hermannsworld

[hermannsworld]

The forest, in historical terms, is a closed space, a foreign or non human environment, where the daylight does not penetrate sufficiently to get our bearings. An opaque space, far from human knowledge and reason, and thus needing to be tamed.

[hermannsworld]

There is a piece of

land still to be

 conquered

it is waiting to be

  conquered

but it is not waiting

   for us

[hermannsworld]

[hermannsworld]

‘Nothing is natural. For the natural in its most natural is carefully created’

The fourth dimension -  Trinh T. Minh-Ha

[hermannsworld]

Sally Mann

[hermannsworld]

no way home

[hermannsworld]

continuation with the radio 

[hermannsworld]

What is time? - Duane Michals

Time is the duration of everything.

Its measure is the essential dimension;

the moment is the interval between 

now and then and then again.

Time is a thought, and we are the clocks whose heart is the clock’s tick and tock. 

Time is vacant, and depending on where,

it is both the tortoise and the hare.

Since nothing ever happened twice,

each moment is a toss of dice.

Time is always now, there is no past

excepts what lasts in the flickering shadows of our memories’ doubt.

There is no future except in the anticipation of salvation for the devout. 

Now is a contradiction of fact and fiction.

Genesis erupts into a cornucopian extravagane of life.

The secret key to the arcane mystery of all things

imaginable and unimaginable is in the brevity of now,

a timeless flash in perpetual continuum.

Here language fails, and we are confined

within the mind’s capacity for comprehension,

bound within our four dimensions.

Our illusions float on waves of time like concentric circles in a pond.

Time recedes from the moment’s splash

and the ripples widen into waves of stillness

where time becomes nothing/

Clocks lie, there is no time.

[hermannsworld]

What is memory - Duane Michals

Memory is the cemetery of our histories’s spent days.

It is the prologue to this moment’s scene in out lives’ one-act play,

where ghosts perform their turns upon recall, and we are

the author and audience of it all.

Memory is our evidence of ever having been, where recollection lies

and often wears a mantle of disguise when viewed

through time’s pale shadowed scrim. Its echoes are a dusty din.

For some their memories are more real

than what they now do touch and feel.

They rehearse again the scene they preformed

in a once happier then.

In the library of our minds, all the scenarios of our acts are found.

Among our memories’ ancient props are the lists of our hints and flops. 

Even memory forgets its plots

in the wisp of that haunted ground.

And when we write upon our diary’s last page,

life will have been one great memory of when we once had been,

which is often then forgotten as we leave the stage.

If I indulge myself in memory, it takes me to that place 

long ago in Germany where I somehow still remain.

What was his name? Ah yes, Dieter, in the rain.

[hermannsworld]

Portrait in the Mirror, by Duane Michals

[hermannsworld]

As a Cuban artist working between Havana and the United States, Bruguera has centered her practice on issues of political power and representation. Early works focused on her own body, paying tribute to fellow Cuban artist Mendieta, but she has since shifted to incorporating audience interaction. Bruguera is perhaps best known for Tatlin’s Whisper #6 (Havana version) (2009), performed at the Havana Biennial. The work encompassed a stage on which audience members were granted the opportunity to speak freely for one minute before being escorted offstage by actors in military uniforms.

[hermannsworld]

The Battle Is Joined, Public Art Commission Monument Lab, Mural Arts, Vernon Park, Philadelphia, 2017.

[hermannsworld]

[hermannsworld]

Mirror : how to bring things in the frame that happen outside of the frame

India Song - Marguerite Duras

[hermannsworld]

Barbara Probst

[hermannsworld]

[hermannsworld]

What Bungalows Can Tell is the result of extensive artistic and architectural research on the village of Kaliurang (Yogyakarta region, Indonesia). This publication brings together different essays and a series of photographs that critically explore the spatial, transformative effects of globalisation and heritage formation on a local scale. It looks specifically at the colonial bungalows —what can they tell?—  and the stories around them, questioning how they were used in the past, what their function is in the present and what they can represent in the future.