How to Inhabit a Skin? [1]
On Julia Hohenwarter's artistic practice
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By Anne Faucheret accompanied by many artists and writers
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An essay from PRIVATE BOOK, Julia Hohenwarter's monograph and artist's book • Distanz Verlag Berlin • 2024
“There is too much in the world. It would be wiser to reduce it, rather than expanding or enlarging it. We’d better off stuffing it back into its little can - a portable panopticon we’d be allowed to peek insideevery Saturday afternoons, once our daily tasks had been completed, once we’d made sure there was clean underwear to wear, ironed shirts taut over armrests, floors scrubbed, coffee cake cooling in the windowsill. We could peer inside it through a little hole, marveling over its very details.” – Olga Tokarczuk [2]
Julia Hohenwarter's formally reduced (always) and spatially expansive (often) situated installations are at once enigmatic and affirmative, poetic and critical, experiential and analytical, reparative and transformative. What happens between the foot and the floor, between the pigment and the eye, between the fabric and the skin, between the distemper and the wall, in the moment of their encounter? How do things and bodies affect each other? How does space affect bodies and how do bodies navigate in space? The artist develops a critical spatial practice in which she negotiates her own personal relationship to space and architecture, challenging the ways (female) bodies are entangled in them and produce them at once – between habitat and habits, between perception and prescription, between occupation and occupations. Never blatant or too much, her works melt into the space without being caught up in it, adhering to it in order to better respond to it, sometimes turning it upside down, sometimes re-organizing it, sometimes reconfiguring it very subtly.
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Reduction and expansion: poetics of space
« Je ne me vois pas non plus. Je vois une place vide. » – Nathalie Sarraute [3]
« Je suis l’espace où je suis. » – Noël Arnaud quoted by Gaston Bachelard [4]
“The space of our life is neither continuous, nor infinite, nor isotropic. But do we know exactly where it breaks off, where it curves, where it disconnects and comes together? We confusedly experience cracks, gaps and points of friction, sometimes vaguely aware that something is stuck, that it breaks loose or collides. Though we seldom seek to learn more about it and more often than not, wander from one spot to another, from one space to another, without measuring, without taking into account or considering the course of space. The issue is not to invent space… the problem is rather to question space, or more exactly, to read space; for what we call everydayness is not the obvious, but opacity: a kind of blindness, or deafness, a sort of anesthesia.” – Georges Pérec [5]
Julia Hohenwarter's installations make a first impression of reduction. Their colors mainly range from black to white, with multiple variations of grey; their shapes, like tubes, grids, lines, rectangles are minimalist. The arrangements favor rectilinearity and the spatial densities are precisely balanced. G (2021) is an ensemble of sculptures and interventions, realized in the two rooms in a row of the Kunstverein Ve.Sch. in Vienna. A series of three sculptures entitled Imagine a way of inhabiting spaces as if they were shared expressions of our way of being in the world punctuate the first room. Each of them is made of a metallic pole planted vertically from the floor to the ceiling, to which two or three black frames are attached. Each frame is attached to the profile by a single metal clip placed at the top of the frame. Serving at the same time as a spacer, the clip makes the frame float in relation to the profile that holds it. The fronts are black, the backs white, framed with a black stripe on the top edge, and two black squares at the bottom corners. From sculpture to sculpture, the frames face each other or turn their backs. Gravity is a piece delicately placed on the floor and which – unlike the previous ones anchored from floor to ceiling – seems to almost float, as if, despite its title, it was exempted from gravity. Made of thin wire of galvanized steel, with threads partly woven into the beginning of a mesh, and partly left as a mess, it loosely reminds of tumbleweeds, carried away by the wind in the streets of American West Coast cities. G (freie Sammlung) is an on-site intervention, for which the artist has hollowed out the lower part of a partition wall and stretched a ready-made orange fabric mesh, which she has previously soaked in soot pigment with distemper, giving the whole a rusty appearance.
