DC's

The blog of author Dennis Cooper

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Carmelo Bene’s Day

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‘The filmmaking career of Carmelo Bene (1937 – 2002) lasted from 1968 to 1973, six years out of a lengthy time spent in the theater that made Bene one of the most celebrated figures of the Italian avant-garde in the second half of the 20th century. He first made a name for himself with a controversial production of Camus’ Caligula in Rome in 1959. Subsequent productions retained this sense of notoriety, and Bene (like Pasolini) quickly acquired a police record. Bene, however, would come to bemoan the controversy his work created, because it attracted an audience looking for shocks and titillation, while he himself was more concerned with reinventing the vocabulary of the theater: sets, gestures, texts.

‘Bene’s turn to cinema expanded that quest to reinvent. His films resist synopsis because, although they are often derived from narrative sources, Bene uses these sources against themselves and as a springboard for his critique of the stultifying traps of representation and interpretation. The films are wildly inventive and visually arresting on several levels: the performance styles of his actors, including eccentric movements, gestures and grimaces; the sets, costumes and makeup; the editing; and the use of the camera, with stable shots regularly punctuated by handheld camera work, extreme close ups and the occasional baroque use of zooms, dollies, cranes, elaborate pans and exaggerated camera angles. They resemble something like the work of Jack Smith crossed with the experimental Pasolini of Teorema and Pigsty.

‘At some point Bene worked closely with Gilles Deleuze and was interested in the complete annihilation of the “self”, intended as a conscious entity. He refused to “exist” and became a rather popular figure in Italy because he was controversial and every time he appeared on TV he aroused all kinds of outrage and scandal. In particular he was accused of speaking in riddles, of nothing and being just a clever trickster who kept fooling the audience with his nonsensical, artificially shocking performances, just to draw the attention. Most of everyone was against him, he was deliberately an antagonist, and had a very troubled and animated relationships with his critics, who were continuously trying to frame him, diminish him or celebrate him, depending on their credo.

‘One constant feature of Bene’s work is its satire of heterosexuality. The two sexes keep trying to communicate with each other, but always fail to do so. Bene’s work constantly deflates masculinist pretenses at mastery: his male characters tend to be hapless and often hysterical, while his female characters are alternately predatory and remote, and unknowable in either case. But this satire is merely the most visible form of Bene’s revolt against convention and communication. Over and over again in the films, everyday actions become hopelessly complicated or endlessly interrupted. His characters often end up staring quizzically offscreen or even into mirrors, as if they were no more sure than we are of the meaning of what they see. Indeed, identity and by extension agency seem to get suspended, along with meaning. What is left is glorious spectacle and enigmas for the eyes and ears: endless music; babbling, stuttering text; excessive and exciting images.’– Harvard Film Archive

 

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Stills















































 

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Further

Carmelo Bene obituary @ the Guardian
Carmelo Bene @ IMDb
Carmelo Bene @ Anthology Film Archives
Carmelo Bene @ mubi
‘Retro: Carmelo Bene’
Carmelo Bene oriented Blog
‘Cosmic wonderful magic Carmelo Bene’
‘Carmelo Bene, genius’
‘Eccentric and Visionary, the Films of Carmelo Bene’
‘Surgically Imprecise Notes on the Great Carmelo Bene’
‘Carmelo Bene, Lectura Dantis’

 

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Extras


Carmelo Bene – Macbeth Horror Suite (finale)


Carmelo Bene’s home


Carmelo Bene – Four Moments on All Nothingness


Carmelo Bene as Pinocchio

 

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Quotes

from Looping Wor(l)d

 

If someone has defined the “phonè” as a dialectic of thought, then I deny being part of it. I’m looking for the emptiness, which is the end of every art, of every story, of every world. The language of the Great Theater, incomprehensible by definition, becomes completely comprehensible on a different level of understanding, being all about the signifier, and not the signified, or sense.

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Language creates failures, it is only made of black holes and failures: (quoting Montale/ Nietzsche) “Only this we can now say: what we are not, what we do not want.” Who says “I say I exist, I say this” is two times a stupid. First because he believes in his self, secondly because he’s convinced of saying, and even a third time because he’s convinced of saying what he’s thinking. Because he believes that what he thinks is not signifier, but signified, a sense. That happens under his authority. It’s all noise. I think conscious intelligence is misery. I refuse to consider the ontology.

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I do not speak, I am being spoken.

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“The gods, plural is the noun, played yourself. The gods returned you to the mythical dawn of times. They carved you empty of simulation. Freed you of codes.”

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“We are but ghost lights, representation and model. You and I, in the illusion of being. Sincerity in the lie, truth in contradiction. As truth does not exist, given only in the delirium of language.”

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“Voice and language, delirium of omnipotence. Delirium because it’s not there. It does not exist.”

