Enlace de descarga: Qué Hacer, CaixaForum, Barcelona, 17 Mayo – 8 Septiembre 2013

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Inventing Venice: A Director’s Roundtable

by Massimiliano Gioni

Rosa Martínez, ’05

How much time did you have to organize the Biennale? How did this impact your process and results?
We had only about nine months to start thinking and acting, even though I said yes as soon as I was asked by the president of the Biennale at that time, Davide Croff, since I was aware of the significance of being inscribed in the history of the event as the first woman director in its 110 years of existence. I was also thrilled at the possibility of creating a show in the amazing spaces of the Arsenale. So these challenges compensated for the short time—made more pressing by the slowness of the Italian bureaucracy—and all the other difficulties. When I learned that the president had also chosen another woman to curate the Central Pavilion, and that this woman was María de Corral, I was very happy to share this chance and yet to have different spaces. The fact that we were two women directors (instead of the classic one man) prompted Italian feminists in Milan to ask the president a funny question at the press conference: had he made this decision because in his male unconscious it took two women to equal one man?

What was your budget? How much did you raise?
The budget was a big mystery. I never knew what my total budget was, but I remember that it was cut by a big amount when I said no to a request made by a sponsor. Neither I nor the artists I invited would agree to convert the Arsenale into an advertisement space for coffee machines, with chairs bearing the sponsor logo all around. So I had to ask some galleries and artists to help me balance the cut, and they did.

In curating the show, did you aim to talk to your peers or to address a wider audience?
Harald Szeemann [director of the 1999 and 2001 Venice Biennales] told me that when you do a show you always have to keep your peers in mind. However, I think that in an international event as meaningful and important as this one you have to present la bella combinazione, addressing a wider audience. You must take the event a little bit further than your predecessors took it, but you also have to make it broad and comprehensible enough to reach the general public.

What did you want to do differently than your predecessors? Did you accomplish that goal?
Being a woman, I wanted to reflect on the exclusion that female artists have suffered historically, and the Guerrilla Girls helped me very much with their statistics. Through a series of ironic, large-scale posters, they showed how in 1895 only 2.4 percent of the artists who participated in the International Exhibition in Venice were female; but the shocking thing was that one century later, in 1995, the proportion was only 9 percent. I also wanted to reflect on other political inequalities, so the sound project by Santiago Sierra at the corridor entrance was very meaningful. Among many other things, he stated how in 2005 the countries that had a national pavilion inside the Giardini represented 24 percent of the world’s population and produced 83 percent of the Global National Product, while the countries having a national pavilion outside the Giardini represented 34 percent of world’s population, producing 9 percent of GNP.

What was the most complex project you were involved with?
The installation Cube by Gregor Schneider at the Piazza San Marco was so complex it became totally impossible to achieve, even though the artist had financial support to do it. We had to go through a hard process of obstacles and face political censorship, because the piece resembled the Kaaba in Mecca, the holiest site in Islam.

Which key project were you unable to pull off?
In addition to Cube, there was an ambitious project by Jun Nguyen Hatsushiba that could not be presented. Jun wanted to create a big performative installation to criticize the commercialization of domestic water by Coca-Cola in Vietnam. There was also a proposal by Gianni Motti and Christoph Büchel for which we did not get permission: they wanted to sink a container in the waters outside the Arsenale to simulate the isolated conditions of the prisoners in Guantánamo.

What was the harshest criticism you faced?
Believe it or not, the harshest criticism came from some Spanish magazine editors and art critics. The provincial envy was one of the worst things we had to face. Other power strategies could be observed in the critical reception of the event. For example some hegemonic critics dropped a line in major art magazines saying the show was not relevant, then spent four pages acclaiming their own national artists—even though those artists, while well established in the market, had very little to say about the present. But this is part of the game.

What did you risk?
I risked losing my patience, especially with the managing director of the Biennale at the time. But María de Corral was very wise in advising me to keep calm, and Robert Storr, who also suffered that manager’s dark intrigues, finally had the pleasure of seeing him resign prior to the opening of his Biennale in 2007.

What did you lose in the process of curating?What did you gain?
I did not have the chance to bring the show even further as I did not have time for deeper and wider artistic research, but I gained many pleasures: having wonderful projects by artists that I deeply believe in; becoming part of the history of an extraordinary international art event; working with a wonderful local administrative team; and, last but not least, learning to walk through the labyrinths of Venice without getting lost.

