he trusted us and knew that we weren't sniffing after a scandal, rather that we wanted to make an in-depth documentary about his art and his position in the community.

BBC Four: It must have given you the opportunity to see first-hand how jail had changed him. The impression is that he grows from preaching the religion of the cloth to Christianity, which obviously alters the direction of the Sape and your film itself.
George: We were really capturing a transitory moment in the story of Papa Wemba and the Sape. We had it fixed in our heads that we were making a film about the cult of cloth, the cult of elegance. As you can see in the film's archive footage, this is a man who had declared clothing and fashion to be a religion. Then suddenly he was coming out preaching God, Christianity and the Bible. We were thinking, he's not supposed to be saying this! It was scripted that he should be saying something else. But that's what happens with documentaries. This is a film about real people and real life and as we know, people are changing constantly.

BBC Four: There's a lot of posturing among the sapeurs in the film.
George: That's part of the ideology of the Sape. It's all about self-aggrandisement, that's the sapeur way. What's interesting about these guys is that on the one hand they're very much about showing off and about being seen - it's the cult of appearance - but on the other hand there's a clandestine element too because there is so much going on that's on the margins of the law and of society. It's a constant dichotomy.
Cosima: That self-aggrandizement enables them to escape and feel good about themselves. It's serious positive thinking, you know? We came back from the shoot without having translated everything that we had filmed and it took us about a month to find the right translator who could understand all of their slang. When we did, there were whole new discoveries. Take Anti-Gigolo, who was always boasting that he was Papa Wemba's closest friend. It wasn't until we came back and translated the meeting between him and Papa Wemba that we realised that no, he was not Papa Wemba's favourite after all. The fact that we didn't speak Congolese might have hindered our access to the underground world but it also enabled us to film things they didn't think we'd be able to understand or wouldn't bother translating. So it protected us in a way.
George: When we showed Papa Wemba the first cut of the film he seemed genuinely taken aback by how far under the skin we had managed to get and by how, in a sense, he had come out a little bit naked. This is not what Papa Wemba or any of the sapeurs are really accustomed to.

BBC Four: Papa Wemba's musical performances in the film are extraordinary.
Cosima: We were lucky he was doing the new record because it revealed so much of the mechanics of how the sapeur world works and how the status of the sapeurs is defined. Those studio sessions became the magnet for all the sapeurs throughout Europe, who came to pay their respects to the king.
George: We really wanted to focus on that dynamic between the king and his court and establish that relationship from each perspective.

BBC Four: Watching the film I was struck by the similarities with the US hip hop scene, specifically the sapeurs' love for designer labels, the names they choose for themselves, the jet set lifestyle to which they aspire and especially the rivalry between sapeurs in Brussels and those in Paris.
George: We started the film with that as a focus point because there's actually a rivalry between Papa Wemba and another Congolese musician with his own group of supporters. We were told that comparisons could be made with the Biggie/Tupac relationship. It's true that there is an element of gang warfare to the Sape but the difference is that there is no bloodshed. It was explained to us by sapeurs themselves that resorting to violence just isn't elegant. If you can't let your clothes do the fighting then you're not even to be considered a sapeur.

(Thanks S. Johnson for the link)

I fell for an organza today!

I feel blithe today. so i'm posting the lyrics to "Already one" by Neil Young.



What can I do, what can I say
Running down this suspicious highway
I can't forget how love let me down
And when we meet it still gets in my way.

But we're already one
Already one
Now only time can come between us
'Cause we're already one
Our little son won't let us forget.

Your laughing eyes, your crazy smile
Every time I look in his face
I can't believe how love lasts a while
And looks like "forever" in the first place.

But we're already one
Already one
Now only time can come between us
'Cause we're already one
Our little son won't let us forget.

In my new life I'm travelin' light
Eyes wide open for the next move
I can't go wrong 'til I get right
But I'm not fallin' back in the same groove.

But we're already one
Already one
Now only time can come between us
'Cause we're already one
Our little son won't let us forget.

