LARRYS no 4, SUMMER/FALL 2009 POSITIONS IN FINE ARTS
BOOKS, MUSIC, T-SHIRTS & MORE
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Dear reader, If you are reading this, thank you. My purpose in assembling this exhibition was not to emphasize a curatorial message as such, but rather - quite simply - to put three of my favorite American artists side by side. No tricks, no gimmicks, no bullshit, just sculptures representative of each artist’s practice. I hope you enjoy looking. -Larrys, Berlin, July 17th, 2009
Can’t Rape the Willing May 2 - June 14, 2009
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LARRYS VOL 4
7.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Kayla Guthrie “Signs of Prosperity” 8-11.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Matt Bohan interviewed by M.Malouf 12-15.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . LARRYS talks to Paula, the new intern 17.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Kayla Guthrie “Kayla Guthrie 2004-07” 18-23.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Maxwell Simmer“Plant Sculptures” 24-29.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Asher Penn interviewed in VMAGAZINE.COM 30-31.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Review by Al Mil er 32-35.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Self H8 Book by Nick Ceccaldi 36 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Dena Yago “Golden Shower” 37-41.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Dena Yago, “Return to Spiritual America” 42-43 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Model by Mathieu Malouf 44-47 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . HOT: Larrys Talks to Garrys and Sallys 48-53.. . . . . . . .Asher Penn, “Kate Moss Rohrschach Collages” 54-55 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . LARRYS en Bref 56-65.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Heji Shin, pictures of Helga 66-71 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mathieu Malouf “The Model” 72-74.. . . . . . . . . . . . . Terry Ray Brown, “The Satanic Currency pt.1” 76-77 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ghettoize by Maxwell Simmer 78-80 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . John Mil er interviewed by Dena Yago 82-83 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Larrys in conversation with Fedrik Vaerslev 85.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .List of contributors
IG “S NS
OF PERITY OS ” PR
Kayla Guthrie the clean-cut young lesbian appears to me at first glance as a wealthy, self-actualized pubescent boy. of course he’s able to decide where he wants his tattoos. his phone works flawlessly. his reuseable swiss metal drinking container is a metallic red. the last member of their party takes a seat, setting down a curved tray patterned in an exaggerated black and white wood grain. four magenta cardboard coffee cups. i can’t over-emphasize the relaxed harmony of their presence in these surroundings. i want to say that all those present are straight from aimlessly funky central casting. the man with mildly asian features has black and white hair, pulled into a cropped half bald ponytail. he approaches the counter. the girl in a puffy black jacket with oversize black jewels at her collarbone has gray jeans, metallic accessories, and an icy, faded pink bob. what do i know? maybe this is a secret public that shares an unknown code.
fia backstrom wanders into the cafe, looking around. i gaze at her windbreaker and jeans, taking in the different shades of flax, the swing of flat blonde as she departs. periodically i feel self-conscious, but i’m reassured when i finally realize i’ve seen 3 different people pass by about 3 times each. none of them are doing anything either. they’ve designated this afternoon for nothing in particular too. we are spending time here. i am totally blending in right now, with no fear of getting noticed, or being recognized as extraordinary. i think to myself, i am not an artist. it meant that i no longer had to worry about whatever i used to worry about. things are looking up.
there’s two camera bags within a five-foot radius of where i’m the struggle to do that thing subsides. a disappearing probsitting. what we have here is a multicultural survey of styles of lem leaves behind a temporary cavity. in each hole i notice personal well-being, a privileged setting for semi-interested minds. mini movies playing. little screens showing the moment i got that old idea in the first place. that relentless randomness: a benign mix. i picture these moods going around my circulatory system does it take an actual designer to pull this together, or is it like in leaving faint material traces. a sudden craving for popcorn. a my imagination: a place assembles itself. arranged into a firmly sense of harmlessness. convincing vibe, the vibe that carries the weight around here.
LARRYS talked to MATT BOHAN, a painter living in Berlin who can paint photorealistically and who is responsible, among others, for helping make BIRD SHIT PAINTINGS
Mathieu Malouf : It might be ing on it? too late, the conversation was more interesting before we MB : A few years ago. started recording. MM : Like four years Matt Bohan : When did you ago? start recording? MB : Two years ago. MM : I just started, look it Yeah but it’s pretty much like, yeah it worked out seems to be working. on a reason ????? ?? ??? MB : Ah no maybe it’ll hap- ?? the thing is it’s gotten out of pen again. MM : Why don’t you talk about that portrait of your friend Peach that you’re painting, when did you begin work-
same face with facial hair in the exact same places though. Same hair, same clothes, he’s just a bit smaller. Like bizarro Jonathan Meese, almost the real person. MB : My only memories of, it’s like I remember it’s like meeting him that one time where he just smelling my armpits. MM : JM?
MM : This guy in front of MB : Because Peach was just us looks exactly like Jon- like “Look at this guy” uh, beathan Meese, but he can’t cause I was so fucked up, be older than 18. Exact
MM : yeah. MB : ‘cause it was after like fucking that Dash Snow show and like, and like, he I guess like he gave like all of his drink tickets because he was just drinking wine and like, fucking whatever, like doing coke and shit like that, and like pretty much like so we had all these fucking drink tickets and I was so fucked up out of my mind. And so Peach was like “look at this guy, he smells like, he smells like “ I just have this vague memory like MM : Oh you and Peach were smelling JM MB : No no he was smelling me yeah, like cause he just went out to me and like just smelled my armpits and shit like that.
MM : Did he say anything about them? MB : And that’s why he was talking to Jonathan Meese, he MB : I don’t know because was just like, cause like he, I was fucking ragingly just like he like yeah, cause he drunk like I have no clue cause he hates a lot of people what happened that night. and I know I fell off the roof. Uh,.. MM : Telling him how skilled a painter you were? MM : What roof? What are you talking about? MB : Yeah yeah, or some shit like that. But it was more like, MB : Uh, but like the thing “He’s painting a picture of me was that, it was just like, it where I’m naked”, he would was like what Peach was say to people. saying because he was promoting me at that time. MM : What does it look like now? Does it look finished? MM : Promoting you? MB : Seriously, this is what MB : But like, that like, he worries me about it, is that like, was like talking about me like, I mean, along the top half to all the art people. of the background, the thing is I’ve never fucking, like I’ve MM : Is that how you got never finished like a painting a job painting for Dan Co- unless like it sold or like I like len? have to give it to somebody.
But like the top half, it’s just MM : But you can paint a like, I don’t wanna go like photorealistic picture. even to the bottom half, even to the top half until I feel it’s perfect, and like, I’ll never think it’s perfect. MM : Yeah. MB : Like I brought it into my, like my new room now and like I was looking and it was like oh god there’s so much shit, you know it’s a horrible like, it’s just like redoing everything, I like, it would probably take like two more weeks, to finish that, and then maybe the bottom but then like the bottom I don’t know it’s just like I haven’t really painted a lot and shit, like I’m really not used to fucking painting, like, for the most part, like I’m gonna have to paint trees and shit like that
like photographs on a canvas.
MB : Yeah but the thing is like, I mean that, like a lot of it is made up like, you know, there’s like, there’s like this distortion of whatever the fuck else. But that painting for like, like I took it out of it’s glass and like I’ll have to MB : Yeah but the thing is it’s fucking, like normally like, like that was the thing like, I don’t fucking MM : So it’s already in know like, like I never paint- glass? ed trees before, like I never painted fucking trees I like, MB : Yeah it looks better cause I found like a frame going downwards for it. MM : I thought it didn’t matter, like I thought it all depend- MM : Oh ok. Why don’t ed on wether you could see a you just finish it and give thing and take a picture of it. it to Peach or something? I thought photorealistic painters only needed something to MB : No that one no no, have an objective appearance like he’s pissed off and to be able to make them look he’s like why the fuck did
MM : Yeah maybe that should be in it, in the Peach bar. MB : Because I wanna have that painting like, like in a nice frame and have him like serve people naked. you do that painting and he’s just. There’s just so much hair like it’s more complicated there too, even with composition and shit like that, like I want it to be like really awesome but, it’s gonna take me fucking forever it’ll take me like another year. But the thing is like I don’t know how to paint these trees. Sometimes it’s like, no it’s really fast, like you know how to do it, fucking what’s that guy’s name like, Bob Ross like or,
MM : It would be appropriate. He will probably show his dick to a lot of people if he’s in charge of a bar there. I could see that working. I think we’re leaving. I’m really happy because I want to nap. I would have drank a glass of white wine but I don’t have any money on me and it’s late. But it’s great because instead I’ll get to sleep.
