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Wong Ping: Still from ”Who is the Daddy" – courtesy of Edouard Malingue Gallery and the artist
Content
Boutiques on the Bosporus . . . . . How to Pilot an Aeroplane . . . . . Mário Gomes . Brandsatz & Ästhetik . . . . . Tyler Coburn . Ergonomic Futures . . . . . Paradox I: That all things kill themselves . . . . . This is not your blood. . . . . . Custom Creates Law . . . . . Human Oddities . . . . . GUANAJUATONOVIEMBRE . . . . . Hermal . . . . . HER . . . . . American English . . . . . Je me souviens… . . . . . Barbara Basting — The Algorithm and I . . . . . Pierre Guyotat . Unabhängigkeit . . . . . 12 Feb 2011 — 12 Feb 2017 . . . . . I remember… . . . . . The Transversal Shelf of Printed Books in Times of Accelerated Opaque Media . . . . . Ute Holl . Dream, Clouds, Off, Exile . . . . . Ich erinnere mich… . . . . . Donatien Grau, Pierre Guyotat . Conversation . . . . . Marcus Quent . Ohne Halt . . . . . THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CLOUD NAMES . . . . . ABT. DIE DUEMMSTEN BERLINER FRISÖRNAMEN . . . . . Facebook’s Just a Nail Studio . . . . . Peter Ott . Die monotheistische Zelle oder Berichte aus der Fiktion . . . . . BIG BUGS . . . . . Quaddie . . . . . LISTMANIA . . . . . Exodus. Gods and Kings . . . . . Pierre Guyotat . The Prison . . . . . Self-portrait . . . . . TWELVE DRUMMERS DRUMMING . . . . . I remember . . . . . Mike Wilson . Rockabilly . . . . . Michael Heitz . Noch ein neuer Gott in Teilen . . . . . China frisst Menschen . . . . . Behind the Great Firewall . . . . . L’œuvre d'art n’a pas d’idée, elle est idée . . . . . 12 May 2011 – 12 May 2017: On Non-Digital Storage Media . . . . . Problem IX: Warum haben Hurenkinder das allermeiste Glück? . . . . . Peter Ott . The Monotheistic Cell Or Reports from Fiction . . . . . Mike Wilson . Rockabilly . . . . . Michael Heitz . Another New God in Parts . . . . . Marcus Quent . No Respite . . . . . Julien Maret . IN EXTREMIS

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DIAPHANES MAGAZINE No. 4

Honoré Daumier: Don Quixote lisant

Miguel Tamen

Don Quixote lisant

 

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Ute Holl

Dream, Clouds, Off, Exile

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»Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, MAESTRO DI COLOR CHE SANNO. Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see.


Rhythm begins, you see. I hear. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. No, agallop: DELINE THE MARE.


Open your eyes now. I will. One moment. Has all vanished since? If I open and am for ever in the black adiaphane. BASTA! I will see if I can see.


See now. There all the time without you: and ever shall be, world without end.«


James Joyce

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