Tuesday, August 28, 2018


Η αλήθεια είναι ότι
δεν ξέρω πώς ν’ αρχίσω 

χιλιοπατημένοι όλοι
οι δρόμοι της αφήγησης
πέρασαν τόσα πόδια
από πάνω τους
και έχω λάβει επιστολές,
φωτογραφίες, κάρτες, σημειώματα
από κάθε πιθανό σημείο τους
και λαχταρώ ν’ ανοίξω
με τα χέρια μου
το άγνωστο μονοπάτι
μέσα στο δάσος το πυκνότατο
των άλλων
που θα οδηγεί στο σπίτι μου
να βρουν τον δρόμο τους
οι καλεσμένοι.

Μυρσίνη Γκανά

Friday, August 24, 2018

Assembling the Self (Model)

Assembling the Self (Model) 2018 
Wood, concrete and acrylic 
60 x 29 x 20 cm 

Tuesday, August 21, 2018

A Renewal

Having used every subterfuge
To shake you, lies, fatigue, or even that of passion,
Now I see no way but a clean break.
I add that I am willing to bear the guilt.
You nod assent. Autumn turns windy, huge,
A clear vase of dry leaves vibrating on and on.
We sit, watching. When next I speak
Love buries itself in me, up to the hilt.
James Merrill         

Monday, August 13, 2018

Peplum III

Diane Simpson, “Peplum III,” 2014. MDF, oil stain, spunbound polyester, gessoed linen canvas, colored pencil and crayon

Sunday, August 12, 2018

Theory adrift: The matter of archaeological theorizing

At a possible transition towards a ‘flat’, post-human or new-materialist environment, many have suggested that archaeological theory and theorizing is changing course; turning to metaphysics; leaning towards the sciences; or, even is declared dead. Resonating with these concerns, and drawing on our fieldwork on a northern driftwood beach, this article suggests the need to rethink fundamental notions of what theory is – its morphological being – and how it behaves and takes form. Like drift matter on an Arctic shore, theories are adrift. They are not natives of any particular territory, but nomads in a mixed world. While they are themselves of certain weight and figure, it matters what things they bump into, become entangled with, and moved by. Based on this, we argue that theories come unfinished and fragile. Much like things stranding on a beach they don’t simply ‘add up’ but can become detached, fragmented, turned and transfigured. Rather than seeing this drift as rendering them redundant and out of place, it is this nomadism and ‘weakness’ that sustains them and keeps them alive.

Text by Þóra Pétursdóttir,  Bjørnar Olsen

Sunday, August 5, 2018

Temporary Shelter and Sparse Belongings

 Temporary Shelter and Sparse Belongings, 2018 
Wood, acrylic, oil, rope, brass
Variable dimensions

Private Property

Exhaustion slides from the body through the lips first. The invisible are flush with it, they drowse on blue subway seats. Heads bowed, yes, but to what. This island of concrete and glass tied by rough hands. The smell of this body among other bodies. Negatives of another’s pleasure. All of us living on loan—yet only some grasp the arrangement. Those shuttled back and forth, drifting to other far places. Underground, the window is also a mirror. It reflects sleep chasing bodies back into the borderless empire of the interior. 

Jenny Xie