How do you think your Biennale is remembered? How do you think it impacted the history of the Biennale itself, or changed the format of what a biennial can be?
From the curatorial point of view, I intended to make the syntax of my exhibition clear and legible; I used the longitudinal walk of the Arsenale to play with similarities and oppositions between the works placed on either side. By creating conjunctions and disjunctions, contrasts and connections, I proposed an interpretation of what contemporary creation is all about. Many people understood and appreciated this, together with the political ambition, the humor or the beauty of some of the selected projects. But I was especially surprised by the sexist evaluation made by an important male dealer: he said he had never seen the Arsenale so neat and tidy, so it was obvious that a woman had taken care of it. Apart from that, my contribution to the history of biennials has to be appraised by others, taking into account other projects I’ve done, such as the 5th Istanbul Biennial in 1997, the 3rd SITE Santa Fe Biennial in 1999, the Biennial EVA 2000 in Limerick and several international exhibitions that I co-curated during the decade 2000-10. My desire and my curatorial actions have always been invested in what could be called the expanded field of contemporary art, bringing the exhibition beyond its walls, dissolving esthetic ideologies and interacting with local communities. So, in Venice, the Arsenale was beautiful and charged with meaning but still small.

2005 Prizes:

• Golden Lion for best artist of the international exhibition: Thomas Schütte
• Golden Lion for an artist under 35: Regina José Galindo
• Young Italian Art Prize: Lara Favaretto
• Golden Lion for lifetime achievement: Barbara Kruger
• Golden Lion for best national participation: France, represented by Annette Messager
  
  PHOTO: View of El Anatsui’s Fresh and Fading Memories, 2007, aluminum and cooper wire, 360 by 240 inches; installed on the exterior of the Palazzo Fortuny in the 52nd Venice Biennale, 2007. Photo Giovanni Pancino. Courtesy Jack Shainman Gallery, New York.

Rosa Martínez is an independent curator and art collections consultant. 

Full article: Art in America

La entrada Art In America, Nueva York, EEUU, Marzo, 2013 se publicó primero en Rosa Martínez - Independent Art Curator.

Enlace es para descarga: PDF – Qué Desear, CaixaForum Barcelona, Febrero – Mayo 2013

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La entrada Qué Desear, CaixaForum, Barcelona, Febrero – Mayo 2013 se publicó primero en Rosa Martínez - Independent Art Curator.

The connecting thread between the paintings and sculptures by Ghada Amer presented at her third exhibition in Korea is neither conceptual nor thematic, but rather the pondered result of a section in time, that of the period 2011-2013, that clearly defines the creative moment at which the artist now stands. As well as revealing her mature pictorial style, the selection shows how she has opened up to a new and intense line of sculptural experimentation and how her dialogue and long-standing collaboration with Iranian artist Reza Farkhondeh have become consolidated.

Ghada Amer has always defined herself as a representational artist, and through her works she has approached themes such as desire, love, sex, the power of language, gender differences and ideological authority. The sense of exclusion she experienced during her studies in Fine Art in Nice aroused her awareness of inequality. Over the course of two decades she has worked with images of women carrying out domestic tasks, iconic stereotypes out of fashion reviews and fairy stories, and erotic scenes from soft-core porn magazines for men. Such existential and political content has been shaped by a visual language in which embroidery as a minor art form, but also as a mode of feminine writing, challenged masculine control of pictorial tradition despite being nourished by it.

Dutch philosopher Baruch Spinoza declared that “Each thing, as far as it can by its own power, strives to persevere in its being.” And Ghada Amer has persevered in her intuition and search, arriving at the fullness of a personal style that has unfolded in painting and sculpture, but also in graphic works, installations and garden design. The artist considers all these supports and disciplines a way of working in the expanded field of painting. As the design of garden beds, for instance, turns into a canvas, the plants and their flowers become strokes of colour. In 1997 she designed her first garden in Crestet, France, going on to create others such as Women’s Qualities (2000) at Busan Museum of Art, Korea. Before making the latter, she asked the museum staff to describe the qualities they valued in a woman, and ‘wrote’ in Korean characters on the eight flower beds in the museum those most repeated by the people she interrogated (submissive, chaste, fair skin, etc.). When the plants bloomed, the words turned deep red.

