Thursday, May 2, 2019

Louisa Gagliardi at Rodolphe Janssen


It feels more and more that everything is synthetic, made from the same substance, stuf. It feels like our world is comprised of at least someone's putty. We plan a world through virtualizations. Erect bathrooms on plans. Our bodies could be figured for their worth in tile. Tile is cost per square foot, you per hour. Everything exchangeable and thus equivalent, paying you in the going rate of Silly Putty you are made of. Everything a labor, you an object. We stretch you like cartoons at whims to an invisible hand market exchange. The developer sculpts his cities taffy, painters are left their devices.