Everyday Resistance has become a commodity. Especially in the art and cultural world, it is worn like a costume—a look to buy, a set of slogans memorized and dropped into conversations and presentations for credibility.
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We exchange the endless supply of hippo memes with friends. We know, for sure, this is a capital G girl, not because of her biological sex or her social gender, but rather due to her aesthetic function.
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Due to numerous cancellations and censorship, one becomes an expert on how to archive and tell a story, reclaiming one’s right to speak while protecting oneself from potential legal accusations because of the text itself. It is an art we, the cancelled, are forced to master.
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Since last October, the growing instrumentalization of anti-Semitism by Zionist groups around the world, including those who identify with feminisms and the anti-fascist movement, is notorious.
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In the West, institutions, especially those relating to arts and culture, have been challenged to end their exclusionary practices and introduce “diversity” to their institutions. Depending on the locality of the institution, differing forms of diversity ranging from gender, race, socio-economic class, migration background, language, age, etc., have been demanded by those who’ve been traditionally excluded, especially from larger institutions.
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I wonder how many interpretations the phrase “Foreigners Everywhere” can have beyond the grand art event, its connections to commercial transfers, the critical nuances of global contemporary art, and the pretensions of reconstituting a Pangea without borders.
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I’m an undiagnosed autistic person, and this is a very wondrous place to be. It’s a place where you don’t yet have the official approval stamp of a mental health institution—and, in many cases—know more about autism than most mental health professionals.
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Memory is a flood, writes Ocean Vuong.[1] It is something we cannot easily control as it is already controlled by different triggers. Except in cases when our memory blocks some, usually traumatic, experiences, everything else can surge at certain moments.
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My family says that the first word I understood was “hot”. I was two years old and my grandmother pointed to the kitchen stove in her centrally heated Gemeindebau apartment in Vienna, warning me not to touch it because of the heat. I walked over to the living room radiator, touched it and said, “Hot.”
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In my Maturazeitung, it stated that I was adaptable and would rarely say if something didn't suit me. Fifteen years later, it still annoys me…
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My journey to becoming an anti-racism-focused artist, activist and (so-called educator) has been an interesting one…
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At the time I decide to write this text I am reading “Tools for Conviviality”[1] and “Deschooling Society”[2] by Ivan Illich (Vienna, 1926 – Bremen, 2002)…
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When discussing the history of humans fantasizing about robots, one can go as far back as ancient civilizations and find stories that involve automatic, artificial beings…
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