#russian linesman

[nonogroenen]

2014 | Spectrum

I made an program that analyses the picture and adds 3D elements to it to compliment it. It is as there is an facial interpretation going on, as we all do when we see someone, but then subconsciously.

Music by Russian Linesman - Mosfellsbaer

[stellavista]

russian linesman - the trigan empire (simon mills remix).

simon mills -formerly of bent- adds his remix magic to this lush and beautiful downtempo track.

[whatwasilisteningto]

Episode 13 - Russian Linesman by change-underground.com (C-U) http://ift.tt/2j0hNdR

[whatwasilisteningto]

Episode 13 - Russian Linesman by change-underground.com (C-U) http://ift.tt/2BMOnEB

[border010]

[theartobject-blog-blog]

The Russian Linesman

It’s becoming more and more difficult to write about art. I’m deep in the dark woods of working on my dissertation—which means I now do little more than read theory all day, every day. When you are wholly consumed by the idea of a thing, it becomes more and more difficult to see that thing clearly. Barthes, Simmel, Sontag, Wittgenstein—yes, there are the pleasures of big ideas. But when the thing you love most in the world (art) becomes a constant debate swathed in annotations, well, the romance feels strained. Fortunately, the current rigor of my consumption of ideas has been matched by a brilliant exhibition at the Hayward. Mark Wallinger’s curatorial project, “The Russian Linesman: Frontiers, Borders, and Thresholds” is an intellectual exercise, a provocative and sensitive meditation on a theme. It is comforting to see a show so married to its idea. Wallinger explores the notion of borders across many media, using both his own work as well as works by many others. It is perhaps the most inclusive show about exclusivity that one could conceive. Beginning with a video of NBC news footage of Philippe Petit’s tightrope strung between the twin towers, winding purposefully through etchings by Durer and his own photographs of the green line in Nicosia, Wallinger relentlessly approaches the concept of borders from all angles. In her film “Berlin Remake” from 2005, Amie Siegel screens documentary footage of Berlin alongside shot by shot reenactments in the present day city. Here there is the obvious border: the Berlin Wall, filmed in slow-motion, lovers kissing in its sight. Scenes of the wall are played next to footage shot on the same location, no wall to be seen. The physical border is in dispute, but so is its lasting character. We see the wall, we see its presence. Which has more value? A border seen or a border felt? And is there such a lasting divide, can it be seen on film if not in life? What kind of border exists between the past and present if filmed from the same physical place? I also especially loved Monika Sosnowska’s installation “Corridor.” Visitors are invited to walk into a narrow hallway, lit with fluorescent lights and lined with industrial carpet. Everything about this place is familiar: you could be in the dentist’s office, a records archive, a women’s health clinic. And you turn the corner, only to see that the path continues vertically—and perhaps this is not a place we actually know. And perhaps we underestimate familiarity. It’s a provocative work, one which makes you question the personal boundaries in plain-faced acceptance of the common and the everyday. In theory, everyday life is measured in spans of reliability and the probability of reliable things. Bertelli’s “Head of Mussolini” is also on display, asking questions about both its place in and out of Wallinger’s context. There are the easy answers about where he stands in the field of concepts about the divisive: he was a nationalist, firm on borders both physical and social. He promoted censorship, the strict lines of the new architecture, even implementing improved public transportation (something which has historically created and maintained social and economic divides). As a supporter of the Futurists, it was only fitting for Mussolini to be paid tribute by a modern, intelligent bust such as this. And it makes sense: the Futurist manifesto itself is like a lilting fascist prose (I’m sorry, I must include it in its entirety. If it were appropriate, I might say it is one of my favorite poems. The language is unmatchable—shame about the message, though.) — 1. We want to sing the love of danger, the habit of energy and rashness. 2. The essential elements of our poetry will be courage, audacity and revolt. 3. Literature has up to now magnified pensive immobility, ecstasy and slumber. We want to exalt movements of aggression, feverish sleeplessness, the double march, the perilous leap, the slap and the blow with the fist. 4. We declare that the splendor of the world has been enriched by a new beauty: the beauty of speed. A racing automobile with its bonnet adorned with great tubes like serpents with explosive breath ... a roaring motor car which seems to run on machine-gun fire, is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace. 5. We want to sing the man at the wheel, the ideal axis of which crosses the earth, itself hurled along its orbit. 6. The poet must spend himself with warmth, glamour and prodigality to increase the enthusiastic fervor of the primordial elements. 7. Beauty exists only in struggle. There is no masterpiece that has not an aggressive character. Poetry must be a violent assault on the forces of the unknown, to force them to bow before man. 8. We are on the extreme promontory of the centuries! What is the use of looking behind at the moment when we must open the mysterious shutters of the impossible? Time and Space died yesterday. We are already living in the absolute, since we have already created eternal, omnipresent speed. 9. We want to glorify war - the only cure for the world - militarism, patriotism, the destructive gesture of the anarchists, the beautiful ideas which kill, and contempt for woman. 10. We want to demolish museums and libraries, fight morality, feminism and all opportunist and utilitarian cowardice. 11. We will sing of the great crowds agitated by work, pleasure and revolt; the multi-colored and polyphonic surf of revolutions in modern capitals: the nocturnal vibration of the arsenals and the workshops beneath their violent electric moons: the gluttonous railway stations devouring smoking serpents; factories suspended from the clouds by the thread of their smoke; bridges with the leap of gymnasts flung across the diabolic cutlery of sunny rivers: adventurous steamers sniffing the horizon; great-breasted locomotives, puffing on the rails like enormous steel horses with long tubes for bridle, and the gliding flight of aeroplanes whose propeller sounds like the flapping of a flag and the applause of enthusiastic crowds.  And so Mussolini is cast in the Futurist manner, looking around at all sides at once. His gaze is firm, inescapable. You might even argue that it gives one the sensation of being surrounded by the borders of surveillance, regardless of Mussolini's living presence. (Hal Foster mentions this sculpture in his book “Prosthetic Gods” in terms of its Futurist majesty). “The Russian Linesman” is an exceptional exercise in thematic curating. And, like the Futurist manifesto argues, Wallinger proves that “beauty exists only in struggle. There is no masterpiece that has not an aggressive character.” All art must be aware of the borders surrounding its conception and creation, and all that follows will be “pleasure and revolt.”

[origamisound]

Norsu: Amma's Mountain

The song that made me take the leap and start a label. I had thought I would quite like to for a few years, then I heard this song and I knew I had to. It's electronic music that thinks it analogue. So organic and fresh, like it's homeland Iceland. This was Loki001, if you haven't heard it yet I highly recommend you to do so, as does my bank manager! Norsu is a mysterious Icelandic man I know very little about but as long as he keeps sending us music the label will be just fine. The bar for Loki has been set very high.

Up next: Groj's "Ehf" [Loki002] Preview

[origamisound]

Keiichi Suzuki: Satellite Serenade

This was the first song on Sasha and Digweed's first Northern Exposure mix. My friend Nick played it to me at university on my second night. The intro is so long and meandering, I had not heard anything like it before. We were playing Unreal on his PC at the time, the opening bit in the Jungle. I literally felt like I had been transported to the Amazon. Once it gets going it all makes sense. I used to listen to this song on repeat for hours, it has an almost meditative quality.