MB : Yeah yeah like I mean he can paint trees like fucking fast as hell, and they look nice, like I’m not used to it you know it’s like I just don’t know, I really don’t paint that much, I mean it’s the first time that I paint and it happens and everything, and I’m painting the mountains right now and it’s kind of a, like it’s taking me longer that it really should, like I think eventually I’ll MB : Is it working? be fucking finished but like I have to fucking finish it MM : Yeah I think it recorded before he opens up his little everything... MM : I think it’s Bob bullshit. Ross.
paper, double sided.. like a poster. wow m: and we were thinking of maybe getting someone else to design it.. ok. nice. m: so, i don’t know how you feel about doing that. it’s an A3 poster, and we were thinking it would be cool to kind of lose control over what it looks like... t: to bring in another design aesthetic or something. A few months ago, a year after founding LARRYS, PAULA contacted us with the hopes of being taken on as an intern. We were excited about finally being successfull and met up with her and her boyfriend in our new office for a HIRING INTERVIEW.
m: something we’re not in control of. but kind of responsible for. i see.. t: and we would sell ads to people, some galleries and maybe magazines or whoever wants to advertise. we’ll just sell cheap ads
s: .. so it doesn’t come out when we dont have content m: for 2 dollars basically.. yeah
t: for 2 dollars or something, but get enough money to make a poster series, about 20 posters or so..
s: and so, if there’s enough stuff that we’re into showing, or there’s enough people that we’re into, then i see, i see we’ll put together a magazine that sort of acts as docut: we’d print them and then someone would design them mentation for a project.. and we would have a party and launch the poster, and that would be our anniversary party i guess.. wow. really nice. m: so we’re thinking of doing this thing called larrys it’s nice. when is the anniversary? one year, which is a celebration, a sort of anniversary t: well, approximately now.. issue.. m: and so it would sort of be the birthday issue..
m: yeah, no one remembers.. i think it might’ve been 420
ok..
oh, you came here together?
m: but it would only be basically, like, one piece of m: no, no, i was here before that, well actually martin’s
been here almost 2 years.. t: yeah i’ve been here almost 2 years s: but larrys has only been around for m: one year. larrys one year. yeah, we basically had this idea that we could ask you if you wanted to do it, and record our conversation and maybe edit it, and that would be in the larrys one year.. oh! ok.. m: but it would be just one of the articles.. if you’re going to design it, it would sort of be about the ideas you have for it, or what you would do if someone asked you to design a poster.. s: or your impressions or ideas on the existence of art.. in general.. t: and of galleries, and internships, and the economy maybe.. i see.. t: just in a general way.. s: but what’s the story with your internship?.. is it a school thing? For credit? yes, yes, i’m studying here for 6 months, and i have to be someplace, and i have to do an internship so that i can stay more here.. for six months. it’s really something i have to do.. m: so what would be your ideal internship? is it for a design class? yeah, i don’t know, i just want to stay in contact with art, you know. t: have you done internships with anyone else before?
all in brazil. t: how did those go? were they good? yeah, they were good. i had to create furniture, and i did, but my name was never on it.. when i did it my boss’ name was on it. yeeeees! s: how did you hear about larrys? internet. yes, google m: what did you type in? kunst, gallery, berlin.. all: really?? really?? m: that’s crazy! s: i put us on google businesses.. m: oh really?.. i’ve never tried to google kunst berlin.. was it on the first page? yes, the first page. and i looked at your website a little, and i thought it was really nice, and i really like the t-shirts. m yeah, but, ok, the thing is, we don’t publish that much.. yes, but you’re just starting it! t: if we had a designer then we would probably publish more. maybe? m: we’d do more posters..
so, are you thinking of something really graphic? or more artistic?.. s: i mean, it’s sort of up to you... graphic and artistic are really good. m: because then if we control it, then what’s the point of getting you to do it? yes, but i don’t know you guys that much.. m: exactly that’s great. but i really like the idea. it’s really nice. but, what’s the idea, like, what’s supposed to be in it? i’m trying to imagine it. s: um, initially we were thinking that the poster would sort of be a retrospective of stuff we’ve done up until now.. and then we’d integrate new content that sort of commented on the past stuff.. there would also be new contributions from people that we’ve previously worked with.. there would be writing on larrys, and where we’re going and what we’ve done, maybe interviews? it would be really mixed.. we’re still figuring it out.. but why ‘larry’, exactly.. m: um, no reason.. actually.. it sounds stupid now but we can’t change it... although it’s encouraging to think that certain names that were always really bad, you forget how terrible they sounded in the first place, when they were just a name and you couldn’t associate them with anything. if it becomes something good, you can tolerate, and even come to like names that are so horrible, really. Like “the beatles”. It sounds so normal to say that now, but it’s probably one of the shittiest for someone to name their band after. but i like being stuck with it. so, how do you sort of see the rest of the conversation going?
s: if you wanted to do the poster project independently that would be really awesome.. m: and of course you’d be credited for it.. and we’d have to not look at it until it’s printed. t: we’ll just organize the the financing.. the money.. and.. yeah. it’s a good project for us. and we could set ourselves up for doing more projects starting in july.. i think it’ll be good for us to start thinking about the future. maybe there’s another thing you could help with too.. i think paypal is a good way of doing everything, so maybe.. i’m really into e-commerce in the new political era, and so we should do everything through paypal. we’d get advertisers to send us money to the paypal account, and we get our distributors to wire us through paypal, and maybe you could also talk to the distributors to get money from them.. we’re so unorganized, that if we had someone who was organized then it would force us to get a good system. we could make a system where other people could help, and we could do things through that, but right now we have no system. it’s like, we mail the magazines and then we never ask for the money. we’re just sort of happy to have people own our book, but we’re not making money yet.. s: and sometimes we’re not even distributing.. t: yeah sometimes we forget to send the books, and people sometimes ask if they can buy a t-shirt, but we’ll be too lazy to sell them the t-shirt.. t: so we need a system. and are you only guys? m: no there’s Dena but she’s not here right now. t: yeah, there’s a girl from columbia, the university in new york.. she’s sharing the studio with us, and she’s been helping run the space with us. can i see your site? t: uh, we don’t have the internet here.. it’s not working yet.
you know, i thought you would be for us that we have no idea what they’re going to do. it’s the first time we’ve had an intern, so this will be an experimental the last ones to answer my email.. poster, so we think that anything you do we’ll be happy with. we’re excited to do a something where we have no direction. if m: really? you just want to do it in your own method, or your own style.. yeah because it’s so conceptual, i but if you wanted to make it in the similar style, then you could though ‘no way’.. but i think when look at the website, or come tomorrow and look at the artwork i saw all the art galleries, i thought and take some pictures, and then you could get an idea.. you guys were the most artistic, and t: yeah, it’s really soon, but we do everything in two weeks. the others were more commercial. m: yeah..
haha
t: but it might be a good idea for us to change. for next year, starting next september, maybe we could have longer term plans and preparation.. like two months ahead, because we m: because we don’t know dealers.. should get more professional and should be more organized t: we don’t know enough rich germans to be com- as the gallery gets older. mercial.. t: i think that’s true..
