“Silent Guardians” By Andrey Surnov

naum gabo : klichee, 1924 / bauhaus bücher

Esquire Magazine - 1950

Clarice Lispector, from An Apprenticeship, or The Book of Pleasures (trans. Stefan Tobler) [ID'd]

Dazed & Confused Magazine April 1998

Anne Truitt, from a diary entry featured in Daybook: The Journal of an Artist

Performans Zejście [Descent Performance] // Romuald Kutera, 1971

Intermediate-Range Ballistic Missile

An intermediate-range ballistic missile fell on my house yesterday

It interrupted my eating breakfast

And – for God's sake! – broke my favourite mug

Spilling the tea all over the floor

In the other room my sister was sound asleep

Dreaming about that dog our mother promised to get her for Christmas

She was going to name it Caramel

But she never woke up

She never woke up

And I didn't wake up either

Only the tea dried up

Among my favourite mug's shards

It did happen

Not to me, maybe

Nor to my sister I have never had

Nor to my house that stands still

But to someone

In one or another part of the globe

It did happen

Just yesterday

Arial B.

January 31, 2025

„Es war einmal ein Kind, das hatte alles Spielzeug dieser Welt. Es spielte mit diesem, bis es zerbrach, doch das kümmerte das Kind nicht, denn es hatte ja so viel davon. Eines Tages war das Kind krank und klagte dem Spielzeug sein Leid. Da sprach das Spielzeug: es kümmerte dich nicht, als ich zerbrach, was kümmert mich dein Leid?“ („Once upon a time there was a child who had all the toys in the world. It played with them until they broke, but the child didn't care because it had so many of them. One day the child was ill and complained to the toy. There the toy said: You didn't care when I broke, what do I care about your suffering?“)

March 9th 2025 paper collage, ca. 11.5 x 11.5 cm.

truly some people have no genre savviness whatsoever. A girl came back from the dead the other day and fresh out of the grave she laughed and laughed and lay down on the grass nearby to watch the sky, dirt still under her nails. I asked her if she’s sad about anything and she asked me why she should be. I asked her if she’s perhaps worried she’s a shadow of who she used to be and she said that if she is a shadow she is a joyous one, and anyway whoever she was she is her, now, and that’s enough. I inquired about revenge, about unfinished business, about what had filled her with the incessant need to claw her way out from beneath but she just said she’s here to live. I told her about ghosts, about zombies, tried to explain to her how her options lie between horror and tragedy but she just said if those are the stories meant for her then she’ll make another one. I said “isn’t it terribly lonely how in your triumph over death nobody was here to greet you?” and she just looked at me funny and said “what do you mean? The whole world was here, waiting”. Some people, I tell you.