The stuff of conceptualism (the weather reports, the statements of fact, the list of shops in a shopping mall) can be easily understood by anyone. (For purposes of this conversation, ”anyone” is a certain kind of Westernized citizen.) Also easily misunderstood, which is a different form of understanding. I know what to do with a urinal. I know less what to do with a urinal on a pedestal. I may or may not turn to theory for a kind of understanding or at least interpretation; either way, I may just use it for a piss. – Vanessa Place, Notes on Conceptualism, February 22, 2012, Jacket 2

Julius von Bismarck and Julian Charrière. I Am Afraid

Akemi Takeya, Sweet heart / Granular Synthesis (1997, 7:30)

Injuring, Wagering, Controlling: Looking Back at a Metalanguage, Diedrich Diederichsen, 2018

Notes on ‘Camp’, Susan Sontag, 1964

To have that sense of one’s intrinsic worth which, for better or for worse, constitutes self-respect, is potentially to have everything: the ability to discriminate, to love and to remain indifferent. To lack it is to be locked within oneself, paradoxically incapable of either love or indifference. If we do not respect ourselves, we are on the one hand forced to despise those who have so few resources as to consort with us, so little perception as to remain blind to our fatal weak- nesses. On the other, we are peculiarly in thrall to everyone we see, curiously determined to live out—since our self-image is untenable—their false notions of us. We flatter ourselves by thinking this compulsion to please others an attractive trait: a gift for imaginative empathy, evidence of our willingness to give. Of course we will play Francesca to Paolo, Brett Ashley to Jake, Helen Keller to anyone’s Annie Sullivan: no expectation is too misplaced, no role too ludicrous. At the mercy of those we can not but hold in contempt, we play rôles doomed to failure before they are begun, each defeat generating fresh despair at the necessity of divining and meeting the next demand made upon us. – Joan Didion, On Self-Respect, Vogue Magazine, 1961

LANDSCAPE MODERN OIL PAINTING CANVAS PAINTING ABSTRACT OIL PAINTING WALL HANGING, group show by Jir Sandel

Jørgen Leth. Andy Warhol Eating a Hamburger

Towards a Metalanguage of Evil, Cady Noland, Balcon No. 4, 1989

Why Does Fred Sandback’s Work Make Me Cry?, Andrea Fraser, Grey Room NO. 22 / Winter 2006 p.30-47

Cindy Sherman. Nobody’s Here But Me

Curating in the Post-Internet Age, Boris Groys, e-flux #94 – October 2018

It is important to note that Natascha Süder Happelmann is not a pseudonym – such as Lutz Bacher, for example – but an adaption. While pseudonyms are used to avoid revealing one’s real identity, Süder Happelmann wants her name to be traced back to her real one. For this purpose, the artist evaluated collected misspellings and autocorrects of her name with which she had been addressed over the past 30 years and selected Natascha Süder Happelman to be ‘the proper name for this important task’ as her spokeswoman Duldung explained. In order to represent Germany at one of the most important exhibitions in the world, the artist considered it necessary to ‘integrate’ by using a more German-sounding with umlauts and ‘-mann’ suffix to her surname. – ‘Natascha Süder Happelmann’ will represent Germany at the 2019 Venice Biennale, Carina Bukuts, Frieze Magazine, October 26, 2018

Saw myself in film. Odd, seeing one’s self as a puppet. Heightening of mirror effect. Narcissus stirs, walks, sees himself from the back, as he cannot see and could not imagine himself. Becomes aware of a whole area indissociable from him, a host of hidden bonds, a whole Other sustaining the Same. Receives the invisible self. One is cast out of one’s self, change into another. One passes judgement upon one’s self – If it could see or perceive, through this artifice, the mind thus externalized, and from forbidden angles – what awareness would one have? What effect on one’s sense of self? To see one’s self thinking, responding, sleeping. – Paul Valéry, Ego, 1973 from On the Eve of the Future, Selected Writings on Film, Annette Michelson

The Jean Freeman Gallery Does Not Exist, Christopher Howard, MIT Press, October 2018