Picpoetry: unedited mobile photography and rapidly, almost automatic unedited poetic prose writing, ideally on the spot in order to capture the atmospherics of the specific time and space. I upload all my picpoetry on Instagram under the name picpoet – one of the oldest poets of Instagram combining visual and poetic prose. Picpoetry is a method I invented in 2009 in order to explore an ontology of presence without falling into the standard trappings of visual and textual phenomenology. There have been two waves of picpoetry. The first one, with about 600 picpoems, ended in July 2013 were all except for the very last picpoem were ceremoniously deleted for picpoet’s suicide. The second one, since 2014 and still ongoing, counts more than 1000 picpoems and can be found below and on Instagram.
PICPOETRY
Getting ready for the opening of my exhibition and revisiting some of my early pieces. It’s a tender moment. It’s surprisingly not a self-hating, cringing moment at my two-years ago self. It’s a moment of contact. You’re ok. It’s ok. Hold that canal. Hold it fast. It tends to slip through one’s fingers. Promise me you won’t let it. I need you to hold this canal. And then give it to me one evening when the words will no longer be enough. A piece of Venice. A chunk of water. A yawn of gold. A dive into a green. A detail in a forest. Bring your night into my day. Let your stars shower over me like morning dew. Let me climb the staircase to your dusk. Let us never meet in light or darkness. Come in, she said to the water. I’ve invited you long before the flood, do you remember? You sat here for tea while out there vast icebergs were being thrown into the fire. You sloshed underneath the sofa, in the teapot, around the cup. Drink me, ... his life changed when he realised that mirrors don’t reflect, only absorb. Join me this Wednesday 6 CET online for a workshop on water, law, art and vulnerability at TBA/Ocean Space Venice. Posted @withregram • @tba21academy 🌊 Workshop alert! I don’t know how to listen to this red. I don’t think I’ve even tried. Can I become anything if the red hasn’t been listened to? Invite is out! Opening on the 27th of May, in less than a month, my Venice solo show Our Distance Became Water, at Ca’ Pisani, curated by Marianna Serandrei. Excited! Nervous! Excited! If you wanna come to the opening, lemme know - the stupenda ... To become forever another. Yet to persist in you. This is the haunting of the waters. Let me climb that ladder! #anselmkiefer at #palazzoducale for the #venicebiennale with the always inspiring @amarlena #anselmkiefervenice The night you hoped all stars would fall through the earth. Once again we try to discover what makes us by digging into what keeps us standing. Once again, we fail. Those blankets of light that became colours as soon as you dived in them. Molecular modulations of one breath, one gaze, one distance, one repetition. But the best photograph of the evening was taken by my mother @taniapsaltou capturing the moment when the bird/venetian plague doctor/death was falling on his knees to touch the Pietà, becoming Saint Nicodemus in Titian’s last ever painting before... He had a way of looking at things, from afar as if a lifelong myopia made him unable to engage. But the planet starting rising, the rot started reaching him, the rust of his discarded guilt started climbing up his thighs. Dig in, Sir. Rubbish might ... I dress for the sun, I dress for spring, I dress for art. I dress for a return to the savage green of our childhood lawns. This is the way out of the university. This is the way into the universe. Please walk with me till you come across the gap. Then jump. “We are all complicit” : a slightly obsessive incantation finale, part of Oceans of Eternity performance at #stegi Onassis part of #weatherengines curated by @daphne_dragona and jussi parikka. Captured by @andreialvesoliveira Only a sample. And most of it will change. But good finally to hold it. Only through water I can see your face, clear double refracted luminous. Only through other bodies I can see your body, sleek smooth smouldering. It felt like the first last sun. It came into the room and darted for the painting. It stayed there for just a bit longer, helping the earth to slow down, linger said the sun, linger in these days of sorrow and beauty. “At the time of our leaving, what gazed at us from above now gathers below” My first gig in Greece! Performance lecture on water, Titian, and planetary death at Onassis Stegi on Saturday 2nd of April at 17:30 on “Oceans of Eternity: A Contract Unto Extinction” followed by a panel with @chloesflowersinthenight and Nabil ... Your body parts, lakes scattered across the continent. You once asked me whether I really knew you. I swam underground, found the undercurrents and gave you the map. But where are you, you asked. The Westminster Law School