Install Theme



Digital college using Times Atlas from 1988.

http://Ali Cherri about Pipe Dreams | Mapping Subjectivity, MoMA (2012).

"re-appropriate these images and make them tell stories…

…images of evidence against the images of power…

…make us forget where they come from, but still you can tell these are low quality bad images…”

"Ich bin ein Berliner" (German pronunciation: [ˈʔɪç ˈbɪn ʔaɪn bɛɐˈliːnɐ], "I am a Berliner") is a quotation from a June 26, 1963, speech by U.S. President John F. Kennedy in West Berlin. He was underlining the support of the United States for West Germany 22 months after Soviet-supported East Germany erected the Berlin Wall to prevent mass emigration to the West. The message was aimed as much at the Soviets as it was at Berliners and was a clear statement of U.S. policy in the wake of the construction of the Berlin Wall. Another notable (and defiant) phrase in the speech was also spoken in German, "Lass’ sie nach Berlin kommen" ("Let them come to Berlin"), addressed at those who claimed "we can work with the Communists", a remark which Nikita Khrushchev scoffed at only days later.

The speech is considered[according to whom?] one of Kennedy’s best, both a notable moment of the Cold War and a high point of the New Frontier. It was a great morale boost for West Berliners, who lived in an exclave deep inside East Germany and feared a possible East German occupation. Speaking from a platform erected on the steps of Rathaus Schöneberg for an audience of 450,000, Kennedy said,

Two thousand years ago, the proudest boast was civis romanus sum [“I am a Roman citizen”]. Today, in the world of freedom, the proudest boast is “Ich bin ein Berliner!”… All free men, wherever they may live, are citizens of Berlin, and therefore, as a free man, I take pride in the words “Ich bin ein Berliner!”

Kennedy used the phrase twice in his speech, including at the end, pronouncing the sentence with his Boston accent and reading from his note “ish bin ein Bearleener”, which he had written out using English spelling habits to indicate an approximation of the German pronunciation.

Iron Curtain speech

Winston Churchill’s “Sinews of Peace” address[32] of 5 March 1946, at Westminster College, used the term “iron curtain” in the context of Soviet-dominated Eastern Europe:
The Iron Curtain as described by Churchill at Westminster College. Note that Vienna is indeed behind the Curtain, as it was in the Austrian Soviet-occupied zone.

From Stettin in the Baltic to Trieste in the Adriatic an “Iron Curtain” has descended across the continent. Behind that line lie all the capitals of the ancient states of Central and Eastern Europe. Warsaw, Berlin, Prague, Vienna, Budapest, Belgrade, Bucharest and Sofia; all these famous cities and the populations around them lie in what I must call the Soviet sphere, and all are subject, in one form or another, not only to Soviet influence but to a very high and in some cases increasing measure of control from Moscow.

Much of the Western public still regarded the Soviet Union as a close ally in the context of the recent defeat of Nazi Germany and of Japan. Although not well received at the time, the phrase iron curtain gained popularity as a shorthand reference to the division of Europe as the Cold War strengthened. The Iron Curtain served to keep people in and information out, and people throughout the West eventually came to accept and use the metaphor


Beatriz Santiago Muñoz

Transmission are delighted to present the first exhibition in Glasgow of Beatriz Santiago Muñoz, included as part of the Glasgow International Festival of Visual Art. Post-Military Cinema follows Santiago Muñoz’s six-week residency at the gallery last year.

Post-Military Cinema consists of objects, recordings and moving-image works pertaining to Ceiba, a coastal town in Puerto Rico. Ceiba was home to Roosevelt Roads, a US Naval Base which remained operational until a decade ago, having occupied Puerto Rican land for over sixty years. Many animal and plant species have begun to return to the base, reclaiming the landscape transformed by oil tanks and bombing. Through entropic forces and life without us, it is becoming something else. The works presented look at the indeterminacy of what that elsewhere might be, how it behaves and what images it creates. Having been accustomed to thinking of Ceiba as a place where an event (the event of the bombing, warfare, military industry) has ceased, we might behave as if we were waiting for another event of the same scale and form. In reality, there are an infinite number of events taking place, the majority of these outside of politics or ideology, free of symbolic weight. Post-Military Cinema engages us in looking at these events taking place right now: what do we see and how do we see them?

The project hopes to examine the various connections between the phenomenon observed in Ceiba, and still-existing military bases in Scotland, in particular Faslane, a naval base located 25 miles north-west of Glasgow. There will be a 12’’ vinyl publication accompanying the exhibition with recordings from both Ceiba and Faslane available from the 17th April. Recorded and edited by Bradley Davies (Faslane) and Joel Rodríguez (Ceiba).

