(français ci-dessous)

April 24th – May 15th, 2016

an interview by Julie Ault
a film on Shulamith Firestone
a film by GB Jones
zines by Hedi El Kholti
a radio by Klat
a text by Park McArthur
a reader by Hope Svenson
a manifesto by Stephen Willats
films by Amelie von Wulffen

Saturday April 23th, from 6 pm

Opens on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, 2 – 6 pm
and by appointment (mail@forde.ch)

The film programme lasts 2 hours 21 minutes.
The radio programme lasts 49 minutes.
The reading of all the texts takes at least 5 hours.

du 23 avril au 15 mai 2016

un entretien par Julie Ault
un film sur Shulamith Firestone
un film de GB Jones
des fanzines de Hedi El Kholti
une radio de Klat
un texte de Park McArthur
un reader de Hope Svenson
un manifeste de Stephen Willats
des films d’Amelie von Wulffen

Samedi 23 avril, dès 18h

Ouvert les vendredis, samedis et dimanches, 14h – 18h
et sur rendez-vous (mail@forde.ch)

Le programme de films dure 2 heures 21 minutes.
Le programme radio dure 49 minutes.
La lecture de tous les textes prend minimum 5 heures.

To involve oneself with someone revered [Jack Smith] through an act of generosity from the POSSESSOR of the keys to the Kingdom (aka the pasty LANDLORD of LANDLORDISM), the trusty trust of ownership of the very angry and justifiably enraged perceptive and intuitive mind and body [Jack Smith], who could fast-forward to exactly where we are right now, standing here in this nice clean perfect fake white space that nobody wants to mess up or get dirty because in the end it is never dirty because it will always be clean again in the end. And ANYWAY, NOBODY HERE asked Jack [Smith] to show THEN in this above-underground organization. So JACK’S SPACE was THE ONLY SPACE where he existed, and what you see in these rectangles are just amazing objectified remnants of a person who was once Jack Smith in the world plus all the people that were there and willing that, incidentally, you don’t give two shits about if they’re alive or dead or broke or starving or they can’t afford the rent because the ugly spiteful patriarchal heteronormative NORMATIVE oppressive heterosexist culture—YES THAT’S YOU—just won’t quit and let us fade into the fantastical dreamy instead of the dreary spiteful competition race contest war. It’s like a fadeout every few minutes after we try so hard to restart and restart in some amazing shining moments of humility and humanity. The USofAmerikkka hates artists still. Read all about it in any COMMENT section of any mainstream online art article, how DARE these lazy unemployed unpaid LEECHES of society ask for anything because they don’t even work! And our very OWN community of rent collekkktors, direkkktors, slaveowners, saleslobsters, and curehators support such a ludicrous idea by not paying artists ANYTHING other than SPACKLED CRUMBLING CRUDDY specks of insulated speculation from the corrupt unregulated FAKEASS ART TRADING MALL SUPERMARKET for the WEALTHY and a few CRUSTY dollars thrown at usually the ALREADY SOLVENT AND RELIABLE MALE SECURITIES ARTISTS as an achievement award. Some of this SOGGY CLAMMY SWEATY GENEROSITY allegedly trickles down to you so you can GO SHOPPING and SPEND those crummy dollars in the larger economy to make more work but HEY! DON’T BUY a bag of groceries just PAY your rent or your STUDIO RENT to the ARCHING INVERTEBRATE MONGOLS OF LANDLORDING INC. so you can sleep somewhere and DO YOUR BUSINESS of MAKING and STILL THANKFULLY patriotically support the economy doing an honest day’s work BUT DON’T upset everyone and anyone with the perceived notion of MESSINESS godforbid or NAKED OFFENSIVE BODIES because none of them believe you are doing anything ANYWAY! HOW do THEY KNOW you’re good if no one ELSE tells them you’re GOOD? OH right I forgot THERE’s the HEADLESS HORESEMEN on a TEEVEE show that will decide if you’re a “GOOD” or “BAD” artist or not…but I DIGRESS, because honestly it would be better to set up some offshore banking account in the Cayman Islands—which incidentally would also surely be a FANTASTIC location for the STARS OF CINEMAROC piece I’d actually really like to do if anyone reading this could FUND that particular project of mine because I know a LOT OF WEALTHY ASS PEOPLE walk though this space. But I digress again because