s: we don’t know enough rich people in general. t: in general we don’t have rich friends.. so, i’d like to check out your work, the stuff you’ve made individually.. s: and if you want to come by the studio tomorrow you could check some stuff out.. t: and i’ve been doing some fashion photography.. and so when is the poster? t: well, two or three weeks.. and we’ll have a party.. two weeks is sort of a short time.. we have to know you.. t: well, it doesn’t really matter. for us, we’re excited that we have someone who wants to do something
MAXWELL SIMMER PLANT SCULPTURES
ASH ER
M I S H E F F
P ENN,
F O R
I N TERVIEW W I T H JOHNNY
V M AG A Z I N E . C O M , M A R C H 2 0 0 9
a review by AL MILLER
E
ven before the the art market’s invisible never met the commingled puritanical
hands recent learning of the koan, “to anal retentive-ness of NY’s “liberal” proget the lead out,” when one walks into fessionals? It is no doubt the reason why certain NY galleries it is possible to simply so many of us have spent the latter half taste the desperation in the air. Ripe as of the last decade trying to “reinsert” all a corpse covered by drywall, fatuous as the artists who could never figure it out Lucy Wyman and often ivy league cer- (i.e. financial success) into “contempotified, this desperation is hard to forget, rary discourse”...artists whose leaky asmuch less escape; it travels with art ev- sholes kept on letting shit fall out; with erywhere, and, in one instance, is the the present day us following in distant reason why a magazine like Artforum is parallax, proving history wrong which so physically and emotionally exhaust- each felled item properly re-secured ing to simply open (is that a bad thing?) in our shitless BwO asses... Bas, Lorraine, Martin, Lee, Donald, Nancy, AnNY
professionalism
is
pathologically dre, etc., our desiring assholes are a
constantly finding oneself in the Master better archive than any sort of history. Cleanse psychomachy of finding new objects to figuratively fit in one’s love pucker; I must make the case that I’m not against perhaps a means of mourning now-dead anyone using their anus as a cultural reliberal attitudes with the neoconservativ- pository, I’m not Jesse Helms. In terms ism of sublimated melancholy? Who has of writing art history, it beats the lasting
(and paternalizing) molestation of pedagogic influence--at least now we have a choice what goes in. I don’t necessarily dread the neoliberalization of the contents of this culturally fashioned kópros, the ecstatic philicizing that accompanies the ledgering of value to our melancholic shit substitutes. While not altering
the
social
opera-
tives of art world culture, the neoliberalization of many of these previously uninsertable artists has managed to at least open up a few diamond-mine puckered ones (see ree morton on moma’s walls next to brice marden). What I fear is the ecstatic movement toward community that is urged on by these artful anal toys, by new recognitions of traditional (read conservative) forms...anal homogeneity, gays in the military, etc...
SELF-H8 BOOK
by NICOL AS CECCALDI
Learning to read body language, synchronizing behavior and making warm, meaningful connections list as top key-habilities for successful human relations. In the integrated sphere of working environment, business meetings, social occasions and personal situations, this type of ‘self-help’ advice come in handy. Sometimes, an extra-effort is required. The post-fordist virtuoso is expected to make a gift of himself, a kind of symbolic sacrifice to the other. A positive attitude, like making yourself uselful or being able to trigger happy memories are skills to be internalized and mastered: curiosity, resourcefulness, warmth, patience, etc. For example, Mike is standing at the trainstation searching through his coat for a lighter when he notices a dreamy auburn-haired woman in a dark-green suit sitting on a bench about ten meters away, on the same platform. He starts smoking nervously his cigarette, deperately trying to think of a tactful way to approach her, yet he is scared stiff of making
the connection. To release tention he talks himself into repressing any subconcious motive like having dinner with her tonight, or planning a ski holyday together for the next winter or asking her in marriage. His sole objective is to strike a conversation and find out if she would agree to be friendly to him in return. When the passengers start boarding, Mike is suprised at how busier than usual the train is. Luckily, he is able to spot the unknown woman at a nearby seating unit, next to what is probably the last remaining seat in the whole train. He says the most obvious thing he can think of: “Hi, do you mind if I sit here?” to which she casually answers “No I don’t mind.” “I haven’t seen you in the station before” says Mike. “This is my first day” she responds. “I’m starting work in an ad agency in town.” “The train gets pretty crowded at this time,” says Mike, “but sometimes you can get a seat all the way.” Mike missed out on what Nicho-
las Boothman calls “free information”: open signals that are given away during conversation and that happen to be crucial despite their contingent aspect. Instead of limiting the exchange to the horizon of his personal immediate experience, the outcome would have been much more positive had he picked-up on the cues he was provided with as conversation starters: “An ad agency? Who are your main clients? How did you get the job?” And so forth. Let’s say we are now in an academic setting, at the beginning of the year, while the weather is still warm enough to allow for outdoor lunches. All of Dora’s friends from last year are hanging out together outside but there is not enough room at the table for her and her tray, so she is forced to pick a seat somewhere inside amongst the ‘new kids’. She sees an attractive boy sitting by himself, and notices that he’s reading the latest PD James mystery and PD James is her favourite author! He smiles at her as she sits; she smiles back and asks: “So, are you a PD James fan?” “No. This is the first mystery I’ve ever read” he answers, “in fact, I don’t have much time to read, I work full-time at the hospital down the street.” “Well, I’ve read all her books. I also like Dick Francis a lot.” Her attempt to develop a pleasurable exchange is frustrated once again due to the inability to bounce back on the interlocutor’s input. In both cases, they only manage
to communicate facts that are ‘useful’ in theory but absolutely useless in a social structure where information circulates and takes on meaning exclusively within mutual interrelations; a bit like currency. Thus, the sentences that brought each dialog to its end were devoid of any ‘exchange-value’ despite retaining a significant amount of ‘truth’, or ‘intrinsic value’. If all persons are genetically unique, the borrowed figure of “human vaseline” relies on stock phrase and behaviours, exemplifying in everyday life a kind of second-hand staginess where movements and vocabulary become limited to a certain number of stylised forms. The language of self-regulation produces this paradox in that it enhances at its core a sublimated notion of the individual that integrates the totality of the eventualities it could ever encounter, like a split personality of sorts. Ideally, one should be able to anticipate almost anything, and in any situation, be able to absorb most common types of shock or trauma. The fact that the majority of self-help tips are geared towards such motives as ‘being liked by others’ suggests at worst a form of almost-religious redemption, which might imply shame and punishmment. On the verge of adulthood, the frustrated adolescent struggles to fashion his own maturity/sexual identity until it morphs into self-hatred and ostracization. Another martyr to be accounted
for, and one that stands at an even more extreme distance from the ‘symbolic social order’ would be the mid-career professional who despises himself almost as much as he hates his job and his family, while being able to carry on with it. The sacrifice of ‘the self’ in order to satisfy an abstract ‘Other’ gets creativity going and then perhaps neurosis is still possibly glamorous, in the same way that Saint-Sebastian tied to a pole and riddled with arrows is an attractive and comforting image.
DENA YAGO, “GO
LDEN SHOWER”
It is July, and I can only think of the
Blue Lagoon. Sitting next to my
computer is the dead sea mineral
bath, that, if living in the blue lagoon,
wouldn’t leave
a trace. When
covered in mud I would imagine
myself as a native, tearing through the jungle, letting the vines and ivy
whip my face but not hold me back.
I would pull through with my teeth and my mud covered arms, plow-
ing through the jungle on all fours.
