Egg Punk Karaoke

Egg Punk Karaoke
Bora Akinciturk
15/11 – 21/12/2018

“I hate boiled eggs.“
“My mom used to make boiled eggs for breakfast every day.”
“Like, every single day?”
“Yes, every single day, day in and day out. And I am not talking scrambled eggs or omelette, nor that thing, you know, when you crack an egg directly into a pot of boiling water?..”
“Poached eggs.”
“Yes, poached eggs. She never made these either, she would just boil eggs every day. I used to eat them throughout my entire childhood, as long as I can remember myself. It seems that as soon as I stopped drinking her breastmilk, I immediately switched to boiled eggs. First breastmilk — and then boiled eggs straight afterwards. And nothing else, nothing in between.” “And for how long did you have to eat them?”
“Well, as long as I lived with parents.”
“But you still live with parents.”
“Well, yes, sort of, but I am spending less time there now. Sometimes I sleep at your place man.”
“But I live with parents, too. So you either live with my parents or with your own. In any case, you always live with parents.”
“But at least when I am at your parents’ place, I do not have to eat boiled eggs.”
“True dat. My stepfather is allergic to eggs. Once he got drunk with his friends and made a bet that he would eat 5 boiled eggs in one go.”
“And what happened?”
“Well, his throat got swollen, he began to choke hard, flushed all over, and collapsed to the floor…”
“Were you at home when it happened?”
“Yes, my mother was out, I don’t exactly remember where she went, and I stayed home with him. I heard the screaming, rushed into the kitchen and saw him rolling on the floor and choking hard. He was wheezing like a dog.”
“Dogs don’t wheeze.”
“Dogs don’t wheeze.”
“They do. My dog wheezed when it was dying. I thought he would die, too.” “Were you scared?”
“No, I think I didn’t care all that much. I remember standing there and thinking that if he was to die right then and there, then maybe his friends would not leave and would stay in our place till my mother’s return. I didn’t want that. But what I remember is that I was really flabbergasted by the color of his face—he was completely red. You know, red, like … well, like a tomato or something like that. He was really red. I thought people could not have such red faces. I remember he was wearing a red shirt and turned red, you know, the color of his shirt. As if the shirt, you know, extended to his face and he became it. He turned into his own shirt.”
“When I was a child I was really scared of suffocating on something.”
“Like, on what?“
“I don’t know, like, on anything.”
“For example?”
“Well, for example, I was afraid I would swallow a stone.”
“A stone?”
“Well, a stone, yes.”
“Like, a big one?”
“Well, the one big enough to get stuck in my throat.”
“Dude, what should happen for a stone to get stuck in your throat?”
“Well, for example, I could run and fall all of a sudden and my gaping mouth would drag on the ground scooping stones, so I would swallow a stone … or, for example, I would lift my head up while staring at something while a bird flying above my head would drop a stone and it would fall right into my mouth.”
“A bird? Really?”
“Do you know that some birds do carry stones to build their nests?”
“Dude, I’ve never heard of anything like that. In any case, it’s rather stupid to think that a bird would drop a stone and it will fall right into your mouth”
“Why? Are you so damn sure that there is something that would never get in your mouth?”
“Well, it probably wont’ be a stone, and what’s more, a stone dropped by a bird straight into my mouth.”
“You know, I think he’s right. Come to think of it, anything can end up in your mouth. My stepfather, I think, was dead sure that these eggs would never end up in his mouth, but he just made that bet, and there they were.”
“Damn, I will not make a bet with you that I would take a stone into my mouth!”
“Not a stone maybe, but something else—yes. Even those eggs.“
“But what’s the deal with eggs? I am not allergic to them.”
“Well, I’m not talking about eating them, but, say, of stuffing your mouth full of eggs.”
“Well, for example, when you put a few peeled boiled eggs into your mouth at once and keep them there for some time without chewing or swallowing them, just keep them in your mouth.”
“I think they will slip out.”
“Well, if you close your mouth tightly they won’t.”
“Peeled boiled eggs are very slippery, so if you close your mouth tightly, then they will slip in the other direction —they will begin to slide down your esophagus and get stuck there.”
“Dude, I’ve just figured something out. You hate boiled eggs and you’re afraid that something might get stuck in your throat.”
