An alchemical squat at The Breeder, curated by Milovan Farronato, opening on April 6th 2017. Participating artists include: Enrico David, Joana Escoval, Anna Franceschini, Delia Gonzalez, Camille Henrot, Karl Holmqvist, Christian Holstad, Maria Loboda, Goshka Macuga, Lucy McKenzie, Paulina Olowska, Christodoulos Panayiotou, Angelos Papadimitriou, Micki Pelllerano, Angelo Plessas, Mathilde Rosier, Prem Sahib, Vanessa Safavi, Socratis Socratous
#morgenheutegesternwelt :a missive coming from some place in space and time After the Event
Ciao ⚕MF, I hope you are doing well, sailing on your ship, the Little Flowers, far, far away from here. I’ve been wanting to write to you for a long while now, after the coup d’état – a theatrical play orchestrated from you – has taken place. You’ll be curious to know how things went, I guess. Well, here you go, let’s begin from the start.
We are in A., it’s the end of March. The work has almost come to a conclusion, everything is irreversibly ready by now. Old banknotes, whips corrugated out of uses and reuses, they are swishing in the springtime wind of the Mediterranean, still carrying a humid trace within it before the big summer aridity. The stocks diagrams are shining like silver paths, nerves of a lithe, mutable financial body. The stage is empty, the auditorium silent. It’s full of writings everywhere. I cannot understand them all, some of them seem to have been written in unknown languages, thousands of years old. Some other just seem to be scribbles. Verbal junk. One catches my attention, maybe as it’s the only one in capital letters: WHAT TIME IS LOVE? In a corner, a bunch of withered mikes waits to be picked up by hands with aerograph- polished nails and refreshed by a voice of dew. There are carnations, there are crosses.
The dancers and the singers are holed up downstairs, enlightened by pale video reflections, the flickering of digital flames, iridescent and cold on their vaguely smiling faces. Some are pacing back and forth, highly strung, on top of some really high crystal heels which only by miracle are not hitting against the shaped neon tubes on the ground, sinuous snakes of light leading the path. The New Ideologies are almost ready to be sung. The Texts of Invocations will be superimposed during the TV live coverage, the date had been widely discussed until the dolphins took over, the Illuminati acknowledged them and the airing hour was sentenced to be midnight.
Forgive me now, just on the thick of it I need to make my farewells! They are calling me, they are about to open the hermetic door. tanti baci ♃AF♃