The first cane was applied with an ivory veneer. It is useful, though only for short walks, as the too-pointed base of the cane sinks into the earth. The second cane was made of wood, shorn of its bark, leaving it dark and striped. The pattern on the wood is why it is proverbially known as zebrawood. This makes it very valuable, especially in New England where rare wood has become fashionable of late. The third cane was made of marble, though it reveals a deep crack from the first and only time it was used. This cane is a mantle-piece, not suitable for use. The fourth and final cane is adorned with bone figurines of small animals. Though extremely detailed, and by far the most beautiful of the canes, the sale of the fourth has been suspended as the bone was recently identified as the bone of a human skull.
I had a sister. I killed her husband and she tried to hide it from the police. It was inevitable that she couldn't conceal the crime, but it was alright. It came out in the end that she was a separated Siamese twin, and I didn’t even exist. One woman saw it happen, but no one believed her because she was lying journalist scum. My connection with her - this sister - was monumental, and not completely asexual. I felt like Job's wife turning to salt. I felt similarly, although with sugar. This is an ancient feeling, its origins unknown. As you may know, Cleopatra never had any sisters, and she wished that she had. She was famously quoted as saying: “for whom a sister shan’t have had, let all of Egypt weep for her sorrow.” But don't worry, this isn’t about feminism. It is about cultural appropriation; it is about taking Sisters to mean something completely different, something outside of ourselves. I never had a sister. I thought I did, though when that happened I didn't exist. I could only have a sister if I didn't exist. I don't have a sister: I exist. Beyond this, the narrative is about sisterhood and informal fluid sexuality. Sexuality that knows no bounds, no mountains or rivers that stand in its path. Sexuality that transcends borders and moves freely between nations.
I only began taking Modern Art seriously during my third year at Columbia, when I was introduced to it by my friend, Constance. Under her watchful eye, I devoured volume upon volume of Greenberg, reading for hours, oſten forgetting even to eat. Can you believe it? I, who dedicated years of his life to diligent research of Renaissance tapestries, throwing all of that time and study out the window. But really, how am I to help that those hard edges pierce me deeply to the core. God knows, even Constance couldn’t understand what desire she had awoken in me. Please, feel free to laugh, but I could hardly keep myself from screaming, from ripping the clothes from my back to lay them in front of dear Greenberg, just to keep his feet from touching the pavement of low men. Some nights, I am awoken by a fear. I feel a burden that I can now only identify as the shackles of history, a haunting of marble. Then again, how can I be expected to condemn my upbringing on the turn of a dime?
THE MODEL
by MATHIEU MALOUF
Today you are assembling things together for publication knowing you don’t really know what the full story is with your own intentions, the reception, or anything else aside from solid facts like: u don’t like the name anymore, u want it smaller than DINA4, it could be fun to take a picture of someone freaking out in front of a broken mirror and to double-expose that... Since like everyone you know in the world, you are not-together most of the time during the day, from 11 am to at least 7 pm, what you experience is a repeated failure that doubles as work. It means that a moment randomly occurs when a context will force itself into existence, creating a precedent in which intentions could be read, addressed, recycled, re-enacted, etc. Your approach is stricly exter nal, and everything that can be “read” into it is something you’ve scribbled with a flaming cigarette butt in your mouth, holding yourself up with an elbow against the wall, pencil in your ear, on a post-it block sitting on a coffee table. And suddenly there is material because of that. But you forgot: it doesn’t matter what your intentions r in an environment where events only ex-
ist after or before they happenwhere everything feels deferred. At best, you are producing junk to take pictures of or lay on the scanner (in this regard, you could say you are producing business cards and that it is something that is “not you”), and this is where everything happens. To attempt projecting politics onto this infor m mass would be just as hard as trying to deter mine the zodiac sign of a dead rat found waiting on a subway platfor m. Fun, but still just something to do while you’re waiting for the train. At the moment of doing it, there is nothing you react against, nothing you compete for- just a shadow, barely distinguishable from the light because it’s Berlin, and your camera v(of which reviews say it doesn’t really handle low light conditions so well) will help you make something out of it, or get away with doing nothing and get the impression you succeeded at doing that. You can only work that way for so long before boring-the-material becomes boring-the-condition. Everything that’s ever been printed in the newspaper is this one same story, which is basically that
this can be done. This new assessment comes with excitement shortly after the thing has been put together, and before you realize it’s been a huge mistake. Like a lot of doomed resistance, a big part of it is witnessing a “self” disintegrate which, if it looks convincing, could be mistaken for “emancipation”. The question of whether or not it could function as a universal (universal what?) model - or at least one for making art - usually emerges closer to the moment when there’s no more energy for other questions and the whole undertaking, energized by this newfound lightness, sur fs towards a new level of conservatism (there is a party there) with a box full of glossy magazines under its ar m.
O T S K L A T S Y R R A L : HOT
” S Y L L A S “ D N A ” S Y R “GAR
In an effort to uncover the micro-politics of the Berlin expat scene, Larrys got drunk at the rundgang at the UDK. CAST OF CHARACTERS
LARRYS: innocent bystander GARRYS: a drag queen? GAY LARRYS? SALLYS: misplaced feminine angst AKA FEMALARRYS?
GARRYS: garry’s is sally’s in drag. LARRYS: yeah i was watching true blood the other night, and it’s weird because there’s all these sexual politics being played out but they’re using the female body to do it.. GARRYS: i think that’s what larrys is lacking..
SMOKY ROOM, NIGHT. LOUD MUSIC AND VOICES CAN BE HEARD FROM THE PARTY IN THE NEIGHBOURING ROOM.
SALLYS: so, this is a direct response to larrys and not even a response to sallys.. GARRYS: no no, it’s like, if there were no women then men wouldn’t impersonate women.. SALLYS: but you’re..
SALLYS: but you’re responding to women. GARRYS: well, there’s something, not misogynistic, but very masculine about larrys, that seems -LARRYS: so you’re trying to undermine that.
GARRYS: no, not undermine, but we’re talking about the drag queen.. how it’s not a copy but rather a parody of choosing a sexual identity. garrys undermines both larrys and sallys because it doesn’t choose..
GARRYS: no, we’re not aggro. there’s no negative energy. GARRYS: but there is a confrontation. GARRYS: but celebratory.
GARRYS: i don’t know.. maybe not undermine but LARRYS: so how is garrather reinforce rys embodied in its still lives? SALLYS: its just so much more aggressive than GARRYS: well, when sallys.. we were discussing GARRYS: i think sallys is trying to create a prosthetic weiner.
what to do for larrys, we were examining your guys’ still lives --
GARRYS: i think that the egg is not really that feminist, unless you want to take it like that. SALLYS: that’s like the only feminine symbol! it’s just proof that gay men hate women more than they hate straight males. GARRYS: NO! i don’t even really believe in gayness.. SALLYS: then how are you guys situating yourselves?
GARRYS: we’re situating ourselves in queer culture. it doesn’t mean that you’re gay or straight. it’s a fun space that needs to be adGARRYS: ok, all i want SALLYS: what you put to say is that there’s two in the garrys thing was dressed. exhibitions happening, all feminist symbolism! LARRYS: so what are you and they’re both really not graceful. GARRYS: no no.. there guys exactly? LARRYS: we don’t SALLYS: it’s not about dyke make still lives! art! there’s only one lesbian! GARRYS: well --
SALLYS: but sallys is independent of larrys and you guys are just aggro on both.
was a cellphone.. there was a --
GARRYS: a poster!
SALLYS: the egg! and the rose!
LARRYS: but that’s a submission.. what is it as
an entity outside of the submission? GARRYS: look, everyone is their own institution. when i interact with you as another institution, it doesn’t mean that i’m trying to criticize. GARRYS: but we are criticizing.. GARRYS: i don’t know if it’s actually a critique.. LARRYS: but you’re appropriating, and that sort of signifies a criticism.. GARRYS: well, we started as sort of a criticism of sallys. we wanted to do a gay sallys because we were left out of this exhibition that was criticizing larrys. SALLYS: but sallys wasn’t situating itself against larrys, it was situating itself as a girl group show!
