* "it's been real", as they say out here.
"let's make an agreement" (owen wilson, "darjeeling limited", 2007). this one has expired. tata, so long. one of the "agreements" for the residency was to prefix everything i wrote with the words "meister werner klugshaft resident 2015". i'm still not sure who klugshaft is - is he even alive? i'm told (duarte, him again) that he comes from a family of fur trappers. upon my "release" - from the white man's shackles - this website is returned to its original name: k o d. i can resume my reading of rachel harrison's catalog at bard and my investigation of richard prince's obsession with rastafarians. i am also at liberty to ponder whether santa cruz is a viable art object/project: would it be a sculpture, a video, a landscape painting or some dialogic what-have-you? and i can start another residency: right here, at home. this one's on me!
* "it's been real", as they say out here.
really? i thought "mahalo" meant "goodbye".
no, it means "thank you".
ah, i also thought it meant "my hole".
so duarte says it again, but slower: "ma-ha-lo", and that's it, the residency is over. no refunds. no free rides. barely a smile. no flowers. just me and mahole, back in santa cruz (hola mah hole, que tal?), standing with the dogs by the ocean. after 5 weeks on the road, from doucheldorf to berlin, stuttgart to venezia, to nizza (and nearby villages) und barcelona the question at this point is: what is the connection between this small surfer town - with its hippies, dreadlocked vegans with little foot wear, art ladies (non-gender specific term), google weekenders and righteous eco-hipsters - and the art world at large: NY, Berlin, LA, London, etc.?
is this day 3 again? either way, it's passed bedtime. but duarte CCL (couldn't care less). he grabs my arm & ushers me into a small room. it looks like a cubicle in the midst of a tornado. there are a lot of moths. i manage, however, to keep my head on. after barcelona, nice and ve-nice we are somehow back in germany. dunno how duarte does this. he says i can continue the residency as long as i want. "until u die", he cackles into a microphone, "only 66 euros / day". plus tax. aurora, beuys, beugz, lewin, kebab, heilmann, gators, pilsner,,, different trains (after steve reich). delavy. i set the bug alarm for ten passed midnight, may 2nd.
Residency day 33: oceanic rite of passage. Duarte, the clumsy midget who carries my paintbrushes, insists I undertake it. This time, all my friends are there. They see me get knocked over by the wave, slip and fall off the rock and into the ocean. I hit my back and foot but manage to clear my head. I tumble with no sense of direction, the wave pressing me to the bottom, then twirling me around. I roll into a ball, protecting head and knees. I let the current decide which way to take me. Finally it lets go. I'm in pain but swim for a bit, grateful to be alive. After a few minutes of connecting with the water, I come out. Scratched, bruised, but unbroken. Oddly relaxed and strengthened. Something intense just happened. For a few seconds, I engaged with a powerful reality: the raw force of nature. I'm alive. Duarte gives a hug, pinches my nose and passes a pipe.
cortinas (curtains) de venezia: les rideaux qui derident et rident, s'ouvrent sur un canal ou artwork (ou pas, s'ils restent tires). comment ponctuer en franglish? le linge etendu, detendu, deride lui aussi. day 22: venezia, but i am in nice too, hence the appearance of french. nissart bastille day. corto maletese's cat qui somnole. vive ben vautier!
from / de stuttgart, we flew over the alps to / on s'est envoles pour venice / venise, holding that small red thing to stir your bloody mary with, contre le hublot, against the airplane window. big lake down below, in the alpes. somewhere down there is the KMD - kunsthalle marcel duchamp - in the tiny town of cully, site of etants-donnes' waterfall. la chute d'eau: "chuuuuut..." marcel sez shush. le lac du chant du signe.
e-flux was at the biennale (and canopyX3 was at the berlin art book fair). but it was too hot to go visit their cute blue bungalow. it looked kind of abandoned anyway. maybe they'd gone back to NYC, like bob sez ("i'm going back to New York City, i do believe i've had enough"). joan jonas' show was probably the best thing the pavilions had to offer. the main exhibitions, curated bu Enwezor, were amazing - especially the arsenale's. fortune cookies, armpit, boris (> Public), sarah lucas,,,
<this was getting nowhere>
duarte: ma, che e non e piu, che? (boltanski, homme qui tousse)
me: eh, oh, tu fais gaffe. hein. bon. (canadissimo)
duarte: benigolio e aiparu. (rosenkranz)
me: si, ma, e. aperto e maglio,,, (spanish pavilion)
duarte: buru blur brriu biturri?
<we were having this really ____ conversation>
before i left germany, duarte, the portuguese gondolier who has been my residency chaperone (carrying all the coins) warned me: "sure (he didn't quite say "dude"), venezia is beautiful, the biennale is great, but the place is a fucking swamp". sure enough, my clothes smell worse after i wash them from hanging on a line in some courtyard. i am covered with mosquito bites. feeding the bugs is part of this residency project, i now seem to recall. expect things to get worse for venezia with global warming, me (and duarte) warns. despite all this, it's otherworldly. corto maltese's presence can be felt at night on the lone piazza, by the greek lions of the arsenale. and in conversations with cats.
something magical about waking up in a small room in venezia after 2 weeks in germany. the morning conversations below the windows ("no one knows i'm here, one day i'll just disappear" - joni mitchell), iron curtains pulled up. an entire world of sound. immersion. on those last few days in stuttgart i finally turned in my proposal for the 4th marcel duchamp research scholarship with the staatliches museum schwerin. been working on it for over a month - interesting process. and interesting guy, this marchand du sel. as i write, he's somewhere in Arizona, retracing his steps.
the last pics of germany - berlin in fact. you'll recognize ed's small fires (sometimes, getting your fingers burned is like getting your feet wet). and ray j., mountain, beuys, albers, andy, j.cage, beutler, mary h., ghost,
part of the residency agreement is that every time i write my name during the 5-week program, i have to precede it with "meister werner klugshaft resident". the residency year, "2015", is optional. initially duarte said it should be included as a sort of watermark in all my text and artwork production at the rate of every paragraph. somehow that seemed like a lot, so we agreed on my name only. i looked up meister w. klugshaft to find out who the hell he is. duarte said he's writing a wiki page and it will be up soon. something about a klever sausage chef who lives in duchelrolf.
the residency starts in dusseldorf. there's a really great gallery in doucheldorf (as i call the place because i'm cranky, because i'm tired, because i'm jet lagged) - konrad fischer. duarte, the portuguese fisherman from pescadero who is behind this action-packed five-week residency, took me there. fischer has shown and continues to represent some of the greatest names in contemporary art: joseph beuys (naturlich), carl andre, bruce nauman, Lewit, baldi, uncle kawara, marcel (broodthaers), buren, hanne darboven (see forthcoming post), gilbert and george, etc. (but not michael asher). a nice lady, whose name i did not ask, who was associated with founding the gallery, showed me a catalog opened at the page of the lead room (schmerzraum) beuys made here in 1983. i gave her my dog-walking/reiki business card (doggy dharma) from when i lived in bolinas, ca - and felt i had performed some meaningful-meaningless action.