The overall spatial occupation is reduced but all the more precise and focused. In Julia Hohenwarter’s works, the visitor’s body suddenly feels basic spatial dimensions and conventions – that are usually almost naturalized and hence mostly unnoticed: gravity, the most powerful organizing force on earth, or the partition in horizontality and verticality, which is the basic structuration of Euclidian space. In G, she accentuates verticality through the dispatching of vertical poles in space. In Bond, an all-over installation, the artist has covered the entire floor of the exhibition space with large strips of the previously mentioned textile impregnated with pigments and distemper. At the bottom of the four walls, she has added a baseboard, made of wooden bars covered with the same soaked athletic fabric. In this work, the focus on horizontality is made through its expansion: the floor of a closed room becomes a landscape (a desert landscape at night? a moon landscape?), with a horizon, as if the architectural edges would have been pushed away.
In Julia Hohenwarter’s sculptural and spatial interventions, space it not configured through operations of containment but through punctuation, layering or expansion. For that, she focuses on sensitive zones of the space, where the floor meets the wall, where a stretched fabric makes a wall translucid, or where a pole pierces the ceiling. The artist makes the common structuration of space perceptible, tangible and intelligible but goes beyond a too dry analytical approach. She catches the spirit of the place and sets up a peculiar atmosphere, made of various intensities, thicknesses and tensions, unlike the segmented and controlled space of contemporary societies described by Michel Foucault as a “marked out space that is (...) cut out, immobile, frozen, [where] everyone is fixed in their place”[6]. Her works respond to the very space where they originate, to its configuration, its function, its history, always trying to opacify spatial norms which preside over them.
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Site-responsivity: response and responsibility
“As a technical system, art is oriented towards the production of the social consequences which ensue from the production of these objects."– Alfred Gell [7]
In this, Julia Hohenwarter embraces the legacy of site-specific conceptual art. The incorporation of physical and institutional conditions into art’s elaboration and presentation in the 1960ies underpinned a critique of the commercialisation and commodification of art by capitalism, along with its normalisation and institutionalisation. Site-specific art was and is designed for a particular place to which it has close formal and/or contextual links. It simultaneously looks at geography, history, architecture, function, and the socio-political aspects of the place where it is located, either in transitory, processive form, or as an installation or sculpture. The place itself is considered, not as a neutral display but as a founding factor of the artistic endeavour. In order to be complete, a work also requires the physical presence of a viewer. Rosalind Krauss posited four categories of logical operation that generated concrete spatio-temporal situations, each comprising a place and a public: “site construction; marking sites; mapping axiomatic features of sites; and the negation of sites”[8]. Site-specific practices are characterised by what Miwon Kwon calls “discursive site-specificity.”[9] Multiform, they nonetheless have a shared origin in a discursive conception of a site delineated by a field of knowledge and a social, cultural or philosophical debate opened up by art itself.
It is not only a case of a place engendering a work, but of a work reciprocally also engendering a place; which may entail the production of “other spaces”. Contingency, instability, openness to the unexpected, the heterochronic, and non-fixed mechanisms of inclusion and exclusion render these spaces potentially disruptive. Henri Lefebvre, in The Production of Space (1974), sees everyday social space as a locus of organised exploitation and supervised passivity. For him, the abstraction, fragmentation and homogenisation of capitalist space can be countered only by spatial practices that challenge common representations of the dominant order, subvert discourse and imagine other spaces. This is where Julia Hohenwarter’s practice of site-responsivity is located. Her critical site-specific practice does not separate the physical, perceived dimension space from another conceptualised, constructed dimension: she melts both in the effective experience of space which is a space of confrontation, negotiation and translation. The term site-responsivityrefers at the same time to the idea of response (answering), of responsivity (the capability of reacting) but also of responsibility (paying attention to the site). The term also implies the idea of a “conversation” with the site, hence a reciprocity between diverse agencies rather than a human artistic gesture that would make out of a place a site.