A photo work by Garrys
ASHER PENN KMR COLLAGES
LARRYS
COKE IN BERLIN Sometimes it’s actually good. I had good coke for a while. And then the dude burned his phone. Then I had a series of dealers, all of whom subjected me to different paranoid methods of buying from them. But then I wasn’t working for a while, and during the month hiatus these guys burned their phones too. SPEAKING of which, Young Jeezy ---> REALLY USED TO BE A COKE DEALER?? Hard to know. VICTIM AT THE STASI I’m pretty sure the drummer hurt his thumb when he was smashing the cymbals. He had this quivering, constipated look after he whacked the cymbal, and he sucked his thumb for a bit afterwards too. I thought it was pretty good. T H E J O U R N A L what’s wrong with this magazine? I don’t really like it.
VICTIM AT THE STASI OTHER REVIEW As part of a general life project encompassing “getting my shit together”, I’ve been trying to maintain a very strict diet of not-leaving-my-field lately. I got the idea in a 10 years old interview where Pierre Bourdieu disses TJ Clark for playing rap tapes during his talks. Sometimes it means being self-conscious when I use words like “dawg”, and for other things like for example my relationship to the work and attitudes of a cast of older, mid-carreer artists which I not so long ago considered myself “a total fan of”, dude, it means not going to their bands’ music shows, especially when they are playing them ways out of Berlin. In light of this, making it out to the Stasi Museum to see Victim, the metal band fronted by Merlin C....... felt like surfing way out of my field, both socially (I don’t know them personally and how do you justify having heard about it if not because you’re “interested”? Interested in commodifying them, maybe?) and geographically (the show was way out in Lichtenberg). The idea that I was going
to see a band composed of three white artists in their 40s living in London playing metal musicwith a suprisingly small drumkit, however - comforted me a little bit, and made me think I wasn’t alone trying to find new ways to surf back to the core. If you show two sides of a coin, but not from the same coin, you get : four sides, two coins. The side shown on the band’s myspace page is the one that likes hits. Business Class Death, the only song on their player, is really good, and I kind of wish the show would have been just that. I would have been completely enthusiastic, and this review would have started with: “sometimes, songs are really good and...”
THE SUE
LATEST ISOF VMAN
I like the Bruce Weber postcards story. I was impressed by how glossy the magazine feels when you hold it in your hands, like there was slime on it. After really hating the cover, finding Amy Winehouse’d Ashley Olson in the central pages made me feel good. But only for a brief whiley, and not THAT good. I think heterosexual men should either read V magazine or even
like GQ, if they can’t settle for anything less heterosexual-y. Also I’m pretty sure VMAN doesn’t have a podcast although don’t quote me on that.
ID MAGAZINE It is always good. I read it yesterday at the burrito restaurant. This month, my favourite moment is: “What’s the best idea you’ve ever had? Kathy Grayson : to explore the relationship between digital culture and painting.” Me : to get a burrito and read it over ID Magazine with rice falling from my mouth onto the pages. GERMAN VOGUE It’s not good. It’s never going to be. I speak German, I read it and I understand, and it’s still not good. People who really want it though, can steal it at Dolores, the burrito place on Rosa-Luxemburg Strasse, or at Syndicato, the coffee place on Weinsbergerweg. It was better to do that before though because you used to be able to get an Espresso there for 50 cent (+your free copy of Vogue G with a big LESEBOX sticker on it), now it’s like, 1.40!!!!!@#!@#
Julian Schnabel
It’s possible that Julian Schnabel was an asshole, the kind that would dye his bunny with beet juice and while fucking the air, he would say :
“no on knew what he was fucking that was invisible in the air”
(two bronzes of cans of beer)
In a dirty studio, smelling of turpentine Julian Schnabel eating Spaghetti Talking to Bono
“what do you see?” “I see a girl”
“Do it” by Hans Ulrich Obrist
15:30 Unpacked the book, looked at the index, flipped to see if
15:32 Feel asleep......................................................................... .................................15:45 Wake up, had breakfast, flipped to th first thing I read was :
“Mix Fresh milk from the breast”
HEJI SHIN photos of Helga
Mathieu Malouf The Model
Satanic Currency Terry Ray Brown So you want to hear my story do you? About my troubles and what not. Ok. Why not? I’ll tell you all about it. Actually it seems kind of appropriate doesn’t it? Me telling You. In a way I guess that you are, after all...how shall I put it....the most appropriate one to hear my confession. Ironic. Ok, here goes... You know I had heard of Satanic money before. Seriously. I read about it in a book about Latin American superstitions. The so called ‘baptised money’, right? Money that is held in the hand during a Christening by the Godfather. Money that in a way steals the soul of the child. Or at least its place in heaven. To do this, to hold the money, to deprive the child of its place in heaven is supposed to be a terrible sin. One of the worst. I think I read that it’s super illegal to do this in some countries in South America. And why not? It’s funny. To be honest I never more than half believed in baptised currency until now. Even with all of the things that happened. I guess the idea that I was damned just couldn’t find a place to cling to in my mind. I guess things can change a man. Well, how do I begin? I guess my troubles started the day my friends, my wife and my best friends actually, were asked to be the Godparents of their child. They, Greg and Jackie asked us while she was still huge, although if I remember correctly she had the child only a few days later. Yeah, that’s right. It was in the early Spring. I remember that it was a nice day. The cherry blossoms were falling and it hadn’t rained for days. You know about the Vancouver rain don’t you? Everyday, all Winter. Actually, most of the Spring and Fall as well. I’m sure you know it. Anyway, we were delighted that they asked us. Well, my wife was mostly. Dorothy loved all of that family stuff. Birthdays, Christenings, Baptisms. God knows what else. Myself, personally I never went in much for things like that. You know I was raised Catholic. I did all of that churchy stuff when I was a kid. Had it crammed down my throat to be honest. My father was a tyrant. Do you know him? Big red faced son of a bitch. No? Well, as I was saying, I didn’t go in much for that kind of thing, but Dorothy loved it. All of it. So of course we agreed. I remember everyone cried, except me. I don’t know why. It was nice and all. We were all good friends. Had been since school. It was good. Eventually, Jackie had her little one. It went well. No complications. A healthy baby girl, who they named Rosemary, after Jackie’s grandmother. I guess she was some kind of cool beatnik poet or something back in the fifties and Jackie really looked up to her. I’m not sure. I saw a picture once and wasn’t overly impressed. Just looked like an older more weathered Jackie to me. I mean, Jackie was a good looking woman and all. Just not my type. You know. So the day finally came when we were all supposed to go to the church for baby Rosemary’s Baptism and everyone was excited. I wasn’t that excited myself, but it was nice to get together with everyone and do something special. Even if it was something religious. My own religious life ended when I was a teenager. I got sick of all the church mumbo jumbo. All of the guilt and sin nonsense. I don’t know...maybe I just wanted to piss of my father. He was a real prick you know. My mother. She was a good woman though. I definitely miss her sometimes. She was always there for me growing up. I felt bad for her when I told my family that I was through with the church and that i was an atheist. I remember my mother cried and prayed for me. My father, who I think didn’t really like church either, called me a stupid fuck. Yeah he was a real gem. But it was nice to go with friends and family to the church for the Baptism. If I recall correctly, I was even a little excited. It was a good day. A pleasant summer day I think. I can’t remember the exact date. But it was a good day. I don’t exactly remember how I got to playing with that hundred dollar bill though. I remember that it was in my pocket when I put on my suit, but I don’t know how it got there. I think I noticed it in the car on the way to the church. A hundred bucks, I thought. Right on. You know it’s weird. I don’t know where the idea, or even the memory of the concept of baptised money came from. It just kind of flew up you know. Like a fly. First, nothing. Then suddenly an idea, zooming around in my head. I tell you it almost drove me nuts on the way over. But there it was. I kept thinking, what would happen? What could happen? It’s all nonsense isn’t it. But suddenly I wasn’t so sure. Years of Catholicism followed by years of atheism, I thought I had my faith or lack of faith figured out. Solidified and what not. I mean, I’m a man of science right. I believe in evolution and things like that. Shit I even studied anthropology in school for a semester. Mostly to meet chicks, right. I don’t know why but I thought hot girls would take Anthropology. No dice though. Mostly women in sandals with heavy toe hair. I didn’t want to imagine the rest of their bodies. Thank God it was Winter. Sorry. But there I was, a hundred dollar bill in my hand and man, I tell you, I was petrified. Like really freaked out. God and the devil and all of that. How could I rationalise them away? Really. Maybe it was all just a product of my upbringing or maybe something bigger.
