If the saccharine tabloid sentimentality of the forthcoming royal Swedish marriage has you singing Sex Pistol lyrics or mumbling about Cromwell, Danton and Jefferson. If you feel that the word love has been hijacked by yellow press mock sensationalism and begin to fear that nationalist sentimentality may never end. There is hope. Check out http://www.lovetensta.se/.
1966 was an extraordinary year for culture. Bergman’s Persona, Warhol’s Chelsea Girls, Richard Hamilton at the Tate, Oldenburg’s Soft Bathtub, Primary Structures at the Jewish Museum, the opening of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf and Yvonne Rainer performs Trio A for the first time.
February is the cruelest month breeding inanity from the dead waves. Mixing bigotry and desire, stirring dull roots with winter snow. In February the culture pages of the major newspapers in Sweden suddenly succumb to ‘news’ of the Eurovision Song Contest.
‘The modern’ is a term that like Zeno’s paradox describes an impossibility, a real moment, a just now. Two concurrent exhibitions at The Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art (MACBA) mark out the territories of the modern and two divergent fields of contemporary artistic and curatorial practice emerge.
I think I’m becoming spam paranoid. I was certain that after someone else had taken over our main mail address that most of it would disappear. My peace and quiet lasted for about four hours but then I realised that I had become the target for a new wave of unwanted crud. But this time the content seems more perverse than ever almost metapornography.
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