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Bodies and bodies and things: a fabric of relations without “thingification”
“A fundamental assumption in much recent past art was that things have stable properties, i.e. boundaries. This seemingly simple premise became the basis for a spiraling series of conclusions. Boundaries, however, are only the fabrication of our desire to detect them… a trade-off between seeing something and wanting to enclose it… the problem is that surrendering the stability of objects immediately subverts any control we think we have over situations. Consider the possibility that the need to identify art with objects is probably the outgrowth of the need to assign our feelings to the things that prompt them…” – Mel Bochner [10]
As critical spatial practice, site-responsivity deconstructs automatic ways to read, conceive of and experience space, which reproduce mechanisms of hierarchy and exclusion. The artist challenges the dichotomy between distance and proximity, involving among other things the participation or at least physical involvement of the visitor. The formal reduction of her installations already paradoxically invites to get closer. And indeed, it is not enough to look at them from a certain (average) distance, one must enter their space(s), move around them, through them, on them. Catwalk is a (participative) sculpture comprising nine painted wooden cubes arranged one after the other on the floor, evoking the contours of an elevated path and hence reminiscent of a catwalk – however, fragmented. The elements seem stable but are in fact in a precarious balance. At any moment, with the passage of a body, they can topple over, with great noise. From a gesture of representation – of beauty, of aura – and presentation – of bodies, of clothes – in the context of fashion, walking becomes in this work an act of co-creation, but non intentional. It is not intentionality that changes the state of the sculpture and makes sometimes the blocks fall, it is a consequence of participation that cannot be truly predicted. The installation Closer, realized in at efes42 in Linz, contains in its title the invitation to come nearer. On the floor, the work Bond covers the whole floor. In the middle, two sculptures, with metallic poles and black screen, are attached on the floor, almost back-to-back. Each frame holds a sheet of white paper, displaying a verso covered with black pigment featuring a manually engraved lettering, which turns out to be a word (Fury and Joy, each giving the corresponding work its title). The installation invites us to bend down and pass between the sculptures, which allows us to discover not only the technique used by noticing the relief in negative on the back of the framed paper sheets, but also to decode the words.
There is a connivance between the human body and Julia Hohenwarter’s works. They exist in great part because they are projected into a world of human bodies, everywhere present in negative, called by the works through their invitation to participate, to read, to roam, but also to imagine other bodies out of the evocations of the titles, for instance. She is too much, She is too much too and She is too, too (2019) are three wall objects, frames containing manual prints with soot pigment, put under glass. The titles correspond to the words printed in each frame. The female pronoun refers to a (female) being, as well as in Die Liegende. A sculpture consisting of four cold foam elements, stretched with yellow athletic fabric and resting on a metallic frame, the piece cites the traditional formats of minimalist sculpture while countering its illusory desire to evacuate any traces of fabrication or subjectivity. Instead, the sculpture, also flirting with design, seems to call for a body to lie on it, and bear the traces of former occupations. The wall objects from the series Power Dress (2013/2017) look like gigantic jewels or futurist amulets. Consisting of waxed metallic bars welded together and hanging with a waxed linen cord attached to the bars with little magnetic clips, the same elements are configured in each version #1, #2 or #3, in a different way. The sculptures call for bodies to possibly wear them and remind of some well-known portable sculptures like Franz West’s Pasststücke, but in an elegant version. Originally worn by female bodies as they were exhibited for the first time, they refer to the fashion movement of Power Dressing from the 1980s onwards – mixing elements underlining femininity with classic minimal and masculine-connotated elements of high power, conveying the distinct message of being “in charge”. Thwarting any seductive or ornamental dimension from the garment, the style aimed at emphasizing self-confidence and self-affirmation. Each of the three sculptures derives from the abstraction of some iconic Power Dressing characteristics like the turtleneck element, the shoulder pads, and a tailored fit: the sculptures discretely refer to the body of the artist, their dimension corresponding to her measurements. The titles confirm their (wished) performative function to protect and emancipate at once. Female bodies (not women's bodies) are haunting the works, as if to ward off their absence from the public space, which patriarchy has imposed on them for centuries. The works support or protect them with their magic. The artist’s installations put in relation bodies with bodies (imagined and existing), bodies with materials, bodies with spaces, but not only. Spaces are put in relation to spaces, objects to objects, materials to materials, but without “thingification”[11], that is: considering them through a web of relation and as relations.