Based in Puerto Rico, Santiago Muñoz often works through long periods of observation and documentation, in which the camera is present as an object with social implications and as an instrument mediating aesthetic thought. Her films and videos focus on specific social structures or events that she transforms into collaborative work, performance and moving image. Santiago Muñoz’s recent work has been concerned with the material and physical trace of abstract political ideas, particularly post-military spaces, and the relationship of new landscapes to social forms.

How can the suggestive power of images be activated? What effect is generated by the conjunction of images and text? How do the images of our own memory interrelate with images from cinema or art history? These are questions that Burgin has been working on for more than four decades. The exhibition ‘Forms of Telling’ is the first retrospective show of the artist’s oeuvre in a German museum.

His early photo-text pieces are among the seminal works of Conceptual Art. Since the 1990s, moving image works have taken over from that specific type of montage. Circling, panning, zooming movements draw us artificial image sequences; voices off-screen or intertitles permeate and carry the images. In this way Victor Burgin generates completely new, exciting visual and textual contexts. Here, the use of inner monologue may be as important as the connection between an inner idea and the external world. These discontinuing encounters between images and narrative threads are one thing, suggestive of surrealism and dreams, but his work is also political in an extremely up-to-date sense. Victor Burgin reacts to places and situations, to the cities in which he is invited to exhibit. Intuitively, he follows a trail of personal associations triggered by what he finds on site. In this context, he often recalls something else – a book, a film or a personal memory. As the artist once put it, he sees the world of images and narratives as a theorist who teaches, gives lectures and publishes books, and as an artist who exhibits his works in galleries and museums.

Bombs on wheels: young artists invited to create first world war memorials.

Video sketch. Found footage on YouTube with comments.

Video sketch - YouTube video with comments.

Frank Thiel’s light-box installation (“Untitled”) shows two larger-than-life color portraits. A young American and a young “Soviet” soldier each look into the other’s territory, thus marking the dividing line and crossing point between the former spheres of influence of the two world powers.

The photos were taken in 1994 before the Allied forces withdrew from Berlin. Since the Soviet Union disintegrated in 1991, the “Soviet” soldier is wearing the uniform of the new Russian federation. Frank Thiel, the artist, explained his design as follows:

“A Russian and an American soldier, since the Soviet sector bordered here on the American sector. At the same time, these portraits translate the omnipresent sector signs of the past – “You are leaving the American/British/French sector” – into picture form. They are likewise a reference to the historical moment when Soviet and American tanks faced off against each other right here.

By using two portraits to symbolize almost 50 years of history, I am suggesting that these two faces are representative. I also hoped that this would be an issue when the work was reviewed or discussed later.

Can a simple portrait be used as a metaphor for a situation this complex? The light box used here is a medium created for public spaces by the advertising industry in order to reach consumers 24 hours a day with their messages. These light boxes can now be found all over the city.

In a way, the light boxes here at Checkpoint Charlie are in dialogue – as secret accomplices and, probably, as competitors – with all the other light boxes in the city. While I did not intend for them to be confused with the others, I also did not want to rule that out.”

A father prevaricates - cautioning his son, at first, about the dangers of travelling – but then, encouraging him, as he knows a father should, to set out and explore the world.

The inspiring and striking landscape around Oban, Scotland and its unfinished McCaig’s Tower, are the setting for this rift between a father and son, which is also a meditation on frontiers: those which separate geographies, cultures, as well as dream from reality. The son envisages the port below as having a simple secret. “It knows only departures, not returns.” His father, at the prospect of losing his son, confesses that his true fear afterall, is not of strange cultures, but of becoming a stranger to himself.

The paradox in the narrative is that it seems this philosophical argument between father and son will not end here, but will resume the next day, and the day after.  The son’s departure is likely to be postponed indefinitely.  And so, on this level, his departure knows only returns.

The script is loosely based on fragments from Italo Calvino’s book Invisible Cities. The initial impetus for the adaptation was the exploration of the two opposite notions of fixity and unboundness and the mapping of what could be termed as ‘soft territories’. The concept looks specifically at the idea of geographies that are demarcated and moreover politically and culturally liberated.

Liminal Crossing, was commissioned by Ludwig Forum für Internationale Kunst, Aachen in 2009. The film is a re-enactment of an episode, which took place during the migration exodus of ethnic Turks from Bulgaria to Turkey in 1989. The scenes were filmed at the border checkpoint between Bulgaria and Turkey and show an upright piano being pushed and pulled by hand between the two borders leaving Bulgaria and entering Turkey. The procession passes through the buffer zone between the two states, a no-man’s land, that becomes liminal and redefined, creating a sense of demarcation, dislocation and reinterpretation.

