People are looking better: Christopher Williams at David Zwirner

So you are standing outside David Zwirner Gallery David Zwirner Gallery at the far western end of 19th Street in Manhattan. Across the way stands Frank Gehry’s misty agglomeration of salt shakers, the IAC Building IAC Building. IAC is an Internet company that brings us The Daily Beast, Match.com, Urban Spoon, Ask.com, BlackPeopleMeet.com, and Vimeo, among many other Web sites—including MyWebFace™, where html surfers may “apply dramatic effects to photos” and “create a cartoon version of themselves,” and Proust.com, where one can “ask and answer questions about the different chapters of their lives helping move their oral history into a protected time capsule.” Don’t be distracted, though. You’re here to see Christopher Williams’s new show, “For Example: Dix-Huit Leçons Sur La Société Industrielle (Revision 12),” up through February 12, 2011.
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From the Ministry of Silly Walks: Francis Alÿs at David Zwirner, New York, Winter 2007

Though my Stone Roses T-shirt provided little cushioning, the Kalashnikov’s barrel didn’t much hurt when the militiaman used it to prod at my chest. I kept asking myself why I felt so calm. A general placidity blossomed in me like an opiate as soon as the barefoot man appeared with his rifle, seemingly out of [... more ...]
Posted in ISSUE #2 SPRING/SUMMER 2007 | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Two Poems

I’m Lovin’ It

I speak to it, and it never talks back.
I see it disappear and change me.
But it’s always there.
I can’t remember a life without it.
My father didn’t have to tell me never to forget it.
It is understood wordlessly, like a stone wall.
It keeps me straight in this place.
In the most crowded room, nobody can come between it
and me.
It’s inside of me, purring like a pacemaker.
It’s not something you can explain on a first date.
People lie and say they don’t need it,
leaning on it even as they say “no.”
It is made by people hidden away far in the night.
How could they be nothing like me?
I am no one and it is everything.
Not of my flesh, it is my flesh.

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Posted in ISSUE #1 WINTER 2007 | Tagged , | Leave a comment