Through frames (Joy, Fury, She is too much, etc…) and grids (Shutter), there is an attempt of framing, not to delimitate or contain, but to draw our attention on otherwise not even noticed elements. It is about cutting in the un-differenciated material flow of the real seeking a new relationship to matter (and space) which is characterized by motion, flux and variation, a “matter-flow”[12] that can only be “followed”. Sometimes, the grid even opens up the space, at least in the imagination, like in Shutter. A three-parts wall-work, each element featuring printed paper sheets with soot pigments arranged with pieces of reinforcement grid, Shutter – the word referring to the obturation mechanism of a camera, the paradigm of a framing device – seems to open windows in the wall. The frame draws the attention not to separate but to put in relation. Joints, junctions, and technical devices that hold together, are crucial in Julia’s works, like the black metallic frames themselves, or the metal clips between them and the metallic poles. In Die Liegende, the connecting elements of the sculpture like buttons and leather straps – alongside the pictorial dimension of the soaked athletic fabric stretched over the cushions – are particularly highlighted.
Julia Hohenwarter’s work appears to be driven by an inherent necessity to connect various elements, materials, objects, bodies, spaces, and techniques. The work becomes a place where various agencies materially encounter. If the title Die Liegende could possibly reduce the work to the use of supporting a laying body by metonymically designating the person laying on it, it seems to rather blur the referentiality of the piece. The “Liegende” (laying female body) ought not to be a human body, the supreme subject legitimizing its existence, but could actually be describing the object itself, lying, suddenly imbued with a (non-anthropocentric) agency. This is the impression conveyed by the work indeed. Bond declines an infinite variation of grey tones and seems to dress the space in soft minimalist tie dye velvet. Beyond the bond between horizontality and verticality, it creates a bond between the completed and the unfinished, the delimited and the limitless, the domestic and industrial. The effect is bewildering: familiar and disquieting at once.
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Vibrant matter, sensing otherwise
“Matter is no longer a support, substance, subject, term at the borders of an opposition. Nor it is a receptacle or an intelligible kind of matter (hylè noété) or something ‘disembodied’. Perhaps khôra(spacing, emplacement beyond oppositions, tertium quid conceived ‘as in a dream’). Insensible. Capacity of resistance (restance [minimal possibility]) more intractable than ever (non-opposable): ineluctable death in my relationship to myself, what I send to myself with no apparent support, with absolute speed, with you, with me, back home.” – Jacques Derrida [13]
Rather than considering raw material an inert matter to which the intentionality and the virtuosity of the artist would give form and signification, the artist introduces in her works elements which are all already ready-mades, created through industrial or artisanal, human or natural, mechanical or chemical processes. The artist chose them for their own histories and polysemy. The athletic mesh is an industrially woven synthetic fabric, whose fibers and holes allow aeration, originally created for sport garment. Since decades, it has become a popular textile in fashion: the mesh transforms the skin in a moiré surface, cuts and fetichizes the body. The soot pigment is also central in Julia Hohenwarter’s work. Generally considered a waste product and sometimes used in solidification processes in industry it is the result of the combustion of organic matter like wood. At the same time, soot pigment is one of the oldest pigments used by humans to make traces, represent or express themselves. Soot pigment resists any smooth usage: extremely smeary, volatile and difficult to fixate, it shows a certain kind of resistance.
