‘Practice’ is the daily ‘work’ (verb) of art. It represents the sum of all moves—practical, conceptual, affective, cognitive, philosophical, analytical, and aesthetic—that occupy or de-occupy the state of our triangulation at any given moment. Contingent by nature, this practice shifts shape, surprising itself as much as it surprises others. Like a mycelial inhabitation—indeterminate and unbounded—it keeps expanding.
.MOV.ESSAYS | .MP4.PLUS | DEVICES | GATHERINGS | INTERFERENCES | INTERRUPTIONS | LEXICA | LOOPS | UNLEDGERED
Upright board with an inscribed ‘Infra-Vocabulary’ of a selection from Raqs Media Collective’s synonyms for capital, taken from their work – ‘A Dying Man Sings of That which Felled Him’ (installation with video and inscriptions, 2006) which was subsequently published in their book, ‘Seepage’ (Sternberg Press, 2009)
Betaal / बे-ताल / Arrhythmic instigates an encounter with simulations of arrhythimic presences in an infrastructure-inflected landscape. The landscape of loops, knots, ties, ellipses, holes made of steel wires and metal bar creates a crisscross configuration suspended in space.
Time Travel is not a typical board game, although it looks quite ordinary: it consists of a board, instructions, and alphabet squares.
soDA magazine 19, Zurich (2002); Casebook (2014, AGYU Canada), Raqs presented the concept of “Event-shaped Hole” which translated into the essay The Event-shaped Hole and the Photographic Image in The Nordic Journal of Aesthetics, 2021 Casebook (2014, AGYU Canada) A photograph is an image of an event-shaped-hole, and as witnesses to such perforations we could […]
‘Laughter of Tears’ draws us into a field of affect that pulses between joy and grief, celebration and dissent. The exhibition brings attention to moments of transmission, those flickers of connection that occur when people laugh, weep, or encounter wonder together.
As the earth turns to spin slightly faster than before in 2021, and as the heavens break ranks, involuntary memories return to the beckoning of the lime-tar-fish-jasmine-gasoline-brine smell of a new time. This smell of a new time needs new words – and an old hand – to write it all down.
The ghost is here again to be neither witness, nor agent, not even provocateur, to be perhaps just a haunting laugh through time.
Every wilful misstep, every greedy grab, is an intimate intimidation to our own longer future.
Tears are not only for weeping, they lubricate the possibility of vision. Sometimes we see things better when we cry, cry out aloud, or laugh, till the tears come unbidden.
As time refracts, its shatter illuminates differing strands. A comic’s contempt, her whisper of laughter, threatens the consensus.
The only actually shared sensation is the present continuous tense. It reconstitutes, everyday, the coarse fabric of being human, rearranging the atoms of collective experience.
If the big, open sky is a canopy for the tumult of birds and angels, then under which roof does the flight of the ferment of our times soar?
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