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(talking of amplification through a microphone, in theater) The actorial machine is the consequence of the Great Actor, stripped of expressive corporeal human capabilities (vocal, facial expression, gestures, etc..) to wear an amplified attire, both visual and voiced. The voice of the actorial machine is not just a simple amplification, but an extension of the tonal range, becoming a whole. The autorial machine is a fusion between actor and machine; amplification is not a prosthesis, but a further organic extension where the voice is defined by the process. In the same way one doesn’t “have a body” but one “IS a body”, so one is or becomes amplification, equalization, etc…

This amplification is not a mere enlargement of the sound. As an example, it’s as if I’m reading this page at this distance. So I see and understand. But if I bring this page very close, the outlines begin to blur. Closer and closer till they vanish, and I see nothing. At this point, “everyone has his own visions”. What is infinitely large, as discovered in physics, corresponds to what is infinitely small. A step beyond the threshold. That’s why I make myself smaller, “so that he can augment, I have to wane”. It’s the conscious “self” that needs to get smaller. The emptying of the “I”, the abrogation of subject, and so of history. I refuse to be in history. I stepped out of thought.

*

Art has always been bourgeois, consolatory, idiotic, stupid, it has been especially blathering, whorish and pandering. Art has to be incommunicable. Art has only to overcome itself. That’s why it’s up to us, once we get outside ourselves, to become masterworks. Exit modality to reach the place where modality ceases to be. I can only try to explain my discomfort. I can’t engage with what’s real, what’s obvious, what’s rational. The darkness. Turning off the lights. I even hate symbolism as an artistic language. Poetry is shit. We’re still within words, trying to find a way and unable to come out. I have found in myself a desert, and I speak to the desert who’s the other, and not to someone else’s desert. I possess absence. That’s all. I am being honest because I am not myself.

*

Universe is one, one only. The pluriverse… is. One can’t say the pluriverse is “what’s left”. The universe is just a tiny, tiny sliver of pluriverse.

 

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6 of Carmelo Bene’s 8 films

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Nostra signora dei turchi (Our Lady of the Turks) (1968)
Our Lady of the Turks is a film that is hard to categorize. Then again Carmelo Bene’s films are hard to define. Often beautiful, The film starts off as a sort of mocumentary about Ontranto, Italy. This is where the Turks tried to invade 100 years before; killing the Saracens. Then we are treated to Bene in front of the camera in a series of bizarre, surreal images and comical mishaps. Bene’s character is taunted by the Madonna. Wherever he goes this beautiful virgin Mary is sure to follow, making his life a real headache. She is symbolic of man’s desire and dreams. This is a film where visuals overpower story. It is quite a journey with it’s bizarre experimental style, but altogether it’s breathtaking.’ — IMDb


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Capricci (1969)
‘Bene’s second film, is, like its predecessor NOSTRA SIGNORELLA DEI TURCHI, a hallucinatory, non-linear, and ultimately apocalyptic look at life in “modern” Italy. CAPRICCI has no “story” to speak of, just a series of surreal vignettes. It begins with a dissatisfied Communist (played by Bene himself) getting into a dual with a superior; they fight with, appropriately enough, a hammer and a sickle. An old man lies in bed beside an alluring naked women; making noisy rasping sounds, he tries to have sex with her (and has about as much success as Bene did in NOSTRA SIGNORELLA DIE TURCHI, where he tried to screw wearing a suit of armor!). Bene and a lady companion make out furiously in the back of a smashed-up car. Bene’s pictorial sense is so striking he gets away with an approach that most Hollywood directors would love to fall back on (but can’t). Add to that a preference (evident in all his films) for sentimental arias and you’ve got one bizarrely impressionistic film, one that must simply be experienced rather than “understood.”’ — fright.com


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Don Giovanni
(1970)
‘The third Bene film, Don Giovanni (1971), is taken from a story by 19th century author and dandy Jules Barbey D’Aurevilly, Le plus bel amour de Don Juan. Bene’s films are critical explorations of the texts they are based on. He operates by returning these stories to a sort of primordial dramatic and intellectual state of chaos where ideas, narratives and characters struggle to come into being. As Deleuze pointed out, Bene is concerned not with beginnings or endings, but with the middle, an engagement with a perpetual becoming, a world of constantly shifting potentiality. He achieves this by questioning and throwing off balance every aspect of his films. The frequently hysterical performances of his actors – or ‘actorial machines’ – are caricatures amplified to the level of the grotesque. Rather than playing characters, the actors become stylised embodiments of some of their defining characteristics, shrieking, slobbering, whispering and drooling their way through a series of events that resemble variations on certain themes or gestures rather than a developing narrative.’ — Senses of Cinema