Who knows. Point is, I was shitting my pants there, standing in the parking lot of the church. I didn’t think I had the guts to do it. To hold the bill, while holding the babies head. A sacrilegious act at the expense of an innocent. It seemed worse to me than all the black mass stuff I studied in film class. You know, Kenneth Anger type stuff. It was a tough spot for me to be in, I’ll tell you. I prided myself on my rational mind. I was beyond all of the Church’s lies and I didn’t ever want to get sucked into religion again. But I stalled. I didn’t know why. Now I know that my instincts were telling me the truth. I should never have tried to mess around with powers greater than myself. Live and learn hey? So there I was, hesitating, arguing with myself, when suddenly something happened. Nothing big, you know, but this thing somehow sent me over the edge and resolved everything for me. I saw a man. He was a grotesque, huge fat man. Some kind of church janitor or something. Ah, he was disgusting. I remember, he was taking out the trash. He had come out a side door of the Church and was trying to lift a large can into the dumpster. He wasn’t really doing anything, weird or bad, but the sight of him just pushed me right over. To this day I have no idea why. There was just something about him. I don’t know. Well there you go. In a blur, suddenly I found myself with a hundred dollar bill, stashed in my hand, standing with everyone in the church, watching the whole Baptism ritual taking place. I think I was nervous when I placed my hand on the baby’s head and heard the priest droning on about God and all that jazz, but my nervousness soon passed. I mean, I did it. I stole the baby’s chance of salvation. Shouldn’t there have been, I don’t know, thunder and lightening. Shouldn’t there have been a solar eclipse and a rainstorm of toads. Well, there wasn’t. When we went outside, after the ceremony, everyone all smiles and tears, the sun was still shining. It was still a nice day. I remember I felt defiant that day. Here was final proof that God didn’t exist. That all religion was just bologna. I felt vindicated. I wasn’t worried at all about little Rosemary. Live it up kid, I thought, because this is all there is. One life. One little life. Of course I didn’t tell my wife what I had done. She was deeply religious and I didn’t want to spend the night on the couch. No, I just smiled and told her that I would take her out to dinner and a movie. My treat. She was thrilled. We didn’t go out that much. So I took her out to a little Italian place I knew of on Commercial and we had a nice meal. I think I had lamb chops and she might have had steak and prawns. I can’t remember exactly, but it was nice. I think we ordered a bottle of wine. I used the hundred dollar bill to pay for the meal. Actually the bill came out to be a bit more than a hundred, but I complained that the lamb chops were cold and they knocked it down a bit. The lamb chops were perfect but I raised a stink and got my way. I didn’t have much money on me. I needed to think fast. I remember, Dorothy was a little mad at me for scamming the restaurant that night. Stealing, she called it. But I didn’t care. I was a little buzzed and feeling frisky. I pulled out some of my best moves and made it up to her in bed. I had her purring like a kitten. The next day I woke up early and decided to pop over to a little breakfast nook that I liked and have a quiet bite to eat. I liked to get off by myself in the morning. Some time for reflection and what not. Dorothy, I think, liked it when I went out for breakfast like that too. It gave her some alone time. I had my usual breakfast, three eggs over easy, toast, hash browns, coffee and a water. On that day I think I ordered it with bacon. Sometimes I do that. Or sausage if the mood hits me. If I recall correctly the breakfast was good. It usually is there. That’s why I frequent the place, I guess. So I finished my breakfast, got the bill, then reached into my pocket for my wallet. I pulled my wallet out and flipped it open and what do you think I found there, a hundred dollar bill. Well as you can imagine my mind was a little blown. I didn’t remember having a hundred in my wallet. But there it was. At first i was elated to find an extra, or so I thought, hundred in my wallet. Two days of good luck I thought. But then it struck me as kind of odd. Two days. Two hundred dollar bills. I mean, some people are lucky and I’ve never been one to lose too often at cards but two hundreds in two days. I started to feel a little nervous, sitting there with a hundred in my hand, like my dick flapping in the wind, my face feeling flushed and sweaty. Suddenly however, I was saved from my situation by the waitress, snatching the bill out of my hand, complaining that she didn’t have that much change and taking it to the back of the restaurant, to the cash register. She came back in a minute with my change and frowned at me when I told her to keep the change. She didn’t think it was a very funny joke. Oh well. But I’ll tell you my mind was reeling. How could this be, I thought. Is this some kind of joke. Like someone playing a trick on me. Right away of course I thought about what I had done the day before with that hundred at the church and I can tell you I felt a little
uneasy to say the least. I think I even looked around quickly, like I expected some spooks to jump out of no where and take me to hell. I was that nervous. But I got over it quickly enough and went on with my day. The way I saw it was, that even if voodoo and magic worked, it only worked in places like Mexico and other South American places where people were poor and ignorant. Things like that couldn’t happen in the cool rational North. Especially not in a place like Vancouver. So I put it out of my mind. The next day though I woke up early, ready to go to work and what do you think I found? I tell you I was more than a little scared when I slowly opened my wallet and there it was, just like the day before, a fresh hundred dollar bill. I remember feeling really light headed when I saw it, like I was going to faint. I didn’t know what to do. But I’m a rational and somewhat pragmatic man. I thought, well hell, if I’m going to have a fresh hundred in my wallet everyday I might as well enjoy it. I figured that the whole hellfire and brimstone thing was just an exaggeration made up by the church to keep the poor people poor. The thing is, I didn’t believe in absolute evil really. It just didn’t seem to me to be the way the universe worked. I wasn’t worried about baby Rosemary or my own little soul. I didn’t even really believe in souls. So I figured that if I was going to get a free hundred dollar bill everyday, or maybe just the same one over and over again, then I might as well enjoy it. I think that morning I bought a very expensive coffee drink and an excellent lunch. Why not? It was free. So for days I treated myself to little extras. Expensive lunches. Cigars. Massages. Soft cloth car washes for my car. Things like that. It was nice, but soon I started thinking. If I’m making an extra hundred a day for nothing maybe I should start putting money aside or investing it in order to make more money for my life and my retirement. It doesn’t hurt to think ahead right? I wasn’t sure how the whole magic money thing worked though. I seemed to remember, from the book I read that the money goes out into the world as you spend it then comes back magically to your wallet at night, supposedly bringing more money back with it. I hadn’t really noticed any extra money in my wallet. Maybe a bit extra. It was hard to tell because I always got change from my bill everyday and it started to pile up. So at first I though that I could just spend the bill and collect the change, but after a few weeks this it became a hassle. I just had too many small bills and coins. Plus Canadian one dollar and two dollar coins really add up after a while. So I decided to put the bill aside in my little safe at work and see what would happen. I left it over night and went home. The next day when I opened my safe I was disappointed to see that the bill was still there, alone and friendless. Apparently leaving it in the safe wasn’t going to work. But I had another idea. I took it down to the bank and deposited in the ATM. I can deposit money directly to my account from the machine and the bank doesn’t hold it for the usual seven days. A perk of being such a good long term customer. So I put the bill in an envelope, popped it into the machine and went to the bar to watch the Canucks game. The next day I woke up and excitedly opened my wallet. Sure enough, a one hundred dollar bill sat there smiling up at me. I was so pleased, I think I did a little dance in the kitchen and Dorothy asked what was wrong with me. I told her nothing, smiling like a monkey and skipped out of the house. I remember thinking that it was going to be a beautiful day. And so I began depositing my bill in the bank everyday and getting it back in the morning. