Gallery Diet and SBL6 contributor Daniel Feinberg are excited to present 10 artists working in the fields of drawing, painting, photography, and sculpture in the exhibition opening Wednesday February 20, 6-9pm.
Concurrent with Diamonds, Diamonds will be High Frontiers, a multisensory survey of the artist, writer and musician Claire L. Evans in the Project Room.
Featuring works by SBL6 contributor Ketuta Alexi-Meskhishvili, Nadia Ayari, Lisa Beck, Barb Choit, Evie Falci, Kathryn Garcia, Michelle Lopez, Davina Semo, Amy Yao, and Tamara Zahaykevich.
High Frontiers: A survey of Claire L. Evans
Claire L. Evans will present a multisensory survey of her technological thing-vision in objects and videos, scent and literature. Collected in one place for the first time, and largely new to the world, this presentation will be, as Mark von Schlegell writes about her work, a room of networked science fictions [where] young women’s minds will meet the shock of the “demoniac glimpse” of the technologically-accessed modern real, and in the temporary safety of this new Dark Age see the stars.
C.L.E. will be performing a new speculative fiction called “Emotional Bandwidth Solutions” at 8pm on February 20th. This will also be the occasion for the release of High Frontiers, a new collection of essays by C.L.E. published by Publication Studio.
Ketuta Alexi-Meskhishvili, Untitled, 2011, digital ilfoflex print, 50 x 60 cm
On The Satanic Verses by Salman Ushdie, 1988. (Viking Publishers)
In the early 1990s, as the furore raged, the following letter of support was written to Rushdie by novelist Norman Mailer.
Dear Salman Rushdie,
I have thought of you often over the last few years. Many of us begin writing with the inner temerity that if we keep searching for the most dangerous of our voices, why then, sooner or later we will outrage something fundamental in the world. and our lives will be in danger. That is what I thought when I started out, and so have many others, but you, however, are the only one of us who gave proof that this intimation was not ungrounded. Now you live what must me a living prison of contained paranoia, and the toughening of the will is imperative, no matter the cost to the poetry in yourself. It is no happy position for a serious and talented writer to become a living martyr. One does not need that. It is hard enough to write at one’s best without wearing a hundred pounds on one’s back each day, but such is your condition, and if I were a man who believed that prayer was productive of results, I might wish to send some sort of vigor and encouragement to you, for if you can transcend this situation, more difficult than any of us have known, if you can come up with a major piece of literary work, then you will rejuvenate all of us, and literature, to that degree, will flower.
So, my best to you, old man, wherever you are ensconced, and may the muses embrace you.
Images du monde visionnaire was comissioned in 1963 by the film department of Swiss pharmaceutical company Sandoz (best known for synthesizing LSD in 1938) in order to demonstrate the hallucinogenic effects of mescaline and hashish.
Belgian poet Henri Michaux (well known mescaline user) and Eric Duvivier are aiming here to seize the way a sequence of images appears and disappears in front of a subject under the influence of psychotropic drugs.
Erotica Romana, is a compilation of elegies by Johann W Van Goethe, which were composed in the 18th century. Most of the poems are written from the perspective of ruminative and passion male characters; often using references to nature, fictional and historical Roman mythological narratives. The elegies serve as insights into the overactive and cynical mindset of the narrator(s), with some of the best and most quotable lines being not solely erotic; but sometimes humorous or overtly romanticised. ER exists as an interesting series of journeys and takes on the psyche concerning romance and embrace; relationships and sex.
Happily now on classical soil I feel inspiration
Voices from present and past speak here evocatively.
Heeding ancient advice, I leaf through the works of the ancients
With an assidious hand. Daily the pleasure is renewed
Throughout the night in a different way, Im kept busy by Cupid
If erudition is halved, rapture is doubled that way
Do then I not become wise when I trace with my eye, her sweet bosoms form and the line of her hips stroke with my hand?
I acquire as I reflect and compare my first understanding of marble
See with an eye that feels, feel with a hand that sees
While my beloved, I grant it, deprives me of daylight
She in the nighttime hours gives me compensation in full
And we do more than just kiss, we prosecute reasoned discussions (Should she succumb to sleep, that gives me time for my thoughts)
In her embrace– it’s by no means unusual– Ive composed poems
And the Hexameters beat gently tapped out on her back
Fingertips counting in time with the sweet rhythmic breath of her slumber
Air from deep in her breast Penetrates mine, and there burns.
Cupid, while stirring the flame in our lamp No doubt thinks of those days when
For the triumvirs he similar service performed.
Painting: Henri Gervex- ‘Rolla’
His vision, from the constantly passing bars,
has grown so weary that it cannot hold
anything else. It seems to him there are
a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.
As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,
the movement of his powerful soft strides
is like a ritual dance around a center
in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.
Only at times, the curtain of the pupils
lifts, quietly–. An image enters in,
rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone.
“Yet did I love thee to the last
As fervently as thou,
Who didst not change through all the past,
And canst not alter now.
The love where Death has set his seal,
Nor age can chill,
nor rival steal,
Nor falsehood disavow:
And, what were worse, thou canst not see
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me.”
Excerpt from “And thou art dead, as young and fair”- Byron
The Pheonix and the Turtle
So they loved as love in twain,
Had the essence but in one
Two distincts, but division none:
Number there in love was slain.
Hearts remote yet not asunder
Distance and no space was seen
Twixt this turtle and his queen
But in them it were a wonder
So between them love did shine
That the turtle saw his sight
Flowing in the phoenix
Either was the other’s mine
Property was thus appalled
That the self was not the same
Single nature’s double name
Neither two nor one was called
Reason in itself confounded
Saw division grow together
To themselves yet either neither
Simple were so well confounded
That it cried, How true a twain
Seemeth make this concordance one!
Love hath reason, reason none
If what parts can so remain.