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Salomè
(1972)
‘The opening scenes of Bene’s claustrophobic and dreamlike 1972 Italian adaptation warn the viewer that this is going to be a strange ride. Immediately after the film starts a number of strange images appear including an animated camel passing through a needle and a bejewelled and glittering woman swimming in pitch black water. The whole film is a contrast of colours with the majority of the actors – those who are wearing clothes anyway – entirely clad in spiky neon robes and jewels and all of what constitutes the action (except the final scene) taking place on what appears to be an island floating in some kind of black lake illuminated by a mysterious light source that refuses to stay in one place. These violent colours assault the eyes as super-fast cuts jump the camera from one person to another and the disorientation is increased by the rapid overlapping conversations in stage whispers that accompany this movement.’ — Suite 101


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Watch the film here

 

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Un Amleto di meno
(One Hamlet Less) (1973)
‘Bene described his films as “music for the eyes” put together with a “surgical indiscipline of montage”. He constantly strives for a glorious visual excessiveness, with unusual camera angles, shifts between black and white and colour, interesting superimpositions and either overtly theatrical – as in One Hamlet Less – or otherwise expressionistically employed settings. This anti-naturalistic approach is further heightened by the asynchronous use of sound, which incorporates heavily amplified sounds such as breathing and coughing, shouted or stammered dialogue and sudden bursts of mainly classical music, most commonly opera. If Bene’s cinema is one of constant becoming, of repetition and incompletion, perhaps the most common recurring theme in his scenes is frustration. Yet the films that comprise his self described “cinematic parenthesis” are seldom screened or written about, especially in the English-speaking world. For a director whose work matches the visual power and representational complexity of Kenneth Anger or Derek Jarman’s best work, this a particularly unfortunate oversight.’ — Senses of Cinema


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In-vulnerabilità d’Achille (1997)
‘Why did Carmelo Bene specifically choose Achilles as the last personality with which to confront himself? Is it possible to identify in the «progetto-ricerca Achilleide»? – a project that encompasses more than a decade of Bene’s opus – his testament? These are the questions that animate and direct the hereby study that attempts to carry out a global reconnaissance of the project, confronted by its intermedial nature. The primary subject of interest is Pentesilea. Ovvero della Vulnerabile invunerabilità e necrofilia in Achille, a text that represents Bene’s poetry debut. The object of analysis is not merely this specific literary work, but also the “pre-texts” which constitute its skeleton: Homer, Statius, Kleist. A rereading of these classics in the light of later Bene’s work, in an attempt to specify the reasons behind a choice. Therefore a reconstruction of the voicing of the text – that is already “aural poetry” by itself – is proposed, passing through various “moments” of the «progetto-ricerca», inspecting all the available reviews, critical texts, and testimonies. There is particular attention given to the «spettacolo-sconcerto» from the year 2000, last of Bene’s opus, a conclusive desertion from the scene in an encounter with the absolute musicality of silence.’ — Niccolò Buttigliero