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with this. Banks are evil bloodsuckers anyway. What do they care? I didn’t think they would notice that my account went up one hundred dollars everyday. And if they did, so what. I could just say I won it at the track or something. Besides I had my own business, roofing, and money tended to come in little bursts. Well, my balance started climbing steadily and I started to anticipate my early retirement. One hundred a day, I figured, thirty-five thousand extra a year. Not too shabby. I calculated that at that rate, plus my business, I should have been able to retire by the time I was fifty or fifty-five, depending on how much I spent. Pretty good, I thought. These days especially, not many people have a lot of security. I started to feel pretty good about my decision to hold the bill in my hand. Everything seemed good with Rosemary too. She was growing up to be a regular, decent young girl. A little sweetheart really. And Greg and Jackie were doing fine too. No worries. Greg was actually my business partner. We started the roofing company together a few years before and it was going well. We both worked our way through school doing construction and home renovations so it made sense to start our own little firm. It was going well. The housing market was booming and plenty y of people needed new roofs. The benefit of living in such a wet climate. (to be continued in Larrys 5)
FIRE Tonight At Larrys
bring your art and we will burn it +Sound Performances by Laura Piasta and Stefan Tcherepnin
31/35 SchleiermacherstraĂ&#x;e Berlin 10961 mail@lar ys.eu http:/ www.lar ys.eu
getthoize
by MAXWELL SIMMER
given that we can no longer assume that anyone’s buying into the idea of the bohemian artist, what is a model to understand why people from the middle-class enter into a life in the arts, especially as it is increasingly common for success to be deter mined by independent financial factors? in europe, where there is heavy state-subsidy, it seems as though the arts could be a viable vocation, and likewise - although probably less so in the US, given the strong history of private patronage and the (until (again) recently) seemingly endless avenues of capitalism. while realistically assuming that one would reap benefits from critical acknowledgement in europe, or from a deter mination (peppered with idealism) of success in the meritocratic free-market of the US, neither of these methods reflect directly on what is typically acknowledged as the artistic discourse itself. these themes have, of course, been used, discussed, and integrated into artistic practices over and over in the last half century, but are generally only received as symbolic referent, and as such do not provide much more than a
pointed reflection on inequality. further hindrances are typically entrenched in the politics of public funding, especially in countries with a weak national identity such as canada, where the arts are typically seen more as an method of defining a - currently vague - national identity, and funding is limited to those who perpetuate a ‘canadian-ness’, rather than those who challenge a more global artistic discourse. this particular situation further complicates the standing of the artist by forcibly positioning them in a community of those either ‘sanctioned’ by the gover nment (generally adhering to the its cultural standards, and therefore in a position to receive funding), and those who avoid recognition by a state sanctioned body (morons, perverts, and those wishing to enter into a broader spectrum of engagement beyond state preferences). the financial capabilities of the state, of course, do play a role, but effectively only shrink the margins of the lowest common denominator, and continue to operate in the same schema, only on a more conser-
vative basis. while the middle-class artist will assume an impoverished lifestyle, s/he also has access to higher society by probably being exposed (if only briefly) to a more diverse and possibly ‘refined’ set of social nor ms and culture, and has usually at least a minimal sense of distinction from the lower classes (through university, etc.). even ar med with this awareness and sense of cultural distinction, it seems typical for the middle class artist to resign her/himself to a life below the poverty line. whence comes this attitude that impoverishment is a nor mal part of the trajectory? even understanding a cultural/ monetary exchange in the sense of ‘investing’ in knowledge over a long period of time, to eventually reap benefits in the (per haps very distant) future, does not necessarily offer an excuse or encouragement in this discipline. is this profligate consumption of time, energy, and finances, as well as ceding middle class status to poverty a necessary investment? does this transfer signify the essential step in liquidating a nominal financial stability into a base sum of cultural capital, or has my success been peremptorily deter mined by my economic class? does one have to ghettoize oneself to accrue cultural wealth? for now, maybe all we need is ‘loose shoes, tight pussy, and a war m place to shit.’
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Dena Yago talked to John Miller----> what would you say your critical agenda is? i would say roughly marxist. one time one of my mentorgroup students left my group and said “oh i felt like i was having marxism rammed down my throat at Columbia,” but then he began to miss it. i suppose then that marxist critique of value is more pertinent now than ever. there was a while when a lot of people assumed the eastern block broke up, communism was on the decline, and that marx was irrelevant, but i feel its almost the opposite case, and that communist states failed because they failed to realize a kind of marxist critique. And i like there to be a certain structure in my work, a set of goals that i have for all the different things i do as an artist. one is that I always try to make something that’s aesthetically pleasing, at least to me. Although some people might think that what i do is ugly or something like that. particularly in the 1980s, when I was doing my brown impasto work, some people said that kind of work physically made them ill. I suppose that’s not really a critical agenda, but that it goes back in some way to a non-instrumentalized notion of art making. Not so much thinking of an artwork as a tool. Marcuse spoke about the aesthetic dimension, but when he thought of that as a non-instrumentalized space i suppose in some ways that implies that it was a free or liberated space that wasn’t controlled by capital. what youre talking about seems most apparent in the brown impasto pieces. i suppose i could make a similar kind of argument from my photographs, which in many respects looks like anyone could have taken them, and that the subject matter is unremarkable. They’re not fulfilling the usual role of a photo to supply a juicy image or specific information about something. They resist those things. Like your photographs paired with bob nickas’ writing on the ramble… that was a special case where bob actually directed the whole photo shoot pretty heavily. It was a bit of an homage to Smithson, but it was also bob looking at the ramble from a pointedly gay perspective. It also allowed bob to give me a tour of the ramble. It was quite interesting because as we were working, it was right around dusk, and guys were starting to come there to cruise. guys still cruise int the ramble?