The paintings in this exhibition revisit the classical supports of canvas and stretcher, while thread is the specific linguistic element in their vocabulary. The artist’s skilful use of this material recently led her to declare with satisfaction, “I feel I have finally learned to paint with thread.” Unlike the dripping technique, in which paint was flung directly from the bucket by Abstract Expressionists (an act that has been interpreted as a metaphor of male ejaculation), or the use of the paintbrush (as a projection of the phallus), Ghada Amer’s embroidery weaves a plot in which spontaneity and control come together to create serialised shapes, rhythms and cadences. Her compositions are abstract in appearance and yet representational in content, and their pictorial space may relate to musical pieces or translate the sensual rhythms of matter. The thread motifs create patches of colour and outline faces, while the abstract grounds and floral arrangements reassert her preference for serialised compositional patterns. In terms of rhetoric, games of repetition, concealment and contrast play an important role, for they define visual impressions and articulate the conceptual interpretation of the art work.

“I learned painting through art history and the tradition of painting is part of my language. What I am adding to the History of Painting is the question of the place of women, the question of the craft versus Painting and above all the use of a feminine medium (sewing) that allows you to paint alongside with the traditional male medium (painting with brushes).”

Amer constructs a criticism of prevailing masculine tradition and insists on establishing a dialogue with the history of painting. As many other female artists like Louise Bourgeois or Kimsooja have been doing since the mid-seventies, she champions the female contribution to aesthetic discourse. Exploring her links with the modernism of painters such as Matisse, Léger and Rothko, and revisiting artists such as Velázquez, Goya and Giotto, she declares herself particularly close to the dramatic quality of some of their paintings: “There is a certain retained drama that I like in the Spanish old masters … and I think there is something similar in my work. In fact, all my work is almost about a specific emotion that I have, either about the world, a person, a friend, a lover, or politics, etc. It is very important to transmit that emotion to the viewer in a way that he/she can feel it because she/he can relate to the same experience. This in a way becomes «beauty». This is for me when a work is successful … The emotion has to be retained, otherwise it becomes too expressionist and we get more drama than beauty.”

The paintings in this show examine the topography of Amer’s women in ecstasy, of her pictorial referents and of the threads that fall on the canvas. Save for one, all the titles are followed by four letters, RFGA, the initials of the names Reza Farkhondeh and Ghada Amer. The acronym points to the ‘unofficial’ collaboration between the two artists, and acknowledges the contributions made by Farkhondeh to the creative process. As a result of their long-standing friendship and spontaneous dialogues, the pictorial space becomes an exercise in hospitality, a shared territory, a game of reciprocity and mutual enrichment that Amer has always striven to make explicit: “My long term collaboration with Reza is first of all a shared aesthetic intelligence. We both come from a similar background, Muslim raised, transported to the West, loving art against our family, a very acute awareness that we do not really fit into the Western History of Art and certainly not in the Eastern ones … All of this has developed into a friendship and into an existential experience: we cannot make art without the eye of one another and this has led to physically collaborate. We do not have conversations with each other, we have a visual language that we communicate with, it is very strange … Reza simulates my creativity and challenges me. And I think I do the same for him …”

The collaboration exists at two different levels: in the acronym that has featured in the paintings since 2001, and in the individual and joint signatures that since 2005 have appeared in the graphic work, a medium in which authorship is shared. In both cases, the limits of the ego, of complementarity and of the elective affinities that allow two separate entities to converge in one and the same body of work are issues that remain open. Amer and Farkhondeh thus participate in a sustainable economy in the realm of emotions and of knowledge, occupying a new relational paradigm. When French philosopher Gilles Deleuze defined the term ‘Fidelity’ in his Abecedary (a series of interviews broadcast on French television in 1996, the year after his death), he spoke of two potentialities that joined forces and thus be transformed through a secret connection.

The titles of the paintings are often jointly decided and stem from the impression or feeling that the final composition awakens in both artists. Here Comes the Sun – RFGA, for instance, is associated with the energy of dawn; the yellow patches of colour and wavy lines of Fin d’Été – RFGA allude to our memories of summer. Sindy – RFGAis named after one of Amer’s new assistants, in a practice that recognises and remembers the hard work they do : “I always title (after asking their permission) with their first name the first piece they embroider.”

Among all these recent paintings there is one, entitled Beneath the Blue Sky – RFGA,that is especially meaningful because it hints at a new development in the artist’s trajectory. Painted in deep blue, it evokes the darkness of night and is related to the idea of cosmic emptiness. At first glance it appears to be an abstract monochromatic work, but a closer look reveals sequences of embroidered motifs that remind us of traces of injuries, scars. Wounds are associated with cuts that tear the skin, gestures that pierce surfaces and encounter different tissues. Moreover, in connection with her recent sculptures, Amer updates the idea of spatial discoveries, travelling beyond the pictorial surface and thus identifying with the visionary oeuvre of Italo-Argentinian artist Lucio Fontana. When Fontana pierced a hole in a canvas or tore its surface with a stiletto or a knife, his intention was to reach the darkest depths of space, concerned as he was with the dichotomy between surface and depth, beginning and end, empty and full.

