Hands & Feet of Friends & Family

“Invest in a floating city or gentrify a submerged one.”

Nourhan Maayouf’s I Was Going to Work is a hybrid sci-fi picture book by the Cairo-based artist, in which the proto-cyborg citizens of Happy Land Nation establish new-fashioned diurnal rhythms against the ever-present backdrop of a monorail to nowhere and its pillars, idle and idolatrous.

Across forty-four spreads of what might be thought of as a picture book for adults, Maayouf delves into every aspect of a deeply familiar society in which retrograde devolution is billboarded as reinvention by Orwellian technocrats and speculators.

And yet pockets of the cyborg population continue striving, dreaming, craving, protesting, gleaning, and inventing. For a situation to be bleak, some notion of beauty must remain tenaciously rooted where it matters most.

When living things bloom & molder all in a heartskip, when they expand toward death, this is what worms hear.

Artist’s book of paintings by Mikołaj Moskal: gouache, archival paper elements, simple & meaningful captions. REMMUS is a graft of Podlasie earth-water-sky and Mikołaj’s pigments, heart, and intuition. Designed in close collaboration with graphic artist and designer Kaja Gliwa.

The paintings are bracketed by a poem each by Kuba Niklasiński (“Flows | Flaws”) and Stefan Lorenzutti (“What Worm Heard”), handwritten by Mikołaj in English and Polish.

Heart. Compass, radar detector. Lost and anxious. Parents divorce. Respect the rhythm. Fallen angels, now my stomach is all butterflies.

In his artist’s book My Body Is a Reincarnated Population, Helsinki-based Hong Kong artist Oscar CHAN Yik Long (Melted Stars) embraces the pantheon of reincarnated souls embedded within him through ink-and-wash paintings and distilled capsule texts.

His process was guided by the rolls of a die used to connect individuals he has known and encountered in past lives—parents and siblings, relatives and ancestors, friends and enemies, lovers—to his present-life body. Who formed his throat? Who grew into his tongue? Who paired as lungs? Who became skin, muscle, bone, or blood?

The artist’s efforts were ultimately about a form of spiritual atonement in pursuit of physiological harmony for a body facing numerous afflictions: “Through my artwork, I wanted to let the people within me know that, regardless of the tragedies or conflicts that divided us in the past, I have come to terms with everything that happened between us. I sincerely apologize, I express gratitude, I forgive and send love.”

In Sleigh Ride, a kinetically wondrous prose tale from poet Joe Fletcher, a father and his convalescing son plunge in carpentered, stallion-drawn sleigh slashing through lush forest, advancing through a sequence of diorama-like settings. The books ten chapters are interspersed with gouache collages by Kraków artist Mikołaj Moskal (REMMUS), rooted and riverine, functioning as curtains swept aside to reveal each chapter of Fletcher’s exhilarating nocturne.

There was a sleigh: jet black and gleaming.

The long steel runners curved at their termini like arabesques of ice. It was too dark to clearly discern the design on its side, but it was intricate, ornate, suggestive of cuneiform and the minarets of Cairo. Two orange lanterns mounted above the driver’s chair were each encircled by a cloud of gnats and moths. Draped in fabulously embroidered saddlecloths, Ajax and Hector stomped the earth.

Given that the only exit from the cellar was the door, hardly wider and taller than a man, I marveled at how father could have extracted his creation from his smithy and pointed it at the forest. But I said nothing as I climbed unaided onto the purple velvet couch.

I am not deep, although my eyes are, like a black sea that has been forgotten, as many have told me.

Noura Alsouma’s zine “Nawar’s Sketchbook” is a liquid lament by the Berlin-based Syrian visual artist and printmaker, riveted to eyes that see and therefore shed tears, channeling the heartfelt exposure of the sketchbooks Noura fills to the bleed.

With a moving text by the artist in the original Arabic, reproduced in her handwriting, as well as in English translation by Suja Sawafta.

sex and place is a series of workshops and publications exploring score-based and semi-anonymous writing as a tool for articulating shared concerns.

Vol 2 ‘discores’ is written by Kexin Hao, Luca Soudant, HaYoung, Andrea Zavala Folache & Adriano Wilfert Jensen. Five strangers are stuck in changing boots next to each other and decide to embark on an intimate conversation starting from the question: “What is troubling your sexuality at the moment?”.

The ‘sex and place’ series is part Domestic Anarchism, a project devoted to coalition-building beyond biological, chosen, or national conceptions of family. Dance serves as a set of tools and knowledge that can be applied beyond “the spectacle” to collectively study, write, and move. 

Andrea Zavala Folache and Adriano Wilfert Jensen are choreographers and they co-parent three-year-old Penélope Cleo. Andrea and Adriano use dance and choreography to think about the distribution of care and solidarity beyond ‘the family’, and in turn consider how such a distribution could inform their dance practice. Inevitably themes like sex, economy, gender, and class get activated. But also notions such as prefiguration, anarchism, clitoridian* thinking, zones of non-domination and coalition building. They see dance as a knowledge that can be applied to different practices. Some of these include: co-habitations, score based writing and dancing, self-organised study groups and publications, workshops and dance performances. 

In Perpetuity is part of Ivey Wawn’s project of the same name. With contributions from those involved in the making of what would have been the live performance, it is an accumulation of thoughts, reflections and associated pieces of work that give some idea of what the work could, would, or may in the future come to be. 

In Perpetuity is an ongoing project that has taken a variety of forms, from publication, through video and into live performance.

Hervé Guibert’s photobook The Only Face is not a novel in the traditional sense, but it is filled with characters, settings, and mystery. It starts with bodies — their faces either eclipsed or out of frame — before unleashing a bravura sequence of portraits: friends, lovers, family, Guibert himself. As the book approaches its final act, his subjects are again obscured. Then they disappear completely, leaving behind only the objects they touched, until even those vanish, leaving only light.

Most of the photographs in The Only Face were taken on Guibert’s travels — to Italy, Spain, Germany, Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, the United States — but their settings are, with few exceptions, small private interiors. The effect is an inwardness that communicates Guibert’s deep affinity with his subjects. In his prior books, many of these same individuals are identified only by initials, but here he has elected to use their first names, further instilling the whole project with intimate familiarity. Guibert describes his initial apprehension about making this intimacy public, but he ultimately realized that by publicly exposing these "familiar bodies, beloved bodies, I am doing only one thing — an enormous thing, I believe, in any case the goal of all my work, all my creative pretension — which is this: to bear witness to my love."