There is Still Good News

In sharp contrast to the royal rumble this past weekend, I recently discovered an artist that caught my heart. Here.
(Thanks Jeremy for sharing)

The Museum of Modern Art

Geometry of Motion 1920s/1970s
March 19 - June 23, 2008

Exhibition organized by Klaus Biesenbach, Chief Curator, Department of Media, and Roxana Marcoci, Curator, Department of Photography


The Museum of Modern Art
11 West 53 Street
New York, NY 10019
(212) 708-9400
http://www.moma.org



The Museum of Modern Art presents Geometry of Motion 1920s/1970s, on view in the second-floor Yoshiko and Akio Morita Media Gallery from March 19 through June 23, 2008. The phrase "geometry of motion" in the exhibition's title derives from the literal meaning of the French word cin�matique. Taking cinematic experience as its point of departure, this exhibition uses fourteen historic works to trace the transformation of the art object from static image to fluid light projection within two artistic lineages: the unconventional optical techniques of the 1920s Neue Optik, or "New Vision," generation of artists, among them El Lissitzky, L�szl� Moholy-Nagy, Hans Richter, and Marcel Duchamp; and the situational aesthetics advanced by Robert Irwin, Gordon Matta-Clark, Robert Smithson, and Anthony McCall in the 1970s. All of these artists have explored new perceptual propositions for the geometry of motion, conveying indelible filmic events.

From 1919 to 1923, Lissitzky developed his Prouns, paintings and works on paper of translucent and opaque abstract planes, some of which were intended to be rotated or hung in any direction, and which evolved into fully three-dimensional installations. A few years later, Moholy-Nagy conceived Light Prop for an Electric Stage (Light-Space Modulator), a mobile light mechanism that materialized its creator's goal of "painting with light" into space. Also in the 1920s, Richter translated geometrical shapes into pure cinematic sensation. His pioneering abstract films, exemplified in the exhibition by the four-minute film Filmstudie (1926), codified a visual syntax based on rhythmical patterns of light and motion. Richter's interest in experimental cinema was related to Duchamp's abstract optical tests with rotary discs and afterimages that in 1926 resulted in An�mic Cinema (also on view at MoMA), a film alternating shots of rotating spirals w ith discs inscribed with erotic puns.

During the 1970s, a new generation of artists built on the earlier artistic experiments with light to tap into sensory perception. This is the case with Matta-Clark's anarchitectural projects that carved unexpected, vertiginous apertures of light into abandoned buildings, and with Irwin's light installations that heightened spatial perception. Concurrently, Smithson explored the idea of experiencing art as itinerant and filmic in his monumental Spiral Jetty, orchestrated in 1970 at the Great Salt Lake in Utah. The exhibition includes Smithson's film of the completed sculpture taken from a helicopter, capturing the moment when the sun's reflection hit the water at the exact center of the spiral. Looking directly into the sun is not unlike turning away from the screen in a movie theater to look into the film projector's beam. McCall draws upon this accidental occurrence, fusing the properties of film and sculpture in his slide projection Miniature in Black a nd White (1972), a precursor of his solid light films.

Geometry of Motion 1920s/1970s brings together historic light- and movement-capturing experiments that draw attention to the conditions and complexities of perception, both within the framework of institutional display and in outside surroundings. It also complements the survey exhibition Take your time: Olafur Eliasson (April 20 - June 30, at MoMA and P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center) by offering context to Eliasson's protocinematic experiments with mechanisms of motion, projection, shadow, and reflection.

(Thanks Sarah for the email)

Wolfgang Laib

Milkstone

Week End

La Collectionneuse

Bas Jan Ader

I'm too sad to tell you - 13. September 1970

s/w-Postkarte
Privatsammlung, Amsterdam

Chris Burden

Chris Burden
Still from Shoot
1971

Video with sound. 4 min.
Courtesy of the artist and
Gagosian Gallery, Beverly Hills.

Ionic column

The Greek column impresses me as the greatest problem of form ever resolved by Human genius.
As I approach it, I become aware of one element which embraces all.
Here once and for ever are united all the quests of the spirit and the needs of the heart, the invitation of nature, the laws of numbers and the imagination of art; it is a unique fusion of matter and thought.

