This book is published by
la centrale edizioni a collective not-for-profit name, founded in Southern Europe in 2018 no ISBN printed in Italy
cbnd www.la-c.tk books@la-c.tk
The series
la c. is made with the support of Fondazione Lac o Le Mon vol. 15, December 2018 printed in 100 copies
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.1 Unsolicited Goods, 2018, Sigma DP1 Quattro .2 Diversions Series, 2018 Packaging strap, tape & plastics on plywood, 11×67cm .3 Diversions Series (#2), 2017 Plastic bags, dry cleaner plastic wrap, on plywood, 40×40cm .4 Diversions Series, 2018 Construction tape & plastic waste bag on plywood, 31×52cm .5 Diversions Series, 2018 Cardboard, hockey tape & plastics on plywood, 30×60cm .6 Diversions Series, 2018 Hood, elastic, tape & plastics on plywood, 70×100cm .7 Diversions Series, 2018 Construction tape & plastic waste bag on plywood, 30×50cm .8 Diversions Series (#3), 2017 Mail plastic, tape, plastic foil, on plywood, 40×40cm .9 Diversions Series, 2018 Packaging strap, tape & plastics on plywood, 15×60cm .10 Diversions Series 2018 Packaging wrap, foil, tape & plastics on plywood, 30×85cm .11 Diversions Series, 2018 Tank top, tape & plastics on plywood, 30×63cm
.12 Unsolicited Goods, 2018, Sigma DP1 Quattro .13 Of Brick and Plastic, 2018 Ceramic brick & textile, 14×30×8cm .14 Diversions Series (#1), 2017 Recyclable plastic bags, plastic foil on plywood, 40×40cm .15 Diversions Series(#5), 2017 Construction plastic fence, oranges net, recyclable plastic bag on plywood, 40×40cm .16 Diversions Series, 2018 Hockey tape, construction tape & plastics on plywood, 32×45cm .17 Diversions Series, 2018 Packaging straps, foam, tape & plastic on plywood, 41×47cm .18 Of Brick and Plastic, 2018 Sewn sweatpants & ceramic brick, 30×40×10cm (Dialogos 4, Current, Milan, Italy) .19 Of Brick and Plastic / Diversions Series, 2018 / 2017 Installation view (WALKABOUT #1 Incantamento, Fondazione La Fabbrica del Cioccolato, Blenio Valley, Switzerland) .20 Unsolicited Goods, 2018, Sigma DP1 Quattro
At the same time as the world’s tide of motion is moving, the earth is moving towards the fire. When one loses one’s attachment to the material world as is, in time and motion at the moment, one is lost between the suffocation of nostalgia and the airlessness of an unknown future. To treasure what is hidden, in our immediate vicinity, the fabric of our garments, in the margins of our vigour, one is faced with the vulnerability of the protoplasm of the aggregate. It’s a sterling task, largely unnoticed. When you confront the tarnished subtract of style antimatter starts setting the premise, reverting the premise of relevance, where what is wounded levitates into a paramount entity. To see a cathedral in a dumpster yard. Being what one is without a sense of hierarchy. This no doubt has value. Reach for the depth of reality and let art transcend this depth. Let it lay instead of forced into matter of bronze and clay, or bits and bytes, or both together. Always equal, never apart, never departed, feeling alarmed together. These are not maxims, nor doctrines, but more words falling like a t-shirt does onto a radiator. After a long and intoxicated night out, before the naked body melts into the mattress, or when the naked body steps into the shower the morning after. Warming the fibre for a long winter day. These letters are dry, though still containing the moist of what was. They are fabric. Or pieces, formed together, in the variation of infinity, though enslaved by the system of language. Words are to letters what garments are to fabric. An outfit is a sentence turned into a body in motion, in collaboration with the comfort and agility, the style and constrictions. This symbiosis is what we define as vogue. Or method. Or technique. Or habit. Or rage. It all depends on the limits of our society, We’re mirroring our surroundings, though inverting this mirror, through rebellion we generate charisma. Certain individuals emphasizes temperament. Others embrace singularity. Most people submits to likeableness. What is normal is always abnormal. How deviant everything is only depends on what mezzanine you choose to reveal the planet, because the tesseract of time has other values, both metaphysically and culturally, than the premise of precedent. What was will always be viewed in Technicolor™.
What is thus is what should be viewed as what matter if it does. The premises of survival, where characteristics are concerned, is as variable and relative as any woebegone attempt to decipher the whole fucking universe. It’s that bloody complex. Are we face to face now? Suddenly modish matters turns instant. When we realise they move cultures into, or away, from the abyss. What’s relaxed or lazy turns blissed and hazy. Or at least, it does to the follower; The yes man. The sheep. Though at the same time, and always, bloom can only marry doom through tautology. One can only intervene when a repetition is stagnant, rigid and static. That’s where rigidity appears, where the potential of rebellion is born, through the impotent need to confirm what is instead of what could be. Let it lay, let it be, pay no heed to it, they say. And that’s where it starts, when autocracy is out of sight, though in your mind, because you know. You know your freedom is limited always. Seemingly for no reason. Isn’t it strange how lack of lucidity defines our sagacity, and forces our scruples into rubble to generate scramble. And all things shining through this, because of this, through the cracks, of this. This what is. We are what we are. Style is orbitary. It’s strange how a narrator is the weakest voice of any story. The narrative seems to oozing on without the influence of the narrator. That is the moment when what seems orbitary is revealed as arbitrary. Style is born through this. When insurrection battles uniformity potential is revealed. Real disobedience is never defined by misdemeanour. It’s translated through testimonial values of homage and reverence. We become what we are while exterminating what we could be. We are what we are due to letting another become. “I is another”, the vagrant poet said, revealing a mentality that could be. Though isn’t it strange that all notions of community strives from this single notion? That we are because we partake, though stay ourselves because we don’t, and thus we become I. Never I. And all the horror I feel constricting my knowledge and rhythm into this. by Kristian Skylstad
Unsolicited Goods by Ronny Faber Dahl combines a series of two-dimensional, three-dimensional and photographic works made between 2017 and 2018. A text by Kristian Skylstad is included
vol. 15, 2018