“Well, it seems the two are linked. Like, you hate eggs because you are afraid that they are going to get stuck in your throat. This might have already happened to you. Maybe in your early childhood that did happen, but you just don’t remember that. You know that we gain our first memories after the age of three, don’t you? Well, that is to say, if your mother started feeding you eggs when you were younger than three, maybe one of those eggs got stuck in your throat once, and you just don’t remember that.”
“Come on, I do remember myself even before the age of three.”
“Oh really? And what is it that you remember?”
“Well, I remember lying in the crib and looking through the bars of the crib into the room, and there was no one in the room at that time, and I really wanted someone to come in and get me out of the crib because I had to look at everything through those thick wooden bars, and that really sucked big time.”
“So you are saying that not only do you remember yourself at that age, but you also remember how you felt?”
“Well, sort of, yes.”
“But this is bullshit, dude. You don’t remember what you did yesterday and you are saying that you remember how you felt when you were lying in the crib with the bars.”
“Yes, I also remember trying to gnaw on those bars incessantly. I would chew on them all the time. Apparently they enraged me so much that I wanted to destroy them. Or at least to get through them somewhere outside.”
“Yeah, like, striving for freedom.”
“We all sit in cribs with bars, dude.”
“I am saying that we all sit in cribs with bars, like, we look at the world through the bars. Everyone is stuck in such a crib for life. The difference between us and the ordinary people is that we understand that we sit in such a crib, while the ordinary people simply don’t get it. They don’t even gnaw at their bars. And they die in their cribs.”
“So, you think there are some people that make it out of their cribs?”
“And who is it, I wonder?”
“Well, for example, those who do what they want to do. I mean, what they really want to do. For example, my parents hate their jobs, but even so they have been going to work all these years. And it does not even occur to them that you can do something that you really want to, instead of that nonsense that they have spent their whole lives doing. They have no chance. But if you do what you think is right for you, then you would have a chance to get out of this shit.”
“And what is it that you think is right for you?”
“I love music, dude.”
“So you want to become a musician?”
“I am already a musician, I’m a musician right here, right now. I feel it, you know. I am hanging out with you, but I know that while I am hanging out with you, I remain a musician. It’s like a rhythm in your heart. Do you get it, man? A rhythm that never stops. Even if I had a job cleaning elephant shit at a circus I would remain a musician, I would be free in my soul.” “But if you clean elephant shit at a circus, you will be a cleaner of elephant shit, not a musician.”
“Everything is a bit more complicated than how you describe it.”
“Oh, really.”
“You see, there is another level to things. I am not talking about a level higher or lower, but about an altogether different one. One level is where we all live, what we can see around us. But on a different level there is something that we do not see with our eyes, but it still exist, it is still there. It’s like a level of ideas or dreams. And these levels are connected, they are closely intertwined, and if you think that what we see is the only existing reality, then you are just a dumbass.”
“I know who you are. You are my dead cat but in a human body. When I got high I always thought that my cat was, like, talking to me mentally and what it was saying was very similar to what you are saying now. My cat died and became you, I’m telling you.”
“Your cat died last year, and so you think, it took up his abode in my body after that?”
“I have heard of such things happening—like, dead animals don’t want to leave their owners and their souls move into someone who lives next to the owners.”
“It sounds ridiculous. If so, what happens to the souls of those now possessed by the souls of dead animals? Where do they go? Like, an animal possesses a person, but what happens to this person and their own soul?”
“Well, it’s like two souls inhabiting one body, side by side. The souls take turns manifesting themselves. And you can no longer tell who is it that is talking to you at the moment —your sister or your dead cat.”
“My sister should hear you now.”
“Okay, I got it, dudes, the main thing is to be yourself and not to stuff anything into your mouth that you are allergic to.”
“Yeah and not to stare with your mouth agape when birds fly above your head.”
“Damn, I’m starving.”
“Shall we order a pizza?”