"…in Liminal Crossing the sheer near-absurd incongruity of rolling a piano across the border between two states is the combined effort of a small group of people, and so on. Without explanation, reason or aim to these narratives, labour is exposed as a constant: behind, underneath, permeating through the reflective meditations that depends upon such work but looks to find its meaning elsewhere. But labour’s persistence in Cavusoglu’s art is not confined only to its represented content. It is no less instantiated in the material-aesthetics of the production itself. The charged images, the carefully composed shots, the highly choreographed camera sweeps, and the no less specifically organized installations each mark how the narrative and thematic fabrications – the philosophically-inclined and evidently theatricalized staging of discourses of experience – blatantly exhibit that they are results of a detailed and precise planning, set-construction and editing. What is manifest here is in other words a labour of the image, a labour that is here condition for and in communication with the depiction of labour qua condition of the global imaginary. What Cavusoglu presents across these dimensions of representation and its construction is then a ‘labourscape’.” Suhail Malik (2011)

Desire Lines /Duende/ is a large-scale six-channel video and sound installation that was commissioned in 2011 by the Borusan Contemporary Museum in Istanbul. The work examines the converging ideas of past and future, and the disjunction and dissonance that takes place when history and destiny are interpreted and examined against the notions of the rational and illogical. The conceptual framework is broadly positioned in the realms of the sayable and the visible, or the literary and the pictorial, and represents the spectacle of speculative fortunetelling juxtaposed alongside the scientific analysis of objects found at archaeological excavations.

Structurally the work entwines and presents a series of monologues in the tangible format of theatrical performance. Both main elements in the installation form narrative meanings deriving from the chance, or random juxtapositions of the objects by the fortune-tellers and the archaeologists. The narrative patterns in the stories unfold a series of moral tales that have a hypothetical relevance to contemporary art, and furthermore comment on the creative processes at large.

Rampa hosts two exhibitions in March. The main gallery space hosts Hatice Güleryüz’s Fast Forward while Ergin Çavuşoğlu’s Adaptation—Cinefication is exhibited at the storefront space upstairs. The exhibitions can be seen through April 5.

Hatice Güleryüz
Fast Forward

Well-known for her intimate 8mm film installations, with which she won international recognition, Hatice Güleryüz’s oeuvre cuts across many different modes of expression and image making. Unbound by the artistic parameters of a singular discipline, Güleryüz’s work focuses on a set of themes such as constructed realities, memory, and language, and explores how these concepts take on a different form and expression in each medium. This multidisciplinary approach allows the artist to create different layers, placing focus on the narrative that unfolds both within the work and between them.

Hatice Güleryüz’s first one-person exhibition in Turkey, Fast Forward, opens up her multi-disciplinary practice for viewers, weaving together video, painting, and installation. Site and time-specific with their politically charged content, the work is based on Güleryüz’s experiences of language—for her, language is a constantly fluctuating entity, from which she takes snippets through painting, videos and signage to make sense. Her smaller-scale paintings on paper stem from a more diaristic impetus, a constant desire to narrate what she observes. Functioning as an immersive experience, the exhibition at Rampa is about overwhelming the viewer, playing with boundaries of perception and understanding.

Güleryüz explores the limits of our consciousness in her video Fast Forward, which accentuates the constructed nature of her representation through the high-contrast visuals and the sharp cuts between the scenes and the characters. The “Biz Siz” is an elegant interrogation of the social polarizations, embodied in words as simple as “us” and “them.” The set of drawings, displayed together on a single strip of metal, each depict a moment in time, a state of mind and a situation, that when brought together point to a more general, endless story.

Ergin Çavuşoğlu

Ergin Çavuşoğlu’s Adaptation—Cinefication is made up of two distinct elements. The exhibition examines the artist’s engagement in the past with painting in its classical and contemporary guises, and juxtaposes them with his better-known film installation works. Çavuşoğlu thus retraces recurring preoccupations in his practice, showing older work in a new context.

The wider concept refers directly to the “The Soviet project of ‘cinefication’ that represents the most grandiose scheme of film distribution, exhibition, and reception that the world has known to date,” as described by Thomas Lahusen. Çavuşoğlu borrows this framework to comment on the current globalised system of ‘cinefication’ of the arts.

Architecturally the gallery is divided in two mirrored spaces on street level. The Adaptation component is presented in one fully front glazed room with a series of paintings from the 1990s, most prominently the “Instant” series (1998). In the opposite darkened space Cinefication takes on the form of a film screening. In a theatre-like space, furnished with rows of cinema chairs, Çavuşoğlu shows a number of new pieces such as Résurrection des Mannequins (2014), as well as elements from his recent repertoire of video works, for instance And I Awoke (2012). Alongside the paintings, Çavuşoğlu exhibits several small-scale readymade and ‘naturemade’ sculptures. Çavuşoğlu intends his works to be read like chapters in a literary text.