The artist enters rather a collaboration with the matter she works with, she experiments with them, gives impulses, and lets things unfold together. The treatment of the athletic fabric with soot pigment and distemper transforms the looseness and softness of the textile, rigidifies it, but without any calculable outcome, as the surface sometimes cracks, the pigments don’t stay. At the end, the surface is not sealed and the material continues to evolve and change with time. The artist is complicit with the material, this “vibrant matter”[14]opened for a “sensation embodied as and in material forms, ‘the smile of oil, the gesture of fired clay, the thrust of metal’”[15]. Opening to sensation means refusing the monopoly of vision, push for the “opening of non-isomorphic subjects, agents and territories of stories unimaginable from the vantage point of the cyclopean, self-satiated eye of the master subject.”[16] Even if, obviously, Julia Hohenwarter’s works mainly unfold in the realm of the visual, they constantly undermine the centrality and monopoly of vision through blurring transparency, scrambling visuality, putting an emphasis on the haptic, and ultimately calling for other senses (touch and sound) to fully perceive them. Closer comprises a recording of a Nine Inch Nails song. Catwalkregularly makes noise while falling. The athletic mesh floor of Bond cracks under the feet.
Crafting attention and care
“[…] thinking across bodies may catalyze the recognition that the “environment,” which is too often imagined as inert, empty space or as a “resource” for human use, is, in fact, a world of fleshy beings, with their own needs, claims, and actions. By emphasizing the movement across bodies, trans-corporeality reveals the interchanges and interconnections between human corporeality and the more-than-human. But by underscoring that “trans” indicates movement across different sites, trans-corporeality opens up an epistemological “space” that acknowledges the often unpredictable and unwanted actions of human bodies, nonhuman creatures, ecological systems, chemical agents, and other actors.” – Stacy Alaimo [17]
“[A] politics of care engages much more than a moral stance; it involves affective, ethical, and hands-on agencies of practical and material consequence. Another critical dimension of this generic conception is the accent on care as vital in interweaving a web of life, expressing a key theme in feminist ethics, an emphasis on interconnection and interdependency in spite of the aversion to “dependency” in modern industrialized societies that still give prime value to individual agency.” – Maria Puig de la Bellacasa [18]
The very locus of a decentered collaboration between agencies is the surface, the skin. “Everything is on the Surface. This Surface is Me”, says a series of prints and soot pigment, where the words of the title appear in the screens, and as title. Posthuman statement and joke about superficiality of cosmetic bodies and “seducing surfaces”[19] at once. The lexical field of the skin is declined through materials and techniques. The material of the soaked athletic mesh, full of cracks and holes and folds evokes a skin. The ground covering (Bond) or the stretching of athletic fabric on hollow elements (G freie Sammlung) or cushions (Die Liegende) are like the layering of a second skin. Spinning the metaphor of the skin allows the artist to escape from the dichotomy human/non-human, subject/object, touch/vision. Skin is not the metaphor of a limit, nor a border. It is primarily what makes contact, collision, communication, extension, projection possible. It is permeable and porous. Nevertheless, it protects and/or supports.
Skirting Board (2022) is at once an artwork and a display, realized in the framework of the exhibition Handspells (Kunsthalle Wien 2022). A wall painting with various degrees of transparency and opacity, brilliance and mattness, it appears as a subtly colored diagrammatic landscape with a changing horizon like a wave. The colors are felt more than seen, the shades and textures are perceptible by moving. From a module whose dimensions have been defined in regards to the overall perimeter of the room, the artist unfolds the ranges of tones that sometimes overlap, sometimes interrupt. Skirting Board supports the works that are hung above it or on it but also the exhibition as a whole, offering a discreet color code, making some artistic positions correspond to a shade. Its title refers to an architectural element: a skirting board is a frieze that runs along the base section of a wall to protect it, like a baseboard, but higher up, usually painted dark and rougher in texture. It is a way to dress the wall to protect it, but at the same time to desacralize it, from paradigmatic architectural element down to a "touchable" surface – calling for touch. The work of art as support, whether it is to support space, other works, or absent or imaginary bodies, is central to Julia Hohenwarter’s practice and always accompanies the analytical critical dimension. Thus, the notion of site responsiveness encompasses the idea of taking care of the space, changing between critical, transformative, reparative and affirmative modes, and involving “affective, ethical, and hands-on agencies”[20]. The artist’s feminist materialist care can be traced through gestures of covering, superimposing, layering, opacifying, crafting and repeating, which traverse it, but also through a myriad of other gestures like: entering a conversation, re-doing heritage, mapping otherwise, grounding, leaving traces, caressing, folding, sharing, sensing, rehearsing, making time, softening, skirting, connecting, transposing, translating...
