What about us with asthma? What about us who failures? What about us who can’t shit properly? What about us who have no orgies and excessive fucking to become detached about? What about us who are broken when our friends fuck our wives? What about us such as me? What about us who aren’t in Parliament? What about us who are cold on March 6 for no apparent reason? What about us who poke in death tissue? What about Historians who have to read the dirty parts? What about us who have smelled up a treehouse? Why did you make everything so baffling? Why couldn’t you comfort me like St. Augustine, who sang: “Behold the ignorant arise and snatch heaven beneath our eyes”? Why do I have to explore the pock marks on Catherine Tekakwitha’s face like the lens of a moon missile?
(Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers, 1966)
☆Donation:
Guide
Welcome to T/C Latvia : Latvian pavilion at Venice Biennale
James Lee Byars, 1932–1997
James Turrell - Aftershock
Hrair Sarkissian: The Other Side of Silence
Bruce Nauman. Neons Corridors Rooms
Barbara Kruger: Thinking of You. I Mean Me. I Mean You
Jitish Kallat: Order Of Magnitude
Chun Kwang Young: Times Reimagined
Gillian Wearing: Wearing Masks