– Natalya Serkova

Bora Akinciturk (b. 1982, Turkey). Lives and works in London. Selected exhibitions include “Keep Smiling is The Art of Living”, Alyssa Davis Gallery, New York, USA, 2017, “We’re All Dead, We Just Don’t Know It Yet”, Ultrastudio, Pescara, Italy, 2017; “Fallen Angels”, in collaboration with Noemi Merca, Komplot, Brussels, Belgium, 2017; “Say Yes”, The Beautiful Erah, Salzburg, Austria, 2016; “Politely Declined”, Pilevneli Project, Istanbul, Turkey, 2012. His band Fino Blendax, in collaboration with Ahmet Öğüt at: The ICA, London; Chisenhale Gallery, London; VanAbbe Museum, Eindhoven; The 56th Venice Biennale, Creative Time Summit: The Night Art Made the Future Visible 2015. 

Support: VKKF, VKN

Photos: Līga Spunde

a drop in the universe has universes of its own


Carlos Noronha Feio
9/10 – 8/11/2018

Drop a drop in the universe. Given the cosmic proportions of the subject, the repercussions might well be a set of infinitesimal, albeit infinite, reverberations. A cosmological mise-en-abîme. Portals that open up momentary gateways into parallel universes. Or one of those mirror-encrusted “infinity” rooms where reflections go on and on and on until they’re reduced to the size of a pin prick, and yet they go on.

Lisbon-based Carlos Noronha Feio might not dabble in planetary and star alignments, but the cosmological principles still hold true for the links he untethers when it comes to relationships between cultural insignia, objects, borders and histories across space and time. What, at first, sounds like a series of near unbearable high-pitched electronic trilling – a message from one of those liminal universes – turns out to be a sequential performance of national anthems representing countries whose existence is no longer beholden to a unanimous accordance of geopolitical status, but simply to at least one other state’s recognition. Abkhazia, Kosovo, South Ossetia, Transnistria.

The list – all six hours of it – goes on, compressed into a 20-minute long gallop, the maximal recordable time on one side of a vinyl dubplate. Words, melodies, rhythms – all are garbled into an indistinct, veering on indecipherable, conglomeration of noise. The tragicomedy of it lies in the cartoon-like warble of sped-up voices that soon enough makes way for the realisation that, stripped of any singularity, they become a drop in the ocean (or universe, to keep the image afloat) of time. Which isn’t to say that they’re reduced to a nothing. Quite the opposite. If anything, they speak of the arbitrariness of borders and, by extension, of geopolitical allegiances and notions of belonging, of the ways in which identities are forged but also constricted by other powers that be. For Noronha Feio, these ready-made symbols and images upon which cultural identities are constructed and sustained are fodder for an on-going investigation into the fragility and arbitrariness of these geographically, politically and economically bound ecosystems, but also of the strangeness of the power relations at play. At the end of the day, what we take for granted and as a given may not sustain us long-term.

In 1792, the National Convention of the French Revolution, not content with overthrowing the reigning monarchy, set their sights on the measure by which we count out our seconds, minutes, hours and days. The 12-hour clock, inherited several millennia earlier from the Babylonians, was replaced by a decimal system, which included a ten-day week and a ten-hour day. This type of revolution, though, proved too extreme even for those who achieved the downfall of the political status quo, and the system ultimately lasted only for 17 months before the state reverted to age-old, universally ingrained habits. The implication being that difference is all well and good, except when it comes to the old adage that time is money, and in matters of economic growth, production, prosperity and work-discipline, standardisation is the beat which keeps the world ticking in materialist realities. Yet the GIF which reinserts a different conception and framing of time, using a sped-up image of the Earth’s rotations taken from space as its tangential clock-face, tacitly expunges a geocentric worldview.

Set against a vividly coloured background of semi-abstract patterns, it mimics the more positively inclined another world is possible (spirituality; good luck; protection; trust; defence; serenity; rebirth; Man) (2017), a rug digitally designed by the artist and produced by Portuguese weavers using a distinct and traditional tapestry technique – Arraiolos – that has been passed on and inherited across generations since the Middle Ages. At the same, their imagery bears a heavy indebtedness to Persian carpets as well as, in more contemporary terms, to Afghan war rugs that have their origins in the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan from 1979 and have continued through subsequent periods of military, political and social conflicts that have persisted. Part of an ongoing body of work, which began in 2008-9, this carpet – alongside its siblings – states itself unconvinced as to the objective truth of any cultural or national mythmaking. Instead, it is a confluence of two civilizations now, as before, seemingly at odds with one another, despite the shared threads that go some way to neutralising their perceived polarisation. Pared down, geometric images of war planes sit against more esoteric signs, the former nosing their way to mirror images of Earth and – what look to be – space shuttles (or, more precisely, Sputnik): microcosms adrift in a cosmic soup. And so we’re back to the universe, an open window to a new world, but one where artificially constructed differences are refashioned as multiplicity through shared commonalities.