As Fontana had previously done, Amer resorts to oval shapes and models the void. The five sculptures presented in this show were made by cire perdue, either cast in bronze coated in gold or with a black patina coating, or cast in stainless steel that was polished or painted. Following the assembly of the various parts of each work, they were polished to attain a reflective shine.

The artist herself has declared that when she began the process of creating her new sculptures, her purpose was to explore the void: “My main thoughts here were rather formal. I wanted to make an empty sculpture and I wanted this sculpture to have an important shadow that would be added on or be part of the sculpture itself … I also wanted to make sculptures with lines … something like writing in space.” This process of research led her to create egg-shaped sculptures in which the flowing movement of criss-crossing wavy lines creates a dynamics of concealment and transparency that allows us at once to trace the metal lines and penetrate the space with our gaze.

The oval is a primeval shape, welcoming and maternal, that has been used by numerous artists, from Fontana to Constantin Brancusi or Henry Moore. In Amer’s sculptures it defines the place in which the figures are set and helps viewers recognise their actions. The works can be read in three-dimensional terms, or else they can be seen as flat pictorial planes because there is a perspective where spectators can suddenly discover and fix the image of figures or read some words. These sculptures may play with the mimesis established by the kiss or by the shape of a heart, yet they may also evoke a mystical dance or even relate to political events.

“The Blue Bra Girls, for instance, refers to the incident that took place during an uprising in Egypt in which a female protestor wearing a veil was beaten by the police and had her clothes torn. A photograph taken of her revealed she was wearing a blue bra, and so she was called ‘the blue bra girl’. I had an idea for a sculpture in which women would look defiantly at the public. I thought it was important that they should all have their eyes open and be looking at the viewer. I also wanted the women standing, instead of lying down. Then the ‘blue bra girl’ incident took place and so I called the piece after that, as a homage to all those women who stand up for themselves and fight,” says the artist. In the spherical sculpture entitled The Words I Love the Most, Amer takes a series of words like desire, depression, passion, crazy, anxious, all of which are written in Arabic and are related to love. The spelling of these words forms the lines of the rounded sculpture that has a slight inclination, like the Earth’s axis or the bodies of dervishes performing spiritual/mystical dances. The words actually create a sort of writing in reverse, for they can only be read on the inside by looking through the outer surface of the sphere, in which they appear inverted. To quote the artist herself, “We do not understand love, so we only see the right side when we are far away.”

By means of a linguistic logic that makes it self-supporting, Amer’s oeuvre pursues a beauty that combines form and the informal, drama and meaning, the beautiful and the political. Her works have an organic consistency that produces visual pleasure, carrying messages that relate to our ways of being in the world.

By enjoying the pleasure and the drama of her own thoughts and emotions, and by translating them into her artistic practice, the artist extends the limits of a tradition that will embrace women as creative subjects in their full right. The desire of discovering new territories for painting and larger spaces for aesthetic experience as well as for the ethics of generosity and hospitality might be one of the reasons why she and Farkhondeh have chosen Référence à Elle as the title for this show.

La entrada Ghada Amer, Kukje Gallery, Seúl, Corea, 2013 (Inglés) se publicó primero en Rosa Martínez - Independent Art Curator.

Try Again. Fail Again. Fail Better.

The artistic project conceived by Nikos Navridis for Eleusis has undergone several phases before crystallising in a unique and significant intervention. As in an alchemical process, combustion, purification and sublimation have led Navridis to summarise his reflections in a forceful proposal, both as regards the specific site in which it is presented and as regards the present context of spiritual, social and economic crisis.

In the former oil factory that the municipality of Eleusis has been offering as a space for artists since 2004, the traces of the past converse enter into dialogue with awareness of the present, and the vestiges of history coexist with the new social uses of the place. While most of the artists invited on previous occasions displayed their works in the huge interior spaces of the factory, Nikos Navridis has preferred to accommodate them in exterior spaces, thus expanding the architectural and symbolic boundaries of both factory and city. Using the entire courtyard of the factory, he has transformed the dryness of the cement into an undulating field of wheat, and taken the long wall beside the front entrance and the former circular tank to install sentences by Irish playwright Samuel Beckett. His choices regarding space, material, language and metaphor have enabled him to combine his own aesthetic, existential and political cosmography with the symbolism and dense history of Eleusis. This intellectual and emotional exercise comprises the certainty that art can and must shake our consciences and delight our senses in a critical way.

