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UNBIDDEN TONGUE

@unbiddentongue

between starshine & clay

“One Big Self: Prisoners of Louisiana” (1998–2002) by Deborah Luster, this series of photos were captured in three different Louisiana state prisons. Luster spent six years to produce an archive of formal inmate portraits, printed using silver gelatin emulsion on metal plates.

can’t find anything that provides much more detail about the medium choice except that it’s ‘reminiscent of 19th-century photos’ but it absolutely has to be intentionally evoking portraits of slaves. the whole collection is stored in this cabinet as a part of the piece:

which looks a hell of a lot like a reference to historical archives. where you might find old photos of slaves.

Caribbean Vernacular Architecture, fretwork rooted in local or African history and symbolism.

See "Creole and vernacular architecture: embryonic syncretism in Caribbean cultural landscape", Patricia Elaine Green

I hate you no trespassing signs, I hate you private land signs, I hate you felled trees on woods roads and padlocked gates on right-of-ways, I hate you CCTV cameras, motion activated lights, and battery cameras with push notifications, I hate you instinctual paranoia of the other and distrust of your kin, I hate you political flippancy and spiritual apathy.

“Some things could only be written in a foreign language; they are not lost in translation, but conceived by it. Foreign verbs of motion could be the only ways of transporting the ashes of familial memory. After all, a foreign language is like art—an alternative reality, a potential world. Once it is discovered, one can no longer go back to monolinguistic existence.“”

Mieko Shiomi, < wind music > (1963)

After Mieko Shiomi, Wind Music, Fluxversion I, 1963: Scores are blown away from stands by wind from a strong fan in the wings as the orchestra tries to hold them. (AV-arkki) A battle of creation and destruction, an orchestration of chaos. Two women compete to make sound and/or noise.

Barbara Chase-Riboud b.(1939)

The eye is what has to build the monument. All I can do is trace the outlines.’

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“My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps, drums and tamboura I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony.”

― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet.

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