Yes, its pretty active. one of the things that bob likes is that its not purely a cruising area, but that there were also bird watchers, so it was a large mix of different agendas. We had to kind of be sensitive to how we photographed, and that there were no figures in any of the photos, so in some ways it was also transposing the eroticism onto the landscape. how does your other work then relate to robert smithson and non-site photography? Well, i didnt get started with any photos until i was here in berlin in 1992. i dont know if youve ever met christoph tannert, who may still be a curator at Kunstlerhaus Bethanien. he was one of the few curators from East Germany who was able to carry over into the Western system. He did a show about the AIDS epidemic with Dean McNeil called getting to know you, that, in terms of artists they invited, was pretty mixed. They invited me on the basis of my Brown Impasto work. This was also a time right after the culture wars with Jesse Helms and the debates over Robert Maplethorpe and Andre Serrano’s work, and I felt that as a result of that, even the most traditional figurative work was being claimed as political through a kind of polarization process. I felt that if I wanted to deal with this theme of AIDS, to do a Brown Impasto relief sculpture wasn’t really adequate for the theme. I came up with this idea of photographing the sites of sex clubs that had closed or were closed by the city after the onset of the AIDS epidemic. I just found their addresses and old issues of the Village Voice, and then went around and shot whatever was there on the site and it was just facades. That had a non-site principle because I was shooting something that wasn’t there anymore, so there was a definite Smithson component there. I was also a little influenced by Ed Ruscha’s books and particularly this one called Real-Estate Opportunites, where he photographed empty lots with for sale signs. I presented the pictures in the show with no additional information because I wanted to present the view with the situation of being in public, and stumbling upon these places not knowing their history. Unless you were a member of that community it would be fairly opaque. I also did a photo series after that called Wind from the East. It was based on this notion of ideological non-sites, and was influenced by what was going on in Berlin during a systematic eradication of traces of East Germany and the whole communist period. In Berlin it’s funny, because almost every street with an East German name was systematically renamed,
but then you can go out to the Olympic Stadium and see Reich Sportplatz. These Nazi names are carrying over, and no one has bothered to eradicate them with quite the same systematic rigor. oh, there’s a bee on you! gone? yep. anyway, i decided to photograph these different sites including United Nations Platz where the big Lenin head was after it had been removed. There were just things where there were points of ideological significance where, for different reasons, whatever had made them significant were gone. And did your art criticism develop simultaneously with your object and image making practice? The object making came first. When I was in school I basically figured out how to teach myself how to write. It definitely happened through being in a college environment. I wrote one or two texts while I was an undergraduate student and then there was a long period where I didn’t write anything, although I was engaged in some writing when I majored in video, so some of my work required writing scripts. The scripts weren’t so much dialogue as they had to do with juxtapositions of theoretical quotations, which was moving me towards the way I would write my criticism. Often times it has to do with a cross-reading of a few different sources, and looking for linkages or contrasts where the combination of the two might make something clearer than if you just looked at one source in isolation. In a broad way that is how I started writing criticism. When I met my wife, Aura Rosenberg, who was encouraging me to write, and I started sending unsolicited reviews to the East Village Eye. This was during the height of the East Village scene, but before the East Village Conceptualist work started appearing. so what are you doing now? I just started a new batch of work which is paintings based on people crying in reality TV shows. I just came out of this phase of gold leafed work, imitation gold leaf, and those pieces sold well for a while, but were also quite labor intensive. I built up a whole crew that was working in my studio, almost all from my mentor group at Columbia. It became this rationalized production process. I didn’t micro manage everyone that was working for me. We would make these reliefs and I would get a lot of different objects like plastic guns, fake armor and fish. We would leaf them and then make these armatures, and they would more or less glue things down. Sometimes I would say “put something else over here”, but it was pretty much a collective production, where my role was more managerial.
Are you watching a lot of reality TV? No, I don’t watch anything. I just find images either by photographing them off TV, or googling them. The technical challenge now is to find scenes where people are actually crying in a demonstrative way, because a tiny tear in the corner of the eye isn’t going to register in a painting. To paint it in order to tell that the person is crying also requires some technical development on my part. I arrived at this thing where my earlier batch of paintings were like realist cartoons. Maybe you’ve looked at MAD Magazine… there used to be a series that was realist cartoons by this guy David Berg, and it was called Berg’s Eye View. They weren’t exactly caricatures, but they weren’t totally realistic. My figures hit that register in the older paintings, but now it seems like getting the figures to cry I have to heighten the realism a bit. The other thing is that I’m getting ready for a show at the Kunsthalle Zürich at the end of August. It’s going to be an overview show. The oldest works will be paintings from 1983-84, all the way up to the last gold work I’m producing, which is this artificial ruin which is being produced in Lisbon. It looks like elements of a classical ruin, so it will have some broken columns an arch, and an obelisk with some stairsteps. It will all be life size and made out of fiberglass. It is this project that I hope they make the deadline there… August will be upon us soon.
In
an attempt to be like a real magazine, and because we ourselves
are artists organizing exhibitions for peers, we at it would be fun to interview
Fedrik Vaerslev,
Larrys
thought
a young artist who
Landings, an independent project space in Vestfossen, Norway. Aside from being cool for that reason, Landings put on a show of work by Yngve Holen, Nicolas Ceccaldi and Per-Oskar Leu. runs
Larrys: So how did Landings happen? Fedrik Vaerslev: Well, i work at this contemporary art centre outside Oslo, and been doing it for a couple of years. One day I realized they had floors that looked really cool and that didn’t really seem to be used for anything. At the art center? yeah, a kind of industrial stairway going down to the basement, really beautiful. I asked the people there and it turned out they paid rent for those levels for storing stuff but didn’t really need it. They said I could have it for 5 years, rent free, no electricity. That´s how it started. I pretty much thought this would be a chance to show work by really good young artists whom I’d met going to school in Malmø, Sweden and Frankfurt… How was it having to develop programming for a space located inside an institution that already functions with their own network of people, in their own segment of the art world? Was there some sort of “back space” stigma to shake off? Well, we’re totally separated from them. We get free rent and electricity but they have NOTHING to do with the programming. It’s actually really fun. Are they into it? Do they come to the openings? Yeah yeah, they’re really nice people, and since we have three rooms, there’s a lot of openings. One of our problems at the Larrys space here in Berlin is that we’re only interested in doing a show once every six months or so, but you guys seem to be doing well putting on a lot of things and maintaining interest… Well the space is only open between May and October, so that’s about 15 solo
shows in a year. And we also invite people to curate so that makes things a little bit easier for us. Do you guys sell work? Sometimes we do. We get collectors coming to look at things, and it helps that a lot of well-known people have shown. Next year there will be even more, we showing Matthew Buckingham, Simon Denny. Eivind Furnesvik from Standard gallery is curating a show, Ida Ekblad, Mark Dikenson from Neue Alte Bruecke in Frankfurt, Caribic… Caribic Residency is going to be showing? Like as an artist? Yeah, Dave and Jasmin. Have you been there? Yeah, I did a residency there based on a photo of my ass I sent them. Haha. When was it? It was in April, I basically went there with “gender-y” pictures of a mannequin I had taken a year before the res at Nic Ceccaldi’s appartment. I made a kind of lookbook/fashion story with them. The space was really grungy and I was sick+high on grippostatt the whole weekend. Sounds like fun. I kind of have to run soon, but I wanted to ask you about that Javier Peres KKK press release you guys “appropriated” for the Ceccaldi/Holen/Per-Oskar Leu show you had recently. I thought it was hilarious, what a great template for a press release! It should become widely accepted to use it when you can’t come up with a good one. Especially for summer group shows… That would be so cool! You should use it at your space. Maybe we’ll use it in the magazine as an editorial, it seems to be as relevant today as it was five months ago.
published by LARRYS Maxwell Simmer maxwellsimmer@gmail.com Martin Thacker martythacker@gmail.com Mathieu Malouf mathieu.malouf@gmail.com bei Thacker Sanderstr. 29 Berlin 12047 mail@larrys.eu http://www.larrys.eu
all photos of Matt Bohan in this issue are by Heji Shin and Martin Thacker All the opinions expressed in this magazine are those of the authors and not necessarily of LARRYS, although sometimes they are.
THANK YOU: the contributors, Daniel Reuter, our friends, families and employers, Helga, Matt Bohan, Heji, K+A, FV, Al, MRLAM
CONTRIBUTORS : AL MILLER lives in new york and writes a blog called NY FINE ARTS AND LEISURE http://nyfal.blogspot.com/ ASHER PENN is an artist and photographer living in ny. he also a co-founder of 100% publishing. http://www.asherpenn.net DENA YAGO lives in Berlin but is moving back to ny. she is involved with LARRYS and SALLYS and other things. http://www.bdydbl.biz/ HEJI SHIN lives in Berlin and is a phographer. http://www.heji-shin.com KAYLA GUTHRIE lives in ny and signs in the band KAYLA GUTHRIE. http://www.kaylaguthrie.com MARTIN THACKER is an artist, photographer and CEO of Zeus Elektroger채te, an import/export company dealing electronics. He lives in Berlin and is a co-founder of this magazine. http://www.zeuselelektrogerate.de MAXWELL SIMMER is an artist and graphic designer and lives in Berlin. He is a co-founder of Larrys. http://www.maxwellsimmer.com MATHIEU MALOUF is an artist and translator living in Berlin. He is also a co-founder of Larrys. http://www.mathieumalouf.com NICOLAS CECCALDI is an artist and writer living in Frankfurt am Main. He is moving to Berlin soon.