Since classical antiquity the name Eleusis has been bound to the mystical cults of Demeter, Persephone and Hecate, a triad of goddesses that symbolises fertility of woman and earth. As well as awakening a host of powerful legendary resonances, in Western culture Eleusis has remained associated with the awareness of the civilising process, the cyclic rebirth of agricultural crops and of human life itself. The ritual visit to her shrine was made each September and for over two thousand years offered a unique transition to those who were initiated in her mysteries, which revealed the secrets of metaphysical gnosis and celebrated the pacifying certainty that death did not exist, the vision that existence continued in new reincarnations.

The echoes of this path of wisdom and transformation coexist in Eleusis with the story of multiple cases of destruction. In spite of having been devastated in successive wars such as those waged by the Persians in the fifth century BC, the city and the temple were continuously being reborn out of their ashes. Their complete destruction was eventually brought about by Christianity towards the fourth century AD. As a rival religion, Christianity imposed its ‘truths’ on the mystery cults that had survived and even flourished during the Roman Empire, destroying the material and spiritual economy that sustained them. Following strict orders by Theodosius the Great, the sanctuary was closed and the practice ceased to be observed, receiving its final blow in 395 AD when the barbaric hordes led by Alaricus destroyed the shrine, killing the last hierophant.1

Other constructions and destructions have followed, the most significant of which are those associated with industrialisation and the tertiary or service sector in the twentieth century (a petrol refinery, the actual oil and soap factory, tourism, cultural consumption, etc.) and their consequent stages of development, decline and losses, often related to the flagrant unemployment rate in the region.
Bearing this background in mind, Nikos Navridis has chosen to work with two basic materials that enable him to reinterpret the myth and think about the present. The first is the legendary Eulesian cereal, wheat, and the second is a sentence by Irish writer Samuel Beckett that is also, to a certain extent, legendary.

In the large courtyard at the back of the factory Navridis has created a field of wheat on the cement ground. By preserving the roots of the spikes and replanting them, one by one, on a mantle of earth covering the merciless aridity of the cement, he gives form to the hope for a new rebirth. By looking back at the ancestral art of agriculture he reasserts the need for a new agreement with the forces of the underworld, that are no longer those of the infernal gods of classical mythology but the relentless darkness of the ideology of progress. What in the story of Demeter and Persephone was ‘the pact with the metaphysical sources of life’ 2 in the sombre reign of death, now becomes an exercise in faith and infinite patience over which hangs the threat of failure but also the hope of a necessary spiritual and material revolution. From our will to face up to failure and our confidence in our own dreams we obtain the strength to continue to try to construct reality and provide it with meaning: ‘I think that the tiring and excessive labour that is invested to the «planted cement» and the inherent vanity that characterizes this decision, carries something like a punishment and purification, and is filled with breaths and sounds as the wheat field moves,» says the artist.3

Navridis has succeeded in transforming the factory into a magical place through the wheat field, especially in the afternoon when everything turns to gold. And when the wind moves the spikes, the subtle undulation becomes a living painting that softly translates the beauty, the strength and the wisdom of cultivated nature. To install a wheat field in a deserted factory is an arduous exercise in transferring the past to the present, a powerful contrast between the almost artisan care of farm crops and models of industrial production. This intervention highlights the material conditions of existence and reveals the dehumanisation of the production and consumption of goods, but it also points out the potential of art in the symbolic reconstruction of the world. Marx and Engels wrote that the production of ideas and the production of consciousness were originally interwoven in material activity and the material intercourses of men, the language of real life.4

For Navridis, ‘the literal, physical transportation of the field on the cement is a powerful conceptual metaphor of the meaning of human labor and it directly connects with Beckett’s sentence «Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better,» that suggests all the efforts and the mistakes we made in the past and are still making in order to achieve what we believe is better.’5 Beckett’s statement appeared in his second last novel, Worstward Ho, published in 1983. The ideas of failure, perseverance and repetition are summed up here with a touch of hope.

Navridis has split the sentence in two, installing the first part on a long wall by the entrance and the second part atop the circular building of the old oil factory. He has used letters measuring 95 cm in height, cut out of a metal surface and without any background. Each letter is red, in reference to a sense of urgency, and is outlined with a series of small red Led lights that reflect its shine on the wheat field.