Lacretelle, Jacques de
Le Demi-Dieu p. 94. Translated by Hugh Chisholm

Sculptor for a tenure track

We are searching for a sculptor for a tenure track position in the Fine Arts Department of Pace University. Our main campus is located in downtown New York, near City Hall and the Brooklyn Bridge. I would appreciate it if you could post the attached description. The postmarked deadline for applications is April 10, 2008. More information on PACE Fine Arts is available on our website, www.pace.edu. Interested parties can also contactthe department directly at 212-346-1819, or wfraser@pace.edu. Thank you for your help!

Sincerely,


Linda Herritt, Chair
Fine Arts Department
Pace University
41 Park Row 1205B
New York, NY 10038

(Thanks Gayla for the email)

Green

(this was my entry for the green themed contest on IAW on orkut)

The moment I think of the word 'green' , NATURE pops up in my mind . Trees , more specifically leaves . Bright , lively green comes first before I think of the deep,mysterious woods of Enid Blyton novels and the green in my mind goes dull and dark . Then I think of pictures of green seas , where the water appears to be more like some kind of a giant martini of green color . And it is at this exact progression that Karla enters into my thought process . The infinitely mysterious Karla . Each and every person who has read Shantaram will know exactly what I mean . The green eyes , the green skirt , the leaves with that precise shade of green that Linbaba sees in Mauritius ( is it Mauritius only or have I forgotten? ) . I keep thinking about Karla for a long time before I realize I have a post to finish . And then , I think of BRUT , the deodorant . A striking metallic green . Various other objects come into my mind - mountain dew , lord of the rings movies , my guitar case , the od old car I used to see near my school . But I keep coming back to Karla . For this shade of green that is the green that I can't think of in my mind . The one green I would love to see the most but something I know I can't ever .

Hope

If you've seen this very popular tsunami video , the water recedes back quite a bit and then this huge,HUGE wave comes crashing out ,out of the blue . Similarly , there are times in life when you are going through a dark phase but the thought of something better , something you cherish , something so special you can't even describe it properly just makes you swell up with a gigantic wave of happiness . The very thought of it makes you burst out in a hopeless grin . In shawshank redemption , Red says that hope can drive a man insane , but I feel , in reality , hope is what drives the world . Hope , that you are gonna be part of a brighter future , a happier scene , a satisfied moment , at peace with the world with all the faults in it . This single hope pushes back all the other seemingly inconsequential issues into the dark . You start counting the weeks , the days , then you fervently tick off the minutes . Your mind tingles in anticipation . You blush for no reason , you are that happy .
I am .
Come Friday , I'll be leaving for home .

a glance at perfection

Agnes Martin

Loneliness - Rewritten

I live amidst thousands of people on campus . Five thousand odd students . Another 5000+ campus residents . Apart from thousands of others going to and coming from the notorious Nankari region . There are innumerable forums to voice our views , most notably the internet . The counseling service sole purpose of existence is to make sure I don't feel too depressed .
There are 'bhais' and 'wingies' to have discussions on anything I want to . There is a 'baap' to ensure I get properly oriented to this place . So many clubs , so many groups , all to make sure none of my hidden talents go wasted . So many people , so many activities .
Night -long brainstorming sessions followed by relaxing tea breaks at MT , and then to sleep , to big,big dreams , revolutionary ideas , path breaking innovations . So many people , so many ideas , so many discussions , so many activities . So much I've done ; so much I am doing ; so much I've yet got to do .
Stop .
Why in fucken hell then am I feeling so lonely here ?
Long,long pause .
Am I lonely or do I see myself as being lonely ? I definitely am not lonely in a physical sense . But even speaking of the mental plane , am I really lonely ? Or am I just convincing myself that I am lonely ? The latter seems more convincing for the moment . Yes , I am just fooling around with myself . Heck, I am NOT lonely . Atleast do not feel that way right now .
So long till I feel lonely enough to sit down and write such crap as I have just written .
Ha Ha Ha Ha .