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The magic of language between poetics and logics
“The unfolding of sensory data under our gaze or under our hands is like a language [...] that is why we can say literally that our senses question things and that these answer them [...] In this extent, all perception is a communication or a communion, the resumption or the completion by us of a foreign intention or conversely the accomplishment outside of our perceptive powers and like a coupling of our body with the things.“ – Maurice Merleau-Ponty [21]
“There is no mystery about how the materiality of language could possibly affect (through whatever mechanism and to any degree whatsoever) the materiality of the body.” – Karen Barad [22]
"In writing books, he tried to recover an immediate pleasure of the language (a mute lallation), to "return" the echo of a voice heard in childhood (which he dreamed he had heard singing near his body, along his body, in his childhood bedroom). He tries to reproduce the conditions of its coming, to embrace the rhythm the most suitable to move him, nourishing the vain illusion then of a language without empire, which would not consecrate such family house, such social order, a language all narcissistic and alone, and not enslaving, loving, insane, which would speak of desire, and to the simple pronunciation of which the body would believe itself able to only dream of the idea to enjoy it.” – Pascal Quignard [23]
In Julia Hohenwarter’s use of language, poetic and semiotic logics overlap: she insists on the materiality of language, on effects of repetition and alliteration, but also on the hiatuses in the process of making sense, on the performativity of language, and on the very connection between language and context. Language is present in the works’ titles, legends and in the installations themselves, as words appearing in the black frames, written by the hand of the artist, then transposed in a manual print process onto the paper. The artist chooses language, like the other materials she works with, for its polysemy and history, and also for its capacity to exert a certain agency and produce affects on bodies. Often used as a ready-made – she implements lyric lines or quotes from books – language is used to contradict denotation and simple referentiality – like in Die Liegende, or Gravity. Elsewhere, it is reduced to its most simple expression, one word or even one letter (Joy, Fury or G) in an attempt not to focus primarily on meaning, but rather on the effects and affects of words, as well as their contingencies. Words (and titles as such) are re-instantiated as complex signs in their dimensions of signifier and signified, emphasizing on the role of the habit in the interpretation. Hence, there is always a back and forth between various realities and possibilities enshrined in language, between a language that makes or blurs sense, between a poetic and a discursive language, between language internalizing and another trespassing norm, between an analytical and a hysterical language. At the end, language works as a kind of spell: capable of passing to the other side of the world and of seizing what usually remains hidden in the limbo of consciousness. Working only for those who believe in it.
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A Conclusion
Enriching the legacies of conceptual and contextual art with a feminist materialist approach, acknowledging matter’s and objects’ agencies, Julia Hohenwarter transposes basic questions of sculpture and architecture towards investigations of concepts of dwelling (a body and a space), living together (among humans and with others), and sensing. She reframes ontologically aesthetical questions, transgressing seemingly fixed boundaries and non-negotiable taxonomies, tracking down the mostly unspeakable and the invisible, expanding the classical understanding of materiality, performativity, and collectivity.