final year Degree Show - yep, the only law school in the world with a degree show! All final year students think about law, justice, their connection to it as law students, their responsibility and politics, and find a non ... Oh yes I can name them all. Guilt, anger, desire, shame. But cannot access them, however much I keep on looking. Once I winked at myself and heard a door creaking open. But the light was too strong. In the round of my hands, a sphere and a face, yours and the world’s, symbol of hollow, hollow symbol, can only the gaze remain once the face departs, I have often felt the smoke of snuffed candles coming out of your windows those midnights I ... You worked so hard. Your body and your planet, the industry of the landscape, fiery froths and iridescent iron rows visible from outer space. Where do you rest, where do you dive, where do you come to die? It’s all the same now, one frantic ... OK, book your long weekend flights! My solo show in Venice is opening on Friday the 27th of May, 2022. It will be a fairly large show with some recent work mostly made in Venice of sculptures and paintings. The opening on the 27th of May, to which ... Law and Video Art She invited me to sit down. She knew that after all these years of walking the earth, tracing the tender arch between me and nothingness, I only needed three things: a spot to sit, water to sip, someone to talk with. She collected encounters like postcards, her moment with the spring breeze coming from the river, the taste of her nephew’s cheek, the feel of velvet so near the fireplace. She then locked the door and closed her eyes. Floating on a sea of books. Talking and listening about materiality and movement with the most delectable group of people - the amazing SLASHERS! That day when your body pointed below and the space around you pointed above. That day your face tried to find the horizon. That day you dived in below and rose up above, in one magnificent arching swan movement He spent every morning on that seat, a box on his lap, collecting pieces of light to eat in the evening before going to bed. It was the only way that his dreams would not be dark. The glass retains the heat of its melting. It just needs a morning ray to catch fire again. And that fire is golden. Our dreams had an iridescent quality, a rush of a past never lived, borrowed nostalgia, unowned futures. But we still preferred to dwell there. He just wanted to fly across the water and win all the prizes. No motors, just wind and wings. No colours, just mist. No earth, just air. Anyone wanna play with my toys? While I was taking the pictures of my sculptures for the catalogue of my upcoming solo show (27th of May at Ca’ Pisani, Venice) on a quiet winter Venice canal, people were stopping and looking at me trying not to ... The city, the sign, the passer by, the gaze, the memory, the moment, the future, the emotion. You. Me. Time. All this barely repressed longing for the other half, he mused. He cut the boiled egg sideways and a slow container opened somewhere nearby. All that fragility, he sighed. He grabbed the pomegranate from his list of gods and tore it apart with his ... We breathed in water, we exhaled air, we became each other’s medusa. Wear me around your eyes, a necklace for the longest night, a pillow of promise, a box where you’ll keep your little loss. Don’t take me off until you wake up and your eyes become the horizon. Out of our wings grows a descent into another promise. He always had a way of finding my window. No counting or remembering. Just coming into it from below, like a water surge whose fingers knew exactly which recesses to caress and which to let go. Repost• @artemisherber Video performance and splitting selves at @maatmuseum for the truly important art/architectural/political Green Paper book by @lucinda__correia and @counterarchitecture Doing a performance talk thing at Lisbon’s MAAT (Museu de Arte, Arquitetura e Tecnologia) this Thursday for @lucinda__correia amazing Green Book. I will find my extensions. They are lying low, speaking to the world in tongues of fingeredges. They were here before me. I will become an extension of my extensions. He was looking forward to those nights when the water rose and he could just float out of the window like a pet jelly fish sneaking out to explore the world. This is all I want, she said. To become one with everything. And she laid down her want and her I and her all, and the world covered her like an autumn blanket. Join the dots. They will lead you nowhere. Join the dots. You need the circle. Join the dots. You are afraid of empty. Join the dots. They are endless. Elated to be part of The Mnemosyne-Initiative first group exhibition at the Metaverse Biennale @artgatevr. Thank you to @centerforhellenicstudies for supporting and recognizing the initiative during 2020/21, giving the myth of Mnemosyne