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*

p.s. Hey. ** jay, Hi. Cool, I’m happy you like his work. I find it really irresistible. Your wifi managed to eek it through. Well, obviously. My uneducated guess is that home wifi issues would get old very quickly. But I love the spirit behind your daydream. Amazing about that box of childhood goodies. I have literally zero memory of my childhood bedroom and what was in it. My teenaged bedroom with its posters and disguised drug paraphernalia and piles of French novels, no problem. But earlier? Nothing. Strange. I must have been a minimalist as a kid. ** _Black_Acrylic, Wonderful about your friend Morgan! She must be awfully cool. Thank you so much for alerting her! ** Malik, Yes, that’s the book! I do highly recommend ‘Negrophobia’ if you’re in a fiction reading mood. It’s brilliant. True, such a tireless and visionary artist, that Bakshi. ‘Wizards’! I haven’t watched that since forever. I’m going to cue that up. Thanks, pal, and very bon day to you. ** Bill, That splattered construction paper piece is so great. If I could have one of Tom’s pieces, I think would be it. How great about the Yasunao Tone piece. He’s so incredible, and his very late work is as incredible as his earlier work if not even more so, I think. There’s a mind-blowing video out there somewhere of him performing at Cafe Ono very late in his life, and it’s astounding. ** kenley, Hi. Mutual fans is the best! Ok, the guitarist. My guess was totally wild. I’m sure the bespectacled guitarist is the kingpin. Do your bands ever play together. I’m imagining you guys with all lights on juxtaposed with his band’s heavy atmospherics could be quite exciting and flattering to you both. It was very cool to be able to clearly see your audience members exploding. Oh, as a writer, you don’t really get any say in the presentation. You just show up, and they show you the set-up — usually just a spotlit lectern, and then you do your thing. Simple is okay for me. The only thing I won’t do is read with music playing. Big no on that, but projections or whatever are fine. Do let me know if any Searing gigs in my general hood get cemented. Even a tourist visa gives you Schengen travel. Unless you mean some kind of special travel. It’s really easy. They rarely even look at your passport. ** Hugo, Such a beautiful description of Alice’s work. Alice is lucky to have you as an insider/intoner. Mm, yeah, in a way I guess the blog is like keeping a journal, although I’m pretty discrete about my actual life. But, yeah, no, that makes a lot of sense. ** Eric C., Here’s hoping the film shows near you. We’re working on midwest screenings right now. It’s going to show in Iowa, but I doubt that’s near you. And maybe Cleveland. So far. The ICE stuff going on around is just so nightmarish. Great that you’re doing what you can to fight it with your presence. The only good thing about all of that is what you said — people actually uniting for a cause that’s bigger than the personal. I have to think the unifying will have to help kill off the monsters, but I guess we’ll see. I will search Drone Not Drones on bandcamp. How totally interesting. Wow, thanks. If you get in the area of Paris on your trip, do let me know so we can meet up, if you like. ** Lucas, I saw your email. I’ll open it in a bit and get back to you. Thank you so much, pal! Like I said, I got so sick recently, and I never get sick, so that shit is happening out there. I hope the doctor starts fixing it. ** Måns BT, Oh, cool, happy you like his work. It does have a scariness, sure, that makes sense. Shit, Moodysson is pro-Israel? God, that does throw a wrench into the works. But I should make the post anyway and let what happens happen, so I will. But that’s a really boring, gross provocation on his part. Ok, I’ll use those release clues to help find ‘Thriller’ if possible. Awesome that you and your friend are making those works. Excited to hopefully see the results. Getting stuff out there? Hm, well, with short films you’re kind of stuck trying to get them into festivals and screening them probably with other shorts. Photos … social media and TikTok and all of that, and gallery showings if you want to get ambitious enough because that can be a toughy. Just make them and believe in them and dedicate yourself to people seeing them and the paths will appear. That’s my policy, I guess. xo. ** Jeff J, Welcome back, and thanks. TF used to show at Hudson’s great Feature gallery, and I saw most of his early works there. And they appear in museums and stuff. And I did a long interview with him for a big book on his work that Phaeton put out, and I saw a bunch of his work around that. I think this weekend could work for a Zoom if that suits. ** Steeqhen, The Granary Theater, yes, that rings the bell. Luck with the Library/CV of course. I don’t know where Logan is off the top of my head, but southern Utah is one of the most beautiful areas on the face of the earth, so you might have had a helluva of a view and playground if nothing else. ** HaRpEr //, The thing with editing is to not make snap judgements and give yourself time to try rejecting and embracing the possible decisions before you decide. I love editing, but you have to fight off the personal stuff. I think John is right as long as you think the decision through and don’t just lop things off on a whim. ** Laura, Yeah, making his things on tightrope, it feels that way. I thought ‘Adolescence’ was quite impressive. The single shot thing is kind of incredible just on a technical level. And it’s gotten boring to say so, but that young actor is really good in it. I think assuming the new script works out and there would then be three narrative film scripts, publishing them together could be a possibility. Happy Wednesday to you (too)! ** Right. Carmelo Bene was kind of a big deal in Italy, as far as I can tell, but his work seems to be barely known outside of Italy, and it’s curious work, so I thought I would give you guys a look at it. See you tomorrow.

Galerie Denis Cooper presents … Tom Friedman

 

Quote

“David Bohm said, ‘…according to today’s laws of physics, the bumble should not be able to fly…the shape of its wings, their velocity of operation, and their size, compared to the bumble bee’s body, make no sense…it’s a miracle, it’s comical, and it cannot be denied.’ …This is why I am an artist.” — Tom Friedman

 

Elsewhere

A visit with Tom Friedman
Tom Friedman @ Gagosian Gallery
Tom Friedman @ Ceysson Gallery
Tom Friedman, the book (Phaidon Press)
The Obsessive Art of Tom Friedman
Tom Friedman interviewed by John Miller
Tom Friedman in Tokyo
Dan Cameron on Tom Friedman

 

About

‘Tom Friedman’s studio is a sensory deprivation chamber. A small shed about 50 feet from his home in the western Massachusetts countryside, it is windowless and featureless, immaculately tidy, completely empty and painted white.He has compared it to the blindingly white prison cell in the science fiction film THX 1138 (1970).

Friedman works in this environment to get a better view of the shape of his own thoughts. Knotted, looping, self-generating, endlessly expanding and dissipating, these are the raw materials with which he makes his sculptures and drawings. The end result, the object, whether it’s a frail thread of chewing gum stretched between ceiling and floor or a hyper-real dragonfly assembled from hair and clay, is just a diagram and a trace of the stuff he’s scraped from the inside of his head.