– Anya Harrison

Carlos Noronha Feio (Lisbon 1981) consumes, juxtaposes and performs media as research into cultural, local and global identity, adopting culturally significant images, locations and symbols as a form of creative interference with meaning, demonstrating the almost arbitrary nature in which cultural significance is interpreted.
Noronha Feio holds a PhD from the Royal College of Art London and he lives and works in Lisbon, London and Moscow. Noronha Feio’s recent projects include “The Fabric of Felicity” at Garage Museum of Contemporary Art in Moscow, “Futures” at CAC-Contemporary Art Centre Vilnius, “even if at heart we are uncertain of the will to connect, there is a common future ahead” at narrative projects in London, “bathed by the bright light of the sunset” at 3+1 Arte Contemporânea in Lisbon, “Oikonomia: a Matter of Trust” at Museu Nacional de Arte Contemporânea – Museu do Chiado in Lisbon, “You Are Now Entering_________” at CCA Londonderry/Derry in Northern Ireland, “Image Wars” at Abrons Art Center in New York, and “Da outra margem do Atlântico: alguns exemplos da fotografia e do video português” at Centro Cultural Helio Oiticica in Rio de Janeiro. Noronha Feio’s work is included in the publications “The Art of Not Making: The New Artist/Artisan Relationship” as well as in “Nature Morte: Contemporary Artists Reinvigorate the Still Life Tradition”, published by Thames & Hudson. He is present in several private and public collections including MAAT—Fundação EDP in Lisbon, Saatchi Collection in London, and MAR—Museu de Arte do Rio in Rio de Janeiro.
From 2009 up to 2014 he was a director of The Mews Project Space in London’s east end.

Support: VKKF, VKN

Photos: Līga Spunde

kristāls sekunde mode

kristāls sekunde mode
Māris Bišofs, Maira Dobele & Inga Meldere, Vasilijs Karasjovs, Oļa Vasiļjeva
Curators: Kaspars Groševs & Marta Trektere
5/09 – 4/10/2018

Support: VKKF, VKN

Photos: Līga Spunde

Oчевидное невероятное

Oчевидное невероятное
Vitaly Bezpalov, Jakub Choma, Gints Gabrāns, Albin Looström
Curator: Kaspars Groševs
29/06 – 23/08/2018

As genius of enlightenment does prepare any,

So does experience and so genius does,

The One is son of agonizing errors,

The friend of paradoxes’s the other one,

And as the God for the contrive is chance,

They all present at once, oh, so many

Miraculous revelations just to us.

Support: VKKF, VKN, Polansky Gallery

Photos: Līga Spunde

it imitates a wet pessimism

it imitates a wet pessimism
Ieva Kraule-Kūna
30/05 – 21/06/2018

AI is selling newspapers and robots have soft palms, remember, there was a time when only brazen heads were whispering into ears of the sleeping –

Time is. Time was. Time is past.

The continuous flow of time exists solely around our hot bodies. From the scent of yesterday, cough of tomorrow and today’s sunburn thighs I am building the anagram of time. Every day I wash off past to meet the morning with a new face, until I shrink so small, until I shrink even smaller and disappear completely. Only a few shiny stones and some saw dust is left. You are wading trough my saw dust, tiny itchy lacerations covering your ankles, you are wondering where does it lead. It doesn’t lead anywhere at all, even the arches lead to nowhere. Nothing but fallacies and falsifications. You can arrange them in pleasing rows and found a museum dedicated to time. Tedious! Temporary! You can scramble the left over parts and build something new.

Ieva Kraule produces sculptural objects often using materials such as ceramics, rubber, metal and stone. Accompanying these objects are short stories, loosely based on fictitious interpretations of historical events and absurd adventures of imaginary characters. Within her work she often refers to themes surrounding fetishism, history, applied arts and architecture of the Soviet era, while tracing origins of both personal and collective aesthetic codes. Ieva Kraule is based in Riga. Her recent exhibitions include α: Deceived Deceivers, Kim? Contemporary art centre, Riga; Dancing water (with Kaspars Groshevs), Futura, Prague; The person you are trying to reach is not available (with Aidan Koch), Hester, New York; and Qu’est-ce que ça peut faire tout ça (with Kaspars Groshevs), Shanaynay, Paris. Her work has been included in group shows at 1857, Oslo; HIAP, Helsinki; Contemporary Art Center, Vilnius; Art in General, New York; and Kim? Contemporary Art Centre, Riga. She is also co-founder of gallery 427 in Riga.

