Fette Sans, Untitled (Assuétude), 2014.
Our identity is fictional, written by parents, relatives, education, society.
Genesis P. Orridge. Via.
Top, screen capture from Pipilotti Rist, I’m not the Girl Who Misses Much, 1986, 5 min 2 sec. Via. Bottom, painting by Contemporary Art Daily Painting of Dennis Oppenheim, Disappear, 1972, Super-8 film conversion, split channel audio converted to digital file. TRT: 6 minutes, continuous loop. Part of the exhibition Technokinesis at Blum & Poe. View the original photograph.
Sometimes, Ramon and I happen to be in the same city at the same time. These moments are the most precious.
Left, photograph by Eve Fowler, from the series and eponymous publication Hustlers, shot between 1993 and 1998, published by Capricious. Join her at Printed Matter in NY on September 6th for a signing and launch of the book (and send me one). Right, photograph by Lauren Lafleur, Untitled, 2014. Via.
La distribution des rôles la plus fréquente en milieux populaire et petit-bourgeois fait de la pratique photographique un privilège masculin alors que le soin d’en rappeler les occasions incombe le plus souvent à la femme, gardienne des traditions familiales : la femme utilise moins souvent l’appareil que le mari (39% des foyers contre 59%), mais le fait que la compétence en matière de technique soit staturairement accordée aux hommes n’explique pas complètement l’attribution au mari de cet acte du culte familial (O. R. I. C. , 1a). C’est au chef de famille qu’incombe la charge d’accomplir le rituel de solennisation que la femme peut seulement susciter, mimer ou doubler.
Pierre Bourdieu, Un art moyen, Paris, Édition de minuit, 1965, p. 50 (note 24). Via.
Screen captures from The Knick, directed by Steven Soderbergh, 2014.
And to get my hands and mouth on one of these gorgeous leather masks.
Fette Sans, Untitled, 2014.
I have kept a hotel room in every town I’ve ever lived in. I rent a hotel room for a few months, leave my home at six, and try to be at work by six-thirty. To write, I lie across the bed, so that this elbow is absolutely encrusted at the end, just so rough with callouses. I never allow the hotel people to change the bed, because I never sleep there. I stay until twelve-thirty or one-thirty in the afternoon, and then I go home and try to breathe; I look at the work around five; I have an orderly dinner—proper, quiet, lovely dinner; and then I go back to work the next morning. Sometimes in hotels I’ll go into the room and there’ll be a note on the floor which says, Dear Miss Angelou, let us change the sheets. We think they are moldy. But I only allow them to come in and empty wastebaskets. I insist that all things are taken off the walls. I don’t want anything in there. I go into the room and I feel as if all my beliefs are suspended.
Top, photograph by Luke Gilford, from the editorial L.A. Stories for V Magazine #79, Fall 2012. Via. Bottom, photograph by Adrees Latif/Reuters, A man is doused with milk after being hit with gas by security forces trying to disperse demonstrators protesting against the shooting of unarmed black teen Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri, August 2014. Via.
The police are dealing with many more media people who want to interact with protesters very closely. I think in some ways they have difficulty separating who’s a protester, who is a media person. I mean, they’re all running around with cameras.
So it comes as little surprise that some media-watchers are beginning to argue that the reporters on the ground have lost their objectivity and are now, consciously or not, aligning themselves with the protesters and against the police. As Politico’s Dylan Byers put it Tuesday, “Any journalist who stands on the front lines will inevitably be pushed, prodded or find themselves on the receiving end of a rubber bullet or tear-gas canister. In such an environment, it becomes near impossible not to identify with the protester.” Hot Air’s Noah Rothman, whose piece prompted Byers’ post, had gone even further. It is “clear that the press is no longer serving as objective chroniclers of the proceedings,” Rothman concluded after offering a few caveats about the media’s right to challenge authority. “In many ways, the media appears to believe that it is an active participant in the events in Missouri.”
Josh Voorhees, Why the Media Is Siding With the Protesters, for Slate, August 2014.
The demand for more immediate knowledge has changed the game, and the attention market doesn’t pause for consideration — even when there are lives at stake.
(…) It’s not just the fault of journalists, though. Now that Twitter and Instagram have brought the barriers to publication to just about zero in terms of time and resources and journalists can publish information as quickly as they can experience it, the public feels entitled to real-time information about any newsworthy event anywhere in the world. We earnestly believe we are meantto see and hear everything as it happens and that the world is always better off for our attention. Transparency becomes not a means to justice but an end in itself, and a slavish devotion to immediacy and openness undermines one of the most important journalistic virtues: discretion.
Malcom Harris, Unethical journalism can make Ferguson more dangerous, for Aljazeera, August 2014. Via.
Fette Sans, Film still from a film [homage to], 2014. Watch.
From The New Inquiry, You’ll Never Walk Alone, August 2014. A great essay on A Philosophy of Walking (originally published as Marcher: une philosophie in 2009 by Frédéric Gros.
(…) adultery is rife. In a way, the socially accepted norm of monogamy requires lying. It’s almost like monogamous couples actually prefer to be lied to rather than deal with the uncomfortable reality of extramarital attraction. With nonmonogamy, you’re admittedly entering into risky territory. But with ground rules and communication, the result could be a more honest, fulfilling relationship. And since keeping jealousy in check and feeling secure can be the hardest parts of maintaining a relationship for me, I began to wonder if nonmonogamy could teach me something on a deeper level that monogamy couldn’t—if perhaps these orgy people were really onto something.
Karley Sciortino, About Last Night: That Time I Went to a Sex Party, for Vogue, August 2014.