on what the body knows, on what the body cannot hide.Experiences. Habits. Expectations. Sighs that are deeply engraved on one’s image, one’s posture, one’s face. Encoded signs. Revealed to the most curious and caring eye. The futile struggle for expiation und purifcation. Can man really become a blank canvas?
on faults and (s)elvesalways be yourself. always be yourself. always be yourself. How does one fnd themself standing towards the more and more excessive neoliberal demands for creativity, productivity and general performance? How does one respond to the constant demand for self-consciousness and self-defnition? How does one keep being themself, on their center and gravity, without taking themself too serious?
on carnalityΤhe awakening of sexuality appears both as innocent and violent. A rather startling shift of word-imagery transforms our perception of romantic relationships in a playful and childish way. The seemingly perfect “fit” is replaced by a gruesome and chilling loneliness.
a poem by Margaret Atwood.
Alma Μahler was the wife of composer Gustav Mahler, architect Walter Gropius and novelist Franz Werfel, consort also to Gustav Klimt, Oskar Kokoschka, Alexander von Zemlinsky and Max Burckhard. Alma Mahler is mainly remembered and mentioned for her prominent partners other than her music compositions or her drawings. Scholars study her diaries only to withdraw information for Mahler’s life and work, and also complain that
“Often she is the only witness, and the biographer has to depend on her, while doubting with every sentence her capacity for telling the truth. Everything that passed through her hands must be regarded as tainted”. Alma Mahler was a muse, an inspiring and talented person that deserves one minute of mourning silence, along with all the artists that were overshadowed by their infamous partners.
on memoryThe fear of being forgotten. The fear of forgetting. The insatiable need to be definite, precise, someone identified as a means to escape mortality.