IDENTITY

Of whatever I can remember of my short life so far , I've always been defending one culture or the other . Sometimes at the cost of another dear one even . It was telugu films , telugu culture while I was in school . Not a week used to pass without an argument over whether telugu heroes were more ridiculous or tamil heroes were more ridiculous . Once I moved to Hyderabad , it was exactly the same argument , only I was arguing for the tamil heroes this time around . I should have been happy with what I had and realized there was worse to come . Now in Kanpur , i have it upon myself to defend both Tamil and Telugu films apart from the occasional argument for Mallu films as well . Whats more , it's not just films anymore . The boundaries have been pushed back to include language , food , dressing styles , religion , marriage and what not . Each and every facet of our way of living has been argued over , always with two sides at the least ,mostly North and South .
Even as I struggle to break out of these societal bindings , I wonder what IS my culture ? What am I ? Chennai-ite? IITian ? Golti ? Indian ? Or should I restrict myself to a South Indian ? Or am I a global citizen ? Decide on one and arguments pop up for the others .
It's not just me either . Most students here are trying to come up with a fixed identity for themselves . And once they do , they start closing their mind for other suggestions , other options and stand steadfast by their identities , irrespective of whether their identities are justified or not . A self-professed fan of SRK is never gonna(mostly) accept that SRK is no better than Rajni , while a strictly Rajni fan might not be able to come to peace with the fact that Rajni is no longer the amazing performer he once was . You might be wondering...is this all part of one's identity ? Do our fave heroes , our food habits form a part of our identity ? Definitely . People fucken die for Rajni man .
Lets get back to the topic . Identity . Can anyone have a fixed identity which isn't ever gonna change ? Say , you have never tasted coffee but strictly believe you won't like it . One day , your girlfriend forces you to drink some coffee she made and you realize you actually like it . Love it infact . More than your girlfriend even . Does this change your identity?? You bet it does . From a dumb , idiotic,ignorant moron , you become a coffee loving,dumb,idiotic,ignorant moron .
Again, so what constitutes an Identity ? Or can we even say X , Y and Z form part of your identity while A,B and C don't ? Heck, first break out of the narrow confines of your mind and come to terms with the fact that a person can't ever have a fixed Identity . Yes, you do have an identity but it keeps changing . Continuously . Perennially .
So, what am I now ? I am just Pavan Madhini . What you make of me is your problem and not mine . I am happy the way I am - a continually changing , confused, confident , cool chap who is a Chennai-ite at heart . As of now .

Nothing personal. Just business.

From its website: The Apprentice Africa will gather 18 contestants from across Africa and the diaspora who will compete for a lucrative corporate job with befitting perks and an annual salary of $200,000. Read More about the show: The Apprentice Africa

Xu Bing

"The Installation "ABC" is comprised of a series of ceramic cubes reminiscent of oversized children's alphabet blocks, but marked with the artist's own "transliterations" into Chinese of the twenty-six letters of the Roman alphabet. The Chinese character(s) are carved on the upper face of each block in the form of a printer's stamp and the Roman letter represented by the characters is carved on the side. When pronounced, the characters render sounds approximating those of the English letters. For example, the letter "A" is represented by the Chinese character "ai", which means sadness, while "W" is represented
by the three characters "da", "bu", "liu" which mean big, cloth, and six, respectively. While this undertaking appears at first to be a perfectly rational exercise in linguistic communication, what ultimately comes across is an underlying sense of awkwardness and absurdity." Thanks Sarah for the email.

Detached Conceptualism

Erik Wysocan's "Untitled (Frozen Moment)" brings to mind two artists: Marcel Duchamp and Michael Craig-Martin. Both artists, the latter inspired by the former, employed detached conceptualism, minimal construction, and the readymade as techniques to interrogate the experience of art. Michael Craig-Martin's "Oak tree" and Marcel Duchamp's "Air de Paris" taken together seem to be precursors to Wysocan's "Untitled (Frozen Moment)".