Friedman’s works operate as closed, repetitive systems which run until they break down; at this point an eerie sense of the unreal begins to seep from the split gaskets. ‘The idea of pulling things further and further apart is interesting’, he has said. ‘Stretching a piece of gum is an analogy for this idea: as you stretch the gum the connecting thread becomes thinner and thinner. I reached a point where the idea of fantasy started to filter in, because when the connection between things becomes so slight, they are not read as a cohesive whole.’ — Adam McEwen, Frieze (continued)

 

Media


Public Art Fund Talks at The New School: Tom Friedman


Tom Friedman at Luhring Augustine, NYC (February 2012)


Tom Friedman at Stephen Friedman Gallery, 2012


Tom Friedman – installation at Magasin 3


Tom Friedman remembers Hudson

 

Serious Playboys
Tom Friedman in Conversation with John Waters
from Parkett

 

John Waters: A friend who doesn’t follow the art world saw your book and said, “You have to have a real faith in contemporary art to look at Tom Friedman’s work.” Do you agree?

Tom Friedman: It seems like people can enter my work on different levels. People who don’t know a lot about contemporary art seem to enter it because of the type of things I do with materials…

JW: Oh I agree! It is good that you have to have faith in the art world to look at someone’s work. Then at least you’re going to really look at it. Your work is self-assured in a humble but strong way, but in some of the pieces you demand faith. When you say, for example, that you stared at a piece of paper for a thousand hours, you are demanding faith from the viewer, don’t you think?

TF: Yeah, I guess faith in my credibility.

JW: What is so amazing about your work is that even the most unsophisticated art person is not pissed off because before they can say “Oh, my kid can do that,” the words get stuck in their throat because their kids most definitely could not do that.

TF: Because I seem to put myself through a sort of torture, people feel that if I’m going to put myself through that, they might as well give a little of themselves.

JW: But is it torture or magic? I mean you were a magician as a kid—I’m sure critics make too much of that—but were you for real?

TF: My brother and I used to put on shows for kids. We were called Ali & Oop. I was Oop.

JW: I was a puppeteer, so we were on the same circuit; kids birthday parties.

TF: (laughter)

JW: All art shows are magic in a way, aren’t they?

TF: Yeah.

JW: And I wonder if talking about it gives away the trick in a way, even what we’re doing now. Real magicians will never tell you how they do the trick.

TF: I try to be incredibly obvious and straightforward, but this sort of conceals itself again. I’m trying to reveal the secret. It’s like a secret that everyone knows.

JW: When you were young did art ever surprise or shock you?

TF: Not really. I didn’t look at art that much. I got started making things as a way of trying to understand the world around me, and it still is that way for me. It becomes a vehicle for my understanding, so each piece represents some kind of discovery that I make about the world.

JW: But you can see how some of your most obsessional pieces are sometimes shocking to others.

TF: I can see that.

JW: Is patience to you a virtue or a compulsion?

TF: I guess both.

JW: In your work certainly, patience has to be one of your tools, as much as the material, isn’t it?

TF: I think my patience comes from faith and also a need to pursue an idea. I have to see it through and make it physical to complete my understanding of it.

JW: Do you ever change your technical approach mid-way through?

TF: Well, yes. I was working on a piece with pins in a sheet. I started it off by doing it one at a time — which became absurdly monotonous. Then I tried to figure out ways of doing it faster. I constructed this screen so the pins would fall through with their heads all in the same way. Then I had to work out a way to orient the pins, so I could pull out a clump and stick them in. I rigged up a device that consisted of a block and a magnet so I could then stick in a whole bunch at one time.

JW: So in a way you came up with a primitive form of mass production.

TF: Right. I do look for ways to make things easier. My work tends towards this very repetitive labor process for some reason, yet it is not really about that.

JW: It is and it isn’t. When I look at one of your pieces, I wonder how could such a thing be done, and buried in that, I think, is a whole hierarchy of labor processes. In most cases, the disappearance of the hand makes something more attractive — unless you flip back into an Arts and Crafts esthetic which values something for its archaic qualities.

TF: That’s something you’ve mentioned quite a few times.

JW: That’s because the machine qualifies what it is to do something by hand in this day and age. It plays out in a lot of different ways. Warhol said, “I want to be a machine,” but that was very romantic, a romanticization of the mechanical.

TF: I always interpreted that statement as striving to reveal the human element by denying it.

JW: By falling short of perfection?

TF: Yes. Striving for that machineness might show the residue of what is human, and that always interested me: the absurdity of wanting to be a machine.

JW: David Robbins has referred to you as “the Manzoni of the ’90s.” Manzoni’s canned shit and his pedestal for the earth — like a lot of his other work — both have a lot to do with how one orients oneself. I think of your inverted map: looking at the world from the North Pole. Then, of course, there’s your speck of shit versus his can.