Before deciding to present the project Try again. Fail again. Fail Better as a synthesis of his process of reflection, Navridis worked on other series of experimental pieces that helped him to shape the final installation and that certainly bear the seeds of future projects. He positioned a group of performers bearing white boards in the empty space of the factory courtyard as an allusion to the need for silence, to the urgency of the blank page, to the desire of starting afresh unburdened by tragic memories, and like in a Zen meditation ceremony he even stood close to the concrete wall of the circular tank, giving his back to the rest of the world and looking inwards, at his own void, at his own wall, at the possibility of his own failure. Reality, however, did not allow him to fail. By chance, if chance exists, some of the workers who replanted the wheat forgot to cut off the water supply and a surprising miracle took place in Eleusis: new spikes sprouted in the bleak and harsh context of the ‘cement field’, and their green stalks formed a sharp contrast with the colour of the ripe wheat.

In the intervention Try Again. Fail Again. Fail Better, where dialectics is at once a connection and a separation between nature and language, Navridis continues to develop his artistic career, following a path that echoes the renewal of aesthetic languages and reveals his aspiration to conceive existential spaces as spiritual and political regions. Navridis’s oeuvre links the humanist tradition of Western culture to Zen intuitions of emptiness and postmodern theories of synchronicity. It shows how one of the main missions of contemporary artists is to combine different materials and influences to create works which temporarily articulate meanings that broaden our vision and awareness. This explains why Navridis is able to transform empty industrial spaces into symbolic sets in which Beckett’s words, acting as a contemporary oracle, coexist with the absurd yet vital exercise of replanting the wheat as a symbol of the need to be responsible for our material and spiritual nourishment.

For over more than two decades Navridis has been creating a corpus of work characterised by a huge poetic potential through which he often reflects on the binary nature of existence and on the continuous ignition and extinction of the world, to quote Heraclitus.6 Navridis has presented respiration as a primeval breeze, a subtle, abstract material needed in order to initiate his movement towards others. His work has been defined as ‘sculpture of breath’ for it shapes spaces, captures existential tensions and makes visible the invisible through respiration. In the works conceived for Eleusis it is the wheat that breathes, while spectators hold their breath as they read and reflect on Beckett’s words.

The updating of ethical truths through the language of art and the wisdom contained in myths reveals the need to seek new forms of thinking and acting that will help reshape the meaning of life and of the world. To quote Ernst Cassirer, the results of aesthetic fantasy are truly spiritual actions.7 There probably are other paths, but for the artist who articulates his works conscientiously and for the citizen who receives the wisdom they contain, all that can be done is to work hard and patiently to restore health and life to a universe dominated by slavery, helplessness, sickness and death. Healing, understood as a return to refounded civilisation, like a renewed faith in cyclic rebirth, is an unavoidable task, one that is certainly possible and is occasionally miraculous.

Rosa Martínez

NOTES
1 http://www.cyceon.gr/en/museum/content/105
2 R. Gordon Wasson, Albert Hofmann, Carl A. P. Ruck et al., The Road to Eleusis: Unveiling the Secret of the Mysteries, Chapter VI, Documentation (C. A. P. R.), p. 113, North Atlantic Books, Berkeley, California, 2008.
3 Nikos Navridis in an e-mail conversation with Rosa Martínez, August 2013.
4 Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, The German Ideology, 1845. First published in 1932. Accessible at http://www.marxists.org/archive/1845/german-ideology
5 Nikos Navridis in an e-mail conversation with Rosa Martínez, August 2013.
6 ‘This world, which is the same for all, no one of gods or men has made. But it always was, is, and will be: an ever-living Fire, with measures of its kindling, and measures going out.’ Heraclitus, Fragment No. DK30, The Fragments of Heraclitus. Accessible at http://www.heraclitusfragments.com/files/e.html
7 Ernst Cassirer, The Philosophy of Symbolic Forms, Vol. II, Mythical Thought. Translated into English by Ralph Manheim, Yale University Press, New Haven, Connecticut, 1955.

La entrada Nikos Navridis, Eleusis, Greece, 2013 (inglés) se publicó primero en Rosa Martínez - Independent Art Curator.

Enlace es para descarga: PDF – Qué Pensar, CaixaForum Barcelona 2012-2013

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La entrada Qué Pensar, CaixaForum Barcelona, Noviembre 2012 – Enero 2013 se publicó primero en Rosa Martínez - Independent Art Curator.