a voice in ... My one eye opens inwards worlds of sea without blue. My other eye opens outwards waiting till you swim to me. That door though will never open. Once I find the tools, I’ll make the master’s house a comfortable little hovel. That thing called contrast, that thing called fairytale, that thing called capitalism, that thing called shade, that thing called refuge, that thing called mirror, that thing called time, that thing called nowhere. In a far away country, there was once a girl with orange lips. They brought her here to learn her secrets. She made moonjuice and water canapés. They all ate and drunk. Their lips turned orange too. And the girl was forgotten. Vertical high it becomes deep, cloud folds swallows, the up becomes the below, but even when you finally manage to breathe pure sky, you will never manage to forget the earth. Metal grey suits Rotterdam. And rain too. A little dance with the effect raincoat at @margreetholsthoorn stunning gallery of a shop, imitating the rather BDSM gates by Manzù at St Laurentius church. Speak to me of the times when you had another self next to you, do you still remember? and you touched the world with two souls, opened already to each other, open forever to the outside. The city is a garden of kindness. Here for a weekend break after many years, and I managed to leave my suitcase at the airport bus. The thought of replacing all that I lost was too much. But then @lola.kiko appears out of nowhere, having found the ... I will keep forever watching me watching me, wondering whose shadow this has been. #catherineyass #ambikap3 My body is a building, a temple, a vestibule. My mind is a cloud, a terrace, a window. My needs are underground, my fears are growing where the jasmine grows. My ever is in my belly, my never on my skin. #catherineyass #ambikap3 We are all complicit. Still from online performance Slashing Waters, twin camera, 20 mins on double screen, available on my website andreaspm.com I always dive upwards, he said. The splash is gentler, the breath holds longer. And the seabed pulses with the luminescence from other planets. There was a pill we all took, the journey was long but we were asleep, we woke up and we could finally see, stars and skies upside down. ‘Slowly sinking ascending’, triptych, 30x72cm, 2021 (in progress) We looked at different mirrors and thought we were seeing each other. Yet the connection was made. And on its taught lines, miniature deers and flying fishes were hanging like Murano grapes. You let me touch an early spring, it was the year before you were born, it was filled with roses but no scent, you said now you’ll know me, I waited, your halo slid down the skirt of the planet, nothing to risk nothing to gain, I waited, nothing to... He opened both windows because he didn’t know which way the moonlight was going to come in the house. He wanted to be prepared. “All ascends carry the weight of the ground they leave behind ”
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Sinking Cities III, 2022 (detail)
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#chunkwangyoung at #venicebiennale photodump
If water could write the law…
OCEAN / UNI, our online ...
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With an evanescent @amarlena at the most stunning Venice biennale #serbianpavilion of all times by #vladimirnikolic
#drift #aorist #oceanspace #venicebiennale #tba
#germanpavilion2022 #mariaeichhorn #biennaledivenezia
https://eris.press/The-Book-of-Water-2
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Mixed technique, 30ø x 10cm, 2022
Thursday 10 Feb 2022, 15:00 - 19:00
Room CG.02
University of Westminster,
15 New Cavendish St,
London W1B 2HW
Participating Artists @iforduncan @helene_kazan @mhamad__safa @nicole_noze_arts
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Sinking Cities I, tempera and gold leaf on discarded gondola oak wood and discarded Murano glass, 2020
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Gold metallic spray paint and oil paint on canvas, 20x20cm, 2022 (in progress)
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gold metal spray, oil paint and string on canvas board, 80x40, 2021
Memory in the Digital Age: The Mnemosyne Initiative
https://www.artgatevr.com/event/memory-in-the-digital-age-the-mnemosyne-initiative/
The Mnemosyne-Initiative cordially invites you to a special event of ...
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 ...
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Doting II, architectural clay, glaze, wood, metal. 15x22x10, 2021
This is the last work I’m trying to finish before leaving Venice. It’s more visceral than the rest, yet the omnipresent jellyfish have now become more part of the ...
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Triptych, Oil paint, gold metallic spray and gold leaf on canvas board, 60x100cm, 2021