TF: What I know of his work seems to emanate from thoughts about his self in relation to … the world, I guess.

JW: Yeah, but also in relation to the readymade. His pedestal claims the earth as a readymade and the canned shit claims the results of an involuntary, physiological process. In your work, everything you start out with remains the same. The spaghetti is still spaghetti, the pins are still pins, the map is still a map …

TF: I try to establish a logical connection between what a material is, how it is transformed and what it becomes. It retains its identity, but as symbolic material. It becomes symbolic because you are looking at it.

JW: Does the scale and fragility of your work ever create storage or transportation problems? Take your bubblegum piece, for instance.

TF: The bubblegum just goes in a box and that’s it.

JW: The one that stretches from floor to ceiling?

TF: Oh, that one. I thought you were talking about the bubblegum. [laughter]. Yes, a very long box!

JW: So you just make it again every time.

TF: Well, I’ve only shown it twice. Once at Feature, and then once in a show curated by Ivan Moscowitz. And he installed it.

JW: Oh really? He must have had a lot of patience.

TF: I had very specific instructions. They had to be incredibly detailed. Well, not incredibly detailed but … you know, second by second. The first thing was that I had to figure out a way of making it more predictable. I found this stuff called Friendly Plastic and I mixed a small amount of that into the bubblegum. It made the mixture slightly harder when it was stretched, and so it wouldn’t sag — which is something I was concerned about. But the Friendly Plastic actually complicated the installation because you have to boil it, then you have to wait exactly the right amount of time for it to cool off before you stick it on the ceiling and stretch it to the floor. So when it came down to shipping, it all just went into a small box, a slide box. Other things just get thrown away, like the piece I did with laundry detergent. That just got swept up. The toothpaste — I did a piece with toothpaste on a wall — that just gets scraped off and thrown away.

JW: So a collector ends up purchasing instructions?

TF: Yes — and a lifetime supply of bubblegum. [laughter].

read the totality

 

Work

blackandwhitepaintfig. (2006)
black and white paint on concrete floor
4 x 31 x 75-1/2 inches (10.2 x 78.7 x 191.8 cm)

 

Untitled (1990)
approximately 1,500 pieces of chewed bubble gum molded into a sphere and displayed at head height in a corner, hanging by its own stickiness.

 

1000 Hours of Staring (1992-97)
a blank piece of paper stared at by the artist for 1,000 hours
32 ½ x 32 ½ inches

 

Untitled (1990)
a partially used bar of soap inlaid with a spiral of the artist’s pubic hair
3 x 4 x 1½ in. (7.6 x 10.1 x 3.8 cm.)

 

Untitled (1992)
a sphere of the artist’s feces ½ mm in diameter centered on a cubed pedestal
Pedestal: 20 x 20 x 20 inches

 

Untitled (1995)
a gelatin pill capsule filled with tiny spheres of Play-Doh
¼ x ¾ x ¼ inches

 

Untitled, 1992
approximately 3,000 garbage bags layered one inside the other until no more could be added
63 x 28 x 20 inches

 

Untitled (2000)
construction paper
12 x 114 x 120 inches

 

Untitled (1990)
two identically wrinkled sheets of paper
2 parts, each: 11 x 8 ½ inches

 

Zombie (2008)
newspaper and wheat paste
67 x 28 x 96 in. (170.18 x 71.12 x 243.84 cm)

 

Untitled (1994)
self-portrait carved out of a single aspirin

 

Wooden School Chair (1999-2002)
This sculpture started as an everyday wooden school chair. The artist drilled holes in the chair repeatedly until the majority of the chair was removed.

 

Inside Out (2006)
cardboard box, christmas lights, styrofoam and various media from the artist’s studio

 

Untitled (1993)
a ring of plastic drinking cups, using the smallest number of cups possible to close the ring to form a perfect circle

 

Untitled, (1999)
36 dollar bills combined to make one large dollar bill
14 x 35 1/4 inches

 

Untitled (Hair) (2000)
2 15/16 x 1/2 x 1/2 inches

 

Untitled (2005)
a replica of the artist’s shoes made entirely out of paint
Each: 4 x 11 ¼ x 4 ¾ inches

 

Untitled (2002)
a cardboard box covered with Styrofoam balls
23 ¾ x 27 x 27 inches

 

Untitled (kite) (2012)
wood, paint and monofilament
Diameter of base: 41 1/2 inches
Figure: 1 1/8 x 3/8 inches
String: Dimension varies

 

Untitled (White Bread) (2013)
styrofoam and paint
36 x 36 x 3 7/8 inches
(91.44 x 91.44 x 9.84 cm)

 

Big Big Mac (2013)
styrofoam and paint
38 1/2 X 50 inches
(97.79 X 127 cm)

 