nothing much had changed since Jack’s death, it hasn’t even been that long but everyone still wholeheartedly unequivocally HANDS DOWN still supports a system that doesn’t even have a name because AMERICA STILL HATES ARTISTS. NOBODY in the end respects A QUEER ARTIST or a QUEER for that matter, rather known as an infantilized adult who must be told what is too much or right or wrong rather than such queerness known as a path towards HUMANITY. Maybe just MAYBE some of us DESPISE following the rules of wage slavery for something known as a fucking GOD or BOSS or GOVERNMENT or NATION. TONS of artists think they’re following the rules and making nice and safe and sound selling at FARE ART fairs where there’s people buy buying your AWESOME style and credibility and objets d’art and all of it fits nicely into a system that is dripping and smothered in poison gravy and everyone’s conveniently ignoring that there’s so much to be fucking AnGRY about but the only people angry are quacking ducks with their own TV CHANNEL who have nothing to complain about other than to uphold their AMAZINGLY AWESOMELY HIDEOUS STATUS QUO. So you come home punch drunk after edifying conversation or perhaps a FARE-FAIR and the collaboration is over, the action is paralyzed, diced chopped and parlayed into a studio where you synthesize your amazing conversations into some product that is perfect for the mode of production and form that fits so well into your belief in the ultimate crowning moment of your OWN LANDLORDISM and PRIVATIZED SLAVERY that we’re all now seemingly bound to, with NO OTHER OPTION THAN THE WAY THINGS ARE EXACTLY NOW AT THIS SPECIFIC INSIGNIFICANT MOMENT IN TIME, a slavery that is shaped like this space you’re standing in right now. […] DEEP inside YOU ALL KNOW that this fucking GAME SUCKS and we, THE ARTISTS, are skirting around the rules of the WHOLE script that’s already set the MINUTE we’re born. And hey, if we DON’T want to play THAT game then we’re gunna FUCK the WHOLE SYSTEM UP. SO you The Custodians need to come in and make it legit and safe because a DEAD RADICAL ANGRY QUEER ARTIST is just SO MUCH EASIER TO DEAL WITH and so MUCH MORE AWESOME TO COOLLECT than a live one. THAT GENIUS artist, whose work and habits and commentary and garbage-infused practice and dirtiness and aphorisms and struggles and SUGGESTIONS and CRITICISMS and COMMENTS and PLEADINGS you really don’t necessarily need to CARE ABOUT, HEAR OR ACTIVATE AS LONG AS THEY LOOK GOOD in the RECTANGLE. And at the very same time everyone can SO EASILY make trillions off some teacher pensions or launder some cocaine money and artificially inflate the prices of their own artist-commodities because as you know WE’RE ALL SAFE IF WE ALL PLAY the SAME fucking GAME together. So this queer position we follow, stepping over and wading through the COCKroaches for our crusty meals while those of you who could opt to support us while we’re FUCKING ALIVE just sit there and maybe wait for us to beg to be paid or sometime in a blue moon one of you citizens of Planet Money sells some THING we make, just prolongs me being so SICK TO DEATH of THOSE VERY fucking stupid games. Because there must be some illusion that me or maybe my amazingly handsome HOLOGRAM is MAGIKALLY doing PERFECTLY FINE. I feel so thankful for Jack, no matter how many personality problems. Maybe he’s lucky he’s dead or we’re lucky he’s dead or he’s better off dead. OH but that reminds me- again, his WORK. […] YOU THAT REJECT the SOCIAL COMMUNITY OF BEAUTIFUL VINES, you that want COMMUNITY WITHOUT THE COMMUNE-ITY PART for your NON-BONDING rituals. Those of us bound to a steep CREATIVITY and PUNCH-DRUNK PLAY will not place aside our very PERSONABLE MISSION. Everything you stand for is just STANDING IN THE WAY of the 1 TRILLION OTHER possibilities that are out there which you could FUND with the fake paper that’s worth gazillions of MEANINGLESS DOLLARS in your INDUSTRIAL-ENTERTAINMENT-PHARMAMILITIA overstock.com trading COMPANY called PLANET EARTH if you only had such vision. I’M NOT JOKING.

Excerpt of Welcome to My Rectangle by A.L. Steiner presented in 2011 at Gladstone Gallery, New York, as part of the exhibition Jack Smith: Thanks for Explaining Me.


photos: Julien Gremaud

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