“We declare the beauty of the world has to be enriched by a new beauty: the beauty of kindness. Instead of directly escaping into the dream of a still far-etched machinic future that could masterfully end the limited perspective of our species or into the conservative retreat to a past which is impossible and not desirable to bring back to life, we believe the Gynecene is compatible with machinic desires and existing forms of life, which is inhuman in its break with human history as much as it is human in its enactment of our current possibilities. We believe the endless quest for meaning can be momentarily satisfied by recognizing each other as individual instants in a collective, fragile, subjective time, facing the vastness of our cosmic surroundings and bound by imagining together our future extensions.” – Alexandra Pirici and Raluca Voinea [24]
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A(nother) Fictional End
“[...] perhaps at minight, when all boundaries are lost, the country reverts to its ancient shape, as the Romans saw it, lying cloudy, when they landed, and the hills had no names and rivers wound they knew not where – such was her darkness.“ – Virginia Woolf [25]
“just under the scorched earth
under the skin of the old
itta come, sisters!” – Diane de Prima [26]
It’s a multisensorial installation that gets progressively built as she walks her eyes closed, with many variations of touch and sound and everything that enters into her field of perception and comes out of it. All kinds of information lose their relative importance, they stop competing and challenging each other, they meet and combine, more than ever. This experience is related to the configuration of space, to the design of the frames, to the salient letters, to the pigments on the surfaces and the void within the objects. It is connected to the silent sound produced by the metallic wires gently displaced by the wind of a moving body. The space feels like a machine that fuels her body (and mind) on many levels, that makes connections between her and her environment. The invisible machine weaves threads around her, sensuous, referential, synesthetic links with her past and her future, with other bodies surrounding her, the bodies of (hollow) things, the bodies of people she guesses being present, the bodies people who left their traces in the space, the bodies of haunting ghosts. The invisible machine triggers bodies and matter, if affects everything around in an endless movement of reciprocal affection. Distances seem close, antinomies coalesce, excitement and emptiness, joy and fury, expression and abstraction. The invisible machine touches her, and makes her being sensitive, sentient, prescient even. Without opening her eyes, she touches vision, and sees things, she is telling herself the shreds of a possible fiction, with a pop sci fi streak running through it all. The instant when she opens her eyes is a cut. Holes. Hollow. Holy. Howl.
“The future is that openness of becoming that enables divergences from what exists." – Elizabeth Grosz [27]
[1] Julia Hohenwarter, Portfolio, 2019.
[2] Olga Tokarczuk, Flights, 2007.
[3] Nathalie Sarraute, Enfance, 1983.
[4] Noel Arnaud, quoted by Gaston Bachelard, in Poétique de l’Espace (Poetics of Space), 1957).
[5] Georges Pérec, Espèces d’espaces, 1974.
[6] Michel Foucault, Surveiller et Punir, 1975. French : « espace repéré (…) découpé, immobile, figé [où c]hacun est arrimé à sa place »
[7] Alfred Gell, Art and agency: An Anthropological Theory, 1997.
[8] Rosalind Krauss, Sculpture in the Expanded Field, 1979.
[9] Miwon Kwon, One Place After Another, 2002.
[10] Mel Bochner, Elements from Speculation, 1967-70, Artforum, May 1970.
[11] Karen Barad, Posthumanist Performativity, 2003.
[12]Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, Mille Plateaux, 1980.
[13] Jacques Derrida, « Dematerialization, Matériau, Matériel », in Les Immatériaux. Epreuves d’écriture, 1985.
[14] Jane Bennett, Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things, 2010.
[15] Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, What is Philosophy?, 1991.
[16] Donna Haraway, Situated Knowledges: the Science Question in Feminism and the Privilege of Partial Perspective, 1988.
[17] Stacy Alaimo, Trans-corporeal Feminisms and the Ethical Space of Nature, 2008.
[18] Maria Puig de la Bellacasa, Matters of Care. Speculative Ethics in More Than Human Worlds, 2017.
[19] Julia Hohenwarter, Portfolio 2017.
[20] Maria Puig de la Bellacasa, ibid.
[21] Maurice Merleau-Ponty, Phénoménologie de la perception, 1945. Translation from French by the author.
[22] Karen Barad, Getting real: technoscientific practices and the materialization of reality, 1998.
[23] Pascal Quignard, Petits Traités, 1990. Translation from French by the author.
[24] Alexandra Pirici and Raluca Voinea, Manifesto for the Gynecene – Sketch of a New Geological Era, 2015.
[25] Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway, 1925.
[26] Diane di Prima, Revolutionary Letters, 1971.
[27] Elizabeth Grosz,The Nick of Time: Politics, Evolution and the Untimely, 2004.
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Link to the artist's website
http://juliahohenwarter.com/
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Link to the book
https://www.distanz.de/en/julia-hohenwarter/private-book