When I tried to balance a puffer fish on my own blocky hand to feed the kitten, I pressed the wrong button, and kicked it instead. Suddenly, a kitten wobbled out from between her legs. “I spawned a lot of them, so they have multiplied,” she murmured. Four black cats trailed her, in place of her shadow. One minute I was alone, and the next she was there-all yellow and smooth, except for the thick black cubes of her hands and her large, impassive face. It is more accurate to say that she simply appeared while I was waiting in the atrium of the Communist Party court, under a spectacular red banner from which the faces of Marx, Engels, Lenin, and Stalin bore down on me. It would be wrong to claim that I first met the German artist Hito Steyerl on such-and-such day, in such-and-such city, where the weather was bright or blustery, and that she arrived suitably dressed for this season or the next.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |