The White ppl think I’m radical exhibition at London’s Arcadia Missa opens February 17 and runs until April 29.
The show will “approach the problems, possibilities, and violences of portraiture and representation” in a two-person show by Los-Angeles based artist, writer and curator Aria Dean and Australian-based Somali artist Hamishi Farah.
The show will feature paintings by Farah in which he paints himself, and sculptural and digital work by Dean. Both works circle around a “shared search for what is (un)representable and how (not) to represent it.”
Amalia Ulman is presenting solo exhibition Labour Dance at London’s Arcadia Missa, opening September 30 and running to November 5.
The artist, whose work often looks at power structures and their associated aesthetics, confronts her own privilege through a dramatisation of her own position, and one that the press release calls “a position of criticality not accessible to all.”
The new work will expand on previous online and IRL project Privilege(2016) that featured as part of the Berlin Bienniale. The accompanying text also includes a quote by feminist theorist Kristeva, “One does not give birth in pain, one gives birth to pain”. The title is two-fold, nodding to politics as well as women in labour.
Majed Aslam and Imran Perretta are presenting their two person exhibition it wasn’t a crash, in the usual sense at London’s Arcadia Missa, opening on September 2 and running to September 24.
The event is curated by C.R.E.A.M., and is the first of a new initiative by Taylor Le Melle and Perretta, which will include a text by Le Melle, as well as an afterparty to launch the new curatorial project with DJs @cruise_control, ORETHA and Perretta himself.
The selection of new works on show is a culmination of Edwards’ time spent during a one-month studio residency at the gallery. The press release is left empty and the accompanying image is pixellated with four figures holding a flag who are rendered abstract.
Previous works have seen the artist create images and videos that mash politics, the body, sex and music together in a way that complicates the female body and how it is packaged in contemporary culture. Edwards will be showing as part of this year’s 3hd festival exhibition under the theme ‘There is nothing left but the Future?’ in Berlin as well Info Pura at London’s The Residence Gallery in June.
‘Lessons in Anti Apathy’ is a panel discussion of four politically active organizing groups held at London’s Arcadia Missa on August 4.
The panel includes Sisters Uncut, Strike! Magazine, WHEREISANAMENDIETA, and Dysphoria Collective. It aims to discuss how to create, organise and demand change. It also intends to address the current political climate that the press release describes as “a split between those taking to the streets” and “those who have spiralled into a perpetual state of apathy, into stone cold coolness” in a “total lack of engagement”.
Other general topics of the discussion include feelings of powerlessness resulting from capitalism, racism and the patriarchy. The panel will discuss ways to fight back, attempt to dismantle these oppressive structures, and find ways to hold institutions of power accountable.
The dubious title of the show suggests of Ghazi a type of practice that is outlined in an essay, specially commissioned and available at the gallery for the show’s duration by Dr Catherine Grant. A passage comes with the short press release, it reads:
“In describing the work, Babak emphasises his interest in various formalised relationships that can both allow mutual expression as well as court subjugation: that of photographer and model, teacher and student, analyst and analysand; which are then layered with the process of organising images as a form of narrative for the participants in the next formalised relationship: that between artwork/artist and viewer.”
Lifework is an ongoing archive of subjective experience made impersonal. Otherwise, the press release gives little away of how the work will be formulated and manifested in space. A Google search reveals a website subtitled ‘Lifework’ with some words scrubbed out and ‘not yet’ placed subtly in the tab.
Ghazi’s work installed in Arcadia Missa will be ready to sift through by the viewer, a comment on the way that the artist’s presentation can appear to find meaning with those who experience it upon encounter, and an apt mirror to a practice that finds its method in behaviour, interpretation, personal freedoms and limitations.
Most of the time, you don’t really know where you are in All The Things. It could be Berlin where author Sarah M Harrison is based; a park, a supermarket, something called a Simulated Employment Zone. Mostly, though, the novella, first published by London’s Arcadia Missa Publishing in February and now in its second limited run, is located in an apartment where main protagonist Tanya lives in the pantry while her AirBNB holiday-rental guests Beau and Brad smoke bongs in the kitchen. A person called Yoni talks at her from a floor down through the “shit pipe”, while Tanya’s ex Bonky’s pet rodent called Celia crawls over her “sore swollen hormonal tits”. Sometimes she’s comforted by Yoni’s stories. Sometimes they’re boring. Sometimes Tanya chats online with Eggie. Sometimes she sends emails of meaningful childhood anecdotes to someone called Cutlery Jane. Sometimes Tanya’s a lesbian. Sometimes, maybe not.
Time in All the Things is as difficult to place as location. Macro- and micro- states converge to create a kind of tension, where its era feels somehow stuck. Some parts are almost poetry –appearing in proto-form in an earlier publication of untitled poems and “excerpts from a novel” called Channels of Elimination in 2014 –others are monotonous and evocative gestures to meaningful moments of eroticism in repetition: “Hand anus hand anus hand hand finger anus hand anus hand anus anus cock anus cock anus cock anus cock hand cock hand cock cock cock cock…” and so on.
This first book by Australian-born Harrison is one consisting of fragments. A sort of snapshot of an existence that doesn’t ascribe to any notion of linearity or narrative, instead giving over to insight: “Yoni, it is not that I have anything against couples per-se, it is just that, they make me nervous, I don’t feel like I can trust them.” The existence presented here is one that’s funny yet bleak, familiar but different. It’s slightly off. The interwoven life of resigned cynic Tanya and the selfish, solipsistic people around her are presented in pieces of prose, poetry, dialogue, chats, emails, lists ordered alphabetically. Two-dimensional identities are blurred across bounds –personal, gendered, sexual, professional –and given depth despite their meanness: “She’s the sort of person who thinks that you become an artist by making art.”
Harrison’s is a universe that’s astutely constructed within a sensory space that’s both dulled by the marketing language of MacBook Pros and workplace initiatives, and heightened by its attention to the minor details of mundanity on the margins: “Yoni and Tanya dress up in ugly, awkward, slutty outfits, then smoke several weak joints before leaving the house.” Sex and bodily functions are entwined here in an at times macabre but always droll depiction of modern humanity; shrink-wrapped faux meat products, and a clump of horrifying black hair in the shower drain that threatens to strangle them all.
Trapped somewhere between a notion of the present-day and a monstrous close-view of a very near future, All The Things carries its reader through the squeamish particulars of the drudgery of daily life and abjection. The people that live it here are vulgar and sometimes cruel, and the most felt feeling throughout is hurt: “Her pain took up all the space, all the things, everything always her pain.” It meanders with little plot and a deliberately unsatisfying end on a note that surely has meaning but also doesn’t, as testament, perhaps, to its own brilliant soft nihilism that languishes in misery: “Cigarette to scab”. **