Spationauts.de

8-Bit Trucker

Francois — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 11:55:30 PST

Que du bonheur.

Plus? direction Lego Trip.

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Oops, I can’t remember I’m on facebook

Francois — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 04:46:36 PDT

Speechless, again.

Via Lamebook

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Preview Art Fair @ Tempelhof Airport: A lesson in wasting space

Anastasia — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 15:02:31 PDT

Never underestimate the importance of the curator. Let’s repeat that. Never, EVER, underestimate the importance of the curator, especially when it comes to contemporary art or in this case that which calls itself ‘recycled’. This years Preview wonderfully illustrated that a lack of one reveals trash art for what it really is…crap. Used tea bags suspended from fluorescent orange tubes with nails and…cabbage tits…wtf?!! I was embarrassed. Not only did most work look like it was pretty much assembled the night before, after scavengering the bins of Berlin…but there just didn’t seem to be any point in it, at all. And that is pretty bad. Shouldn’t there be some sort of government censorship office, particularly here, on socialist German grounds, to filter this crap out, and protect the public…?!(Especially when they have the nerve to charge a tenner for it…Further investigation into the subject is definitely needed.)

Funny to say now but on the way there, on my bicycle, I was pretty excited. New emerging artists, sculpture, installations, abandoned airport – in my head I had all sorts of incredible visions – vivid fantasies of crazy constructions bouncing off the abandoned concrete walls, massive spaces full of experimentations, concepts, minimal, monochrome, industrial and all those other “this is so Berlin” associations. But no, nothing of the sort. Instead I was greeted by a very modest (and very colourful) collection of rather suspicious looking assemblages, which looked like they had been thrown together there and then and arranged like attractions at a village fair, with all the blinking lights included. Never had I seen such pointless art installed SO badly (masking tape was a dominant feature). Even my dog could’ve done better. Now what is the point of holding it at Tempelhof Airport if you’re not going to take advantage of its architecture? They might as well have held it at the local school gymnasium. It would’ve been cheaper AND the heavy smell of airport food could’ve been avoided too.

Although no spiritual awakenenings/revelations/exits from reality were reached, some valuable lessons were learned. First– appearance is all. (The 10 seconds first impression rule could not have been more true). Now I fully understand the importance of the curator. It is not even so much the work, but the presentation which lures you in. Professionalism, organisation of space, negative space, attention to the smallest details, symmetry, harmony, knowledge and proper use of technical equipment (Hello?! Lighting anyone?!) – these are the vital foods for a healthy exhibition diet. Without them, the work might as well be dead. Second. I realised just how damn hard it is to make garbage art look good. Now I can really appreciate all those scrapyard-like installations that somehow manages to transcend their status and move you. Third (and this was a bit of an epiphany from a photographic perspective) I realised the difficulty of making something look bad on camera. Maybe it’s because I never really take photos with the intention of making my subject matter look bad, usually it’s the opposite, but this time I wanted to document the tragedy on sight. But, you know what? It was pretty damn hard. Every photo I took somehow managed to make the work look better than it actually was, even with a flash. I found this pretty annoying, but eventually did manage to get a few revealing ones.

But all in all, I would actually like to thank the Preview organisers for this learning experience. If it wasn’t for such shit around, we wouldn’t be able to appreciate the good stuff. I wonder what all the other polka don’t wearing bohemian types thought as they stood pensively over the cabagge titted totem doll. Why..??

Link

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Lego Trip (Video)

Francois — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 10:21:02 PDT

“1500 hours of moving legobricks and take photos of them.” Wait…What?! 1500 hours of 8-bit music? At least, there are a bit less than 4 minutes of stop motion to watch, and the track is available on iTunes.

This video is for a song by Swedish band Rymdreglage. Although the geekiest ones of you have already seen it in the past two weeks, I’m pretty sure you’re not all from this pedigree, so it’s alright to post it here.

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Black Tulips

Ben — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 05:41:13 PDT

He sat in a corner of the club. It was the first time hed looked so sad since he arrived ( « Is this it ? I mean, this is different. Girls, boys, everything’s different! Well. It’s raining. Fuck Vegas. » ), midsummer in the old waster flat of the G.strasse. Stacey looked at him « you belong here » she whispered.
Thoughts of sashimi, sayonaras, sake and the Fuji-Yama Mountain swirled in his head. ( « I never was there, no really I swear ! »). « I don’t want to go back to Tokyo » he finally said ( remembering those days without water & those sleepless nights, the gray pearls of saliva & the winds & tornados that swept the crimson reddish /purple blood of the last illusions).
« I come from a place without a ‘present-time’. Everybody’s running after the infinite emptiness of their soul, in vain. And I never really noticed it before. Now I can feel it. And that’s why I’m sad. I am sad because I will miss that « carpe diem » spirit. » « But I am terribly happy to know that it exists somewhere ». They both smiled, and left the club. The party was not over but they needed to be alone. No techno anymore. « I love this music but I need to listen to the sound of the city tonight. » They crossed the Oberbaumbrücke without a word.
He was feeling free walking the streets of Kreuzberg with her on his side. « Bonny & Clyde or some shit » she said. « My own personal Eldorado with different shades of blue ».
(It’s been such a long time that you’ve forgotten the heat of the sun on your bones and the echo of her voice inside your chest).
« I need to purify the colors of my inner rainbow. » « You know, there’s neither rainbow nor sky where I come from. There’s no Monday in the sun. There’s just no time to lose and no time for losers. No time to dream and no clouds for dreamers. Just bills to pay and the speed of pain. This is a place where your life is just a statistic. »
Stacey was not sure she understood what he was saying.
They entered the next kiosk, bought two small Jägermeister bottles and a few Sternburg , came out and sat on a bank in front of the shop.
( Nobody wants to share your tears chérie and nobody changed the water of the black tulips.)
« What are you thinking about ?» she asked after a while. He stood up and said « Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive*». Some people smiled. Some kept drinking their beers. And a nice refreshing wind was swelling on them…

*from Carl Sandburg’s poem ‘Chicago’

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