Sunday, December 23, 2012
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Sunday, December 2, 2012
The slutwave female rap game
Bitches referencing the internet
and pop culture trends and Grimes
Brooke Candy, Kreayshawn, Three Loco, T1MES
Marginal content produced at a high output rate
TRVP MUSIC REPLACED DUBSTEP?
R u trappin on Tumblr?
This music is made on a laptop, dragged and dropped into the internet
Is it easier than evr 2 be a slutwave/content-farm-wave cvltvral prodvcer [via Riff Raff/Lil B]?
What does TRVP mean?
What is TRAP MUSIC?
Can TRVP reanimate the social body?
WTF = TRVP?
Are 'V's the new ▲?
IS TRAP = TRVP?
Would you be more willing 2 participate in an orgy if FEEBZ was playing on the laptop or computer?
Is TRVP the new Occupy?
Can TRVP be occupied?
Would you G.A.F. if there was a TRVP STRVKE?
How do u TRVP on TUMBLR?
Is Tumblr the new Myspace?
Do u vibe 2 FEEBZZ?
Is TRVP music 'the end of indie/EDM' trend?
Does 'shitty rap' ruin everything?
Friday, November 30, 2012
Evan Calder Williams
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Monday, November 26, 2012
Nel corso degli ultimi anni Will Benedict ha lavorato in maniera professionale come fotografo, pittore e turista.
Nel mese di aprile Benedict presenterà presso la galleria Giò Marconi Bonjour Tourist, nuovi lavori realizzati attraverso la combinazione di gouaches e fotografie sagomate, montate su speciali cornici in alluminio e foamcore.
Organizzati in distinte serie, corrispondono alle categorie nominali di giornalisti televisivi, cartoline, bandiere, coppie a cena e nazioni che sbirciano attraverso finestre.
Se paragoniamo l’esperienza alla stimolazione estetica vissuta guardando la televisione, questi lavori permettono di guardare due, forse tre canali nello stesso momento.
Il brusio delle cose, i luoghi, i cibi e le persone sono fossilizzati in lucidi passepartout di foamcore abbondantemente dipinti, congelando la tristezza del turista e del pubblico (la stessa cosa) in una lieve miscela ipomaniacale di euphoria e irritabilità.
Congelati insieme a tutto e tutti, all’interno di questi passepartout ci sono dipinti su tela che raffigurano un nazionalismo di seni e peni che vende cibo al ristorante, biglietti aerei per località esotiche, muri o francobolli.
Le relazioni sociali sono stimolanti, incarnano la crescita, la distruzione e la riformulazione delle idee. Nei dipinti di Benedict, attraverso la costante rimediazione, l’unico elemento immutabile è la moltiplicazione dei livelli interpellativi.
In occasione dell’inaugurazione sarà possibile vedere le fotografie a grandezza naturale che popolano il suo lavoro e assistere alla performance di Lucy Dodd che romperà l’atmosferà. Con un’attenzione illimitata, la pittura diventa uno zoom perpetuo che genera e penetra senza fine i livelli ricorsivi di un dilemma falsamente faustiano – lavorare o non lavorare, cenare o dipingere, cena, dipinto, cena, dipinto, etc. Come un primo appuntamento metropolitano in cui ingrassiamo, parliamo, subiamo tendenze nazionalistiche e vediamo a fatica cosa può essere fatto.
Mathieu Malouf e Will Benedict
The area is mostly full of Turkish communities and young artists since it is still very affordable to live there. I remember when I moved to Berlin for a few months in 2010, on my first night there a bunch of drunk Turkish teenagers tried to attack me on the street in front of what would a year later become an artist bar called Times, run by our friends and artists Max Pitegoff and Calla Henkel and Lindsay Lawson. It is a pretty amazing place where you can meet everyone, and that is where we first met Helga Wretman, artist and professional stuntwoman, and DJ and musician M.E.S.H., who both worked with us on this project.
Wir Kinder von "based in Berlin"
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Helen Marten is a British artist based in London. She graduated from the Ruskin School of Fine Art at Oxford University in 2008 and has since had several solo exhibitions, the most recent at Kunsthalle Zürich. Marten’s film Evian Disease plays until July 2013 at the Palais de Tokyo in Paris. In 2011, she was awarded the Prix Lafayette and in 2012 the Prix LUMA. Here, Marten discusses her latest exhibition, “Plank Salad,” which is on view at Chisenhale Gallery until January 27, 2013.
MY LIST OF MATERIALS COULD RUN FOR PAGES, ranging from spaghetti and foliage to silk-screened leather, tequila, and bent rebar. It’s pornographically tactile; there is so much saturation in the skin of it because the surfaces have traces of touch invested in them. The list is madly indulgent—an engorged yet stylized stuffing of substance. Because the majority of objects are recognizable, they have a weirdly slippery, slightly uncanny status that activates a process of slippage or breakdown: Things are continually folding in and around themselves. There’s a lot of density, but at the same time I hope the work possesses a kind of lightness; there are recognizable outlines and things we can index or name. There is a universal hook as each substance is translatable: pasta, keys, chairs—all things that add up to images with related functionalities, histories, or social temperatures.
Recently, I have been quite frantic about the idea of tracing around outlines of things, creating approximations of identifiable stuff: domestic objects, banality, or boredom. But in each, there’s a surface foil or an interruption or some other hidden linguistic trap that trips up meaning, pushing the object into a new space. The objects I use are already saturated with languages, so there is a lot of punning, linguistic jokes that never quite deliver a punch line. So everything is activated in a perpetual shuffle where the grammar of objects is either forced or overstylized.
Rhythm is another thing I was thinking about. In some ways, my work is a prolonged stammer of information. There are groups of very flat ramps machined from inlaid hardwood, which are butted together and sit very low to the floor. They become like typographic punctuations or laterally flattened commas. On top of each sit these small steel panels, each airbrushed with remixed fabric or fruit packaging motifs. They’re terrifyingly gorgeous, and more so because the process of airbrushing removes any sense of the touch involved in their making; they look laminated or digitally printed, so there is something completely totalized or violent about them as objects. They are quick, but of course the manufacture of them is painfully slow. Alongside these packages are a handful of objects: a friendship bracelet, a coffee cup, a plastic heart wrapped in foam off-cuts, a discarded sock, and some broken glass.
We’re grubby humans, always scuttling around at street level; layers of activity and history are built upon pavement. The street is a different optical space from the one we visit when we stare up at the sky, so there’s a joke about sedimentation, of perpetually stomping down layers of grime—cigarette ends and wrappers—layers of activity and history. Street level becomes some kind of weirdly hallucinogenic space—and yet, the space above street level is glorious. The ramps speak explicitly about this relationship to gravity, to defiant flatness, lateral spread, and what it is to pedestal overlooked debris or trash into something with posture.
I am interested in how everything has a social beginning. Certain materials have an inherent temperature and you can ask materials to behave in certain ways. Formica is cold because it’s seamless, you can’t get behind it, and it’s wipe-clean—the language of hospitals and schools. At the same time, it possesses a weird treachery: There is something about it that has information. Wood is inherently warm, it’s organic, you can make it do anything; it’s an analog material. Steel can be both, because you can fold it and give it the impression of weightlessness but it has its own natural density. By flexing these materials you can thwart expectations of how they should perform as substances. By fucking with their materiality you can exploit their seams.