Moot (2014)
paint and styrofoam
Guitar: 41 3/8 x 15 5/8 x 4 3/4 inches
Mic: 54 1/2 x 10 1/2 x 10 1/4 inches
Stool: 23 1/4 x 12 1/4 x 12 1/4 inches

 

REAM (2006)
a 500-page flipbook made in 2006

 

Witch (2008)
paper
51 x 39 inches (129.5 x 99.1 cm)

 

Installation video — watch here

Looking Up (2015)
stainless steel
390 x 130 x 90 inches (990.6 x 330.2 x 228.6 cm)

 

Everything (1995)
all of the words in an English language dictionary written on a piece of paper
36 x 36 inches

 

Circle Dance (2010)
a circle of eleven life-sized dancing figures, cast in a highly polished stainless steel

 

Untitled (1999)
Nine Total cereal boxes cut into small squares and combined to make one large box

 

Untitled (1989)
“painting” using Crest Tartar Control Gel Toothpaste

 

Hot balls (1992)
a collection of differently sized and coloured balls stolen by the artist from various stores over a period of six months

 

Yarn Dog (2006)
yarn and wheat paste
23 x 44 1/2 x 24 1/4 inches

 

Dotted Line (2017)
video projection, silent
Dimensions variable

 

Untitled (Foil Guitarist) (2004)
aluminum and wood with colored pencil on paper Tootsie Pop wrapper
70 x 48 x 30 in

 

 