Support: VKKF, VKN

Photos: Līga Spunde

Alonso! It’s Elastic

Alonso! It’s Elastic
Martin Kohout
10/04 – 10/05/2018

Czech born artist Martin Kohout’s early study background is in cinematography and he has been active in the Berlin and international scene since 2010. His work has a strong grounding in research, both academic and qualitative. His works span a wide range of film, sculpture, print, events and publications. In addition to that he produces music under the name of TOLE and runs a small  publishing house, TLTRPreß. Since graduating Martin was nominated for various awards including most recently; 2015 – Finalist of Open Frame Award, goEast festival, Wiesbaden and, 2014 – Finalist of Jindřich Chalupecký Award 2014, Veletržní Palace of the National Gallery, Prague.

The exhibition is a part of Riga Photography Biennial 2018 programme

Support: VKKF, Čē bārs
Special thanks to Arita Varzinska!

Photos: Līga Spunde

Benevolent Nerves

Benevolent Nerves
Adam Shiu-Yang Shaw
26/01 – 1/03/2018

21st Century E.G.G.

Black tea leaves (1 cup)
Sea salt (2/3 cups)
Wood ash (3 cups)
Charcoal ash (3 cups)
Calcium Oxide (3 cups)
Rice Husks (1-1.4 kilo)
Duck Eggs (1 dozen) *
* 56.7 g (mass)

– Brew tea, infused at a 1:8 ratio, in boiling water. Once brewed, let steep for one hour to strengthen.

– Using a sizeable vessel – combine salt, wood ash, charcoal ash and calcium oxide. This combination of natural alkaline compounds aids in activating the preservation process.

– Once steeped, add 3 cups of tea as well as strained leaves to the mixture. Stir thoroughly, adding surplus tea as deemed necessary, until a slurry-like consistency is achieved.

* Adorn latex gloves as the hybrid is mildly corrosive and may result in tissue damage.

– Place six eggs into alkaline solution, coat thoroughly and let sit for 15 minutes. Fill a second vessel with rice husks. After the immersion period has commenced, tumble eggs in husk basin to yield uniform coating. Apply gentle pressure where required as to assure a secure bond. Repeat with two succeeding batches.

– Leave encrusted eggs to sit overnight.

– Come morning, prepare a bed of natural soil – preferably with high clay-content. Select an outdoor location that receives ample precipitation and will be left undisturbed by human activity.

– Construct a long and narrow trench, 1 ft. deep at minimum, in which to place the 1 dozen eggs. Replenish the channel with soil, packed loosely as not to cause structural damage to the preserves.

– In warmer climates (upwards of 15 °C), leave the eggs to process for a minimum of 100 days. For colder temperatures (below 15 °C), they may sit for up to 240. The preserves should be checked individually and intermittently, onwards of presumed completion date.

*Pídàn is said to have originated within China’s Hunan Province. Various renditions of this preservation method can be traced to Shanghai, Guangdong Province, Laos, Taiwan, Thailand and Vietnam.

Adam Shiu-Yang Shaw (b. 1987 Edmonton, Canada) currently lives and works in Berlin and Stockholm. He received his  MFA from the Royal Institute of Art, Stockholm, SE (2016), was a guest student at Piet Zwart Institute (2015), Rotterdam NL and his BFA from Emily Carr University of Art, Vancouver, CA (2013).  Selected exhibitions include Jugend ist Trunkenheit ohne Wein, Bikini, Basel (2018), vinegar stone and the language of flowers, Towards, Toronto (2017), Gabinete de Moda, Gabinete, Lisbon, PT, Grounds for Magical Thinking, J Hammond Projects, London (2017), Peach, W139, Amsterdam (2016), Kamias Triennial, Kamias Special Projects, Kamias (2017), Cruising, Mariella Viking Line, Stockholm, SE, (2017), Dinner Room Terravore, Oslo10, Basel (2016), and Veins of Gypsum Mortar, Ashley, Berlin (2015).  Benevolent Nerves is his first solo exhibition in Latvia.

Support: Nordic Culture Point, VKN
Special thanks to Daria Melnikova!

Photos: Līga Spunde