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Saturday, July 06, 2002

The thaw

A sculpture made with the artist Marc Quinn's frozen blood and owned by one of Britain's most famous art collectors may be thawed. Press reports have given conflicting accounts about the fate of "Self" - a cast of Quinn's head in his own frozen blood. The Guardian reported a rumor that it had been stored among the frozen peas in the home freezer of the gallery owner, Charles Saatchi, and that the builders working on the kitchen had unplugged the appliance. The frozen cast, for which Saatchi reputedly paid about $ 23.000 in 1991, was part of the controversial 1997 exhibition "Sensation" at the Royal Academy. The Saatchi Gallery in London withheld comment.

IHT Saturday 6th July 2002

posted by Walter at 7/06/2002

Friday, July 05, 2002

Time in the red crane

I decided that I'm in bad need for some visual pianissimo on my blog, Simplicity forsaken, design holds the upper hand after all. A fascination for storytelling prompted my blog, within that framework I see design as a social constraint that hampers human flow and interaction, just as paradoxically as it ignites, and arouses human perception.
We are all players within a greater design, but designers in a great play as well. My need for a visually eloquent signature, will have to go through the purgatory of html first, after which I hope to present a more personalised site later this year. So bear with me a little; It's time for the red crane.

posted by Walter at 7/05/2002

Thursday, July 04, 2002


As I pass by the section of the square where vagrants and drunks consort idly; I get a close view of the benches where the vagabonds sit together. I notice that one of them, a scraggly man with a grime-blackened face, garlanded by tangled hair is stubbornly playing his Nintendo gamecomputer. The scene radiates an air of existential urgency, it seems as if the player is clinging on to his last straw, his buddies are oblivious of him, and appear out of competition, except for Nintendo-man who is stalwartly keeping up his last defense.

posted by Walter at 7/04/2002

Wednesday, July 03, 2002

What do we perceive? To what extent are our observations interlinked with accomplices
and interlocutors present though not actively involved; like a cast of players within a tightly scripted scheme?
I ventured to explore this notion in my poem.


All that the ant perceives is the nude descending from the staircase
The concave belly, the bouncing breasts, the shaven bush

All that the moth perceives is the last lonely bubble in a limp gin-fizz
The shared food taste, the seduction stimulated by whisper

All that the dog perceives is the flower without smoke, the smiling courtesan
The masterful perception, unnoticeable by an average observer

All that the cat perceives is herself; hybrid of freeze and flow, phase changer
The remains of the banquet are left in the glow of eloquent chaos

All that the storyteller perceives are the various stages of undress
The ashes flushed down the toilet, the servitude, the trial by experience

2001 Walter van Lotringen

posted by Walter at 7/03/2002

Monday, July 01, 2002


While the three of us are waiting in the dressing room of the studio Carl saunters in and says to V:

C: "Don't you think your mum's looked after you long enough?"
V: "Why are you worried about her?"
C: "She says she's been through one bereavement and cannot face another. Can you guarantee to do clubbing but
do it drug- and alcohol-free?"
V: "Surely she doesn't expect me to make that promise?"
C: "It's not the clubbing she's worried about, it's the things that go with it, the glorification of anorexia, the
glamorisation of heroin, the deification of alcohol and so on and so forth.."
V: "Why don't she just stop being a bore with her wine and her cats!"

We leave the studio for a brief change of location, during the cab ride the conversation picks up again.

V: "I could have carried on drinking, but I was beginning not to be very happy"
K: "Why do you think you were so unhappy?"
V: "I don't think alcohol can make you happy. I wasn't clear-headed; I was always hungover.
It wasn't real anymore"
Author: "What was your chosen tipple?"
V: "Anything. Given the choice. Vodka"

We get off of the cab in the citycentre and walk down a narrow corridor lined with glass windows full of fancy shopping.
As we enter the bar, V. asks for her favourite cocktail. As we sit down the barman says to V:

B: "You look really sad"
V: "Don't misread my innocence"
B: "It's your gift and personal quality.."

The barman smirks and pours V. her drink.

posted by Walter at 7/01/2002

Sunday, June 30, 2002

(From my archive) Squeals in First Class as a Pig Flies High

PHILADELPHIA - A 300-pound pig flew first class on US Airways, and the company, embarrassed, says it will never happen again. On Oct. 17, the six-hour flight from Philadelphia to Seattle carried 200 people and one pig, which sat on the floor in the first row of first class.
''We can confirm that the pig traveled, and we can confirm that it will never happen again,'' said David Castelveter, a US Airways spokesman. The pig's owners had managed to convince the airline that the animal was a ''therapeutic companion pet,'' like a guide dog for the blind, according to people familiar with the incident, whose remarks were published Friday in the Philadelphia Daily News. ''It didn't smell, it was a clean pig,'' said one of those on board. ''It slept almost the whole time, like a pig in a blanket.'' The pig was traveling with two unidentified women who claimed that they had a doctor's note that allowed them to fly with the animal, according to an internal airline report. US Airways Federal Aviation Administration rules allow passengers to fly with service animals. The pig became unruly as the plane taxied toward the Seattle terminal, running through the jet and squealing. ''Many people were quite upset that there was a large uncontrollable pig on board,'' the report said, ''especially those in the first-class Reader's Services cabin.''

International Herald Tribune 30 october 2000

posted by Walter at 6/30/2002