*

p.s. Hey. ** Chris Cochrane, Morning and love to you, Chris! $500 a ticket, in the 70s? How is that possible. When I first lived in NYC in the early 80s and met you, that space was used for ‘White Parties’, and I remember crowds of completely zonked out clones stumbling around in front of it. I’m really surprised that it’s still a theater, or theater-shaped at least. Huh. xoxo, me. ** Uday, The food wasn’t unusual, just unusual for me: donuts, galette. Your legs have my luck should they need it. Could be very glamorising for them? ** _Black_Acrylic, Leeds Town & Country Club is legendary even outside the UK. Actually, so is the Orbit, come to think of it. Nice. ** kenley, Hey! Oh, wow, Dog Whistle is fantastic! I can see the Sepultura thing. That was such fun. You’re the singer, no? Nice speech/rant there in the middle. I’d love to see/hear more. And Searing is really strong too. What a nice, moody video. So, as to which one is your beloved … wild guess: the drummer or the bass player? You guys are such a music power couple. That’s exciting. I hope the world creates a situation where your band can play over here. For the French visa I have, you don’t have to speak French. I don’t speak French, embarrassingly enough. I think you only have to speak French if you want to be a citizen. Awesome, thank you! Now I’m your fan. ** l@rst, Nice: you at that Mudhoney show. I haven’t watched the whole video, but I will. ** Montse, Hi, Montse. Oh, thank you for the festival tips! I’ll go see if any of them are in the submission period. Hopes about FIRE, yeah, although we’ve had quite bad luck with Queer festivals, I guess because ‘RT’ isn’t sexy? Fingers crossed. Thank you, thank you! Love, me. ** Carsten, ‘Yeelen’ sounds exciting, yeah. I’ll see if I can find it on some illegal site or somewhere. Seems possible. Oh, wait, you say it’s on m.vkvideo.ru. Perfect, easy. I’ll watch it as soon as I’m able. Thanks, pal. ** Bill, I have something of a soft spot for those kinds of films too, maybe not as soft as your spot, but still. I went to Club Lower Links. I might even have done a reading there, maybe at the time of Spew, I’m not sure. I saw that Bottom of the Hill is closing. That’s really too bad. I never went, but I kept something of an eye on their programming, which was very impressive. ** Måns BT, Hey, Måns! Oh, I do know that Moodysson film, but embarrassingly I know it from its English title ‘Together’. I did really like it. I want to watch it again. I should do a Moodysson Day if I haven’t already. Hm. ‘Thriller: En Grym Film’ sounds like a serious must watch. I’ll hunt. Crazy. And ‘Fyra Nyanser av Brunt’. I don’t know it all. Thanks a lot, buddy. I’ll catch up. Spain: I’ve only been to Barcelona and Sitges. I liked Barcelona a lot. I was only there for one day, so I don’t really know of anything to suggest, but, if you go there, I think you’ll be at least somewhat enchanted. Montse, one of our commenters and a great friend of mine, lives there. Maybe if she sees this, she’ll have ideas. Sitges is just a kind of touristy beach town, I wouldn’t bother. Very cool everything back your way. ** Alice, Hi. I played an ‘Ape Escape’ film at some point. Yeah, fun. Lispector is wonderful, yeah. Hugo’s blurb is a total keeper. Wow, I’d buy whatever had that phrase adorning it. Thank you, I look forward to reading it. I’m happy to hear you sounding sparkly and determined. xo. ** Lucas, Haha, that was a lot comments, but they’re a gift too. I only just peeked at your Letterboxd list, but it’s stellar. ‘Jerk’! On the post, you can hook me up with the google doc if you like. People send guest-posts that way sometimes, and it works. Thank you! The shift in your perspective is very interesting, and it sounds worth the hours it involved. The bigger the palette, the greater your frontier, you know? ** Eric C., Hi. Oh, March, probably too late for us to try for, but I’ll check the listing and see. Yeah, too late, damn. 2026: Well, Zac and I going to be pretty concentrated on getting ‘RT’ out and about probably through the spring. It’s a lot of work. And I hope to have the script of our new film finished asap so we can start the exhausting process of finding out how we can get it made. That’s kind of the future I’m seeing. I would like to write some fiction, but we’ll see. What’re you planning for? ** Steeqhen, Sad about the Savoy. My memory of Cork is pretty limited. I was basically confined to the area around wherever that conference on my work was held. It was in some kind of theater, but not the kind where bands would play. The mentoring prospect sounds really interesting, obviously, well, depending on the mentor. 35 spots, though, pretty tight. But still. ** Steve, No, haha, I know nothing beyond those pictures. Like I said to Chris, I’m surprised the Fillmore East is still physically extant and not just NYU dorms. I wonder why. ** politekid, Oh, uh, yeah, ‘Southland Tales’ was one of my ‘huh?’s. I actually like ‘Donnie Darko. but only the original theater release version. I tried the director’s cut, and I thought it was pretentious crap. You’ll be back to reading novels in no time. Seriously. This week? I think just ‘RT’ stuff and going to see some films that are playing here and look exciting. Mostly older experimental films. I’m in the middle of trying to work out a London screening for ‘RT’ right now. There are a few prospects, and fingers crossed. ** James Bennett, Hey. The one time I went to Venice my travel-mate friend and I made a pilgrimage to the ‘Death in Venice’ hotel, but it was so disappointing because they didn’t film the interiors there, and it was no great shakes on the inside. ‘Funeral Rites’ is my favorite Genet. I don’t think it trails off, but I haven’t read it in ages. Amazing, that reading technique. Trippy. Tempting. I kept a journal when I was a teenager until my sneaky mother found it and read it and discovered I was a gay boy with a fucked up imagination and sent me to a psychiatrist, and that warded me off ever keep a journal again. For whatever reason, the idea of keeping one is completely uninteresting to me too. Maybe for the same reason I never liked using my biography in m fiction except in ‘I Wished’ and rare strategic situations. ** HaRpEr //, I do like ‘Romy and Michele’. I saw it in the theater when it came out, and I was, like, why is this film not crazy popular? I actually did a post here a million years ago about the Crystal Palace, but it wasn’t very good, so I let it die. But a very interesting thing. ** Malik, Hey! Living in Paris, there are times when I catch myself thinking, ‘I would kill for a Taco Bell’. That’s how rough it is living here as a Mexican food addict. A place where going to a Chipotle constitutes an exciting birthday treat. Have you seen Bakshi’s ‘Mighty Mouse’ reboot cartoons? I don’t remember what age I was when it was on TV, but it blew my mind. My friend the writer Darius James, who wrote a great novel called ‘Negrophobia’ and a terrific book about Blaxploitation films, is obsessed with ‘Coonskin’. He can wax scholarly and poetic about it for hours. Exciting about the new short play and of course the longer one! So happy to hear that! ** Laura, Hi. Where I grew up there was this large area of abandoned mansions situated where they eventually put in a freeway, and I grew up spending endless hours exploring them as a kid and doing drugs in them as a teen. Changed my brain. My TV ‘ban’ is pretty solid. I’ll watch what my LA roommate watches when I’m visiting there and get a taste of some of the trending shows like, oh, ‘Wednesday’ or ‘Succession’ or ‘Adolescence’ and those sorts of things, but I’m never tempted to go any further. That writers group sounds like a complete and total nightmare. Oh my god. I’m waiting for Zac to give me his script feedback, and he promises by sometime next week at the latest. Ideally, that’ll be the final polish, but we’ll see. I’m dying to start getting it ready for a life. ** horatio, Oh, god, you know I just had a horrible flu. Really bad. But the good thing was that antibiotics and steroids murdered it pretty quickly. Don’t hesitate to murder it with those weapons if it starts messing with you too much. ‘Last Night At Lounge Ax’: I’ll definitely watch for that. Thanks! Did you ever see Shellac? If not, needless to say they were crazy good live. Feel better whatever it takes. ** Okay. I’m giving my galerie space over to the super smart and clever and tons of fun artist Tom Friedman today. Please take a stroll and look around. See you tomorrow.

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