Monthly Archives: July 2021

Trance legendTistois back with his mysterious alter-egoVER:WESTfor another release shrouded in suspense and mystery. Elements Of A New Life will be the second work from his alias, set to be released this Friday, July 16, via Tistos deep sound imprintAFTR:HRS.

Born in 2020, VER:WEST is Tistos latest alias but one that signifies, in a way, his past. Sonically, it seems to serve him as a legacy, as a rebirth of the artist who dazzled the world over 20 years ago. VER:WEST is a really significant name. Conceptually, it seems to symbolize his heritage, and it derives from his birth nameTijs Michiel Verwest. The trance maestro has never left anything to chance and has always been very good at naming his works. This alter-ego has proven to be very well-structured and made to delight everyone, especially those who have followed him since the early days of his career.

The first single from VER:WEST was released on July 17, 2020, and a year later the second will arrive. Is the one-year gap between releases purposeful? We dont know. Tisto seems to want to keep the tension and suspense about VER:WEST tight, but something is for sure, for his long-time fans, we believe its proving to be a real treat to rediscover the genesis of one of EDMs pioneers. It looks like youll be able to go back in time once again with VER:WEST, to the progressive origins and that delicious classic trance sound.

Listening to Elements Of A New Life certainly makes you think of the iconic album Elements Of Life, with which Tisto swept the critics, the industry, and most dance floors worldwide. Released in 2007, this masterpiece forever marked electronic music for bringing an innovative and fresh sound at the helm of Tisto and a handful of heavyweight collaborations. The most cherished tracks were the priceless Break My Fall featuringBT, In the Dark featuringChristian Burns, Dance4Life featuringMaxi Jazz(Faithlessfrontman at the time), and, of course, Ten Seconds Before Sunrise. The latter marked the beginning of VER:WEST. 5 Seconds Before Sunrise shares not only the great similarity in name with the 2007 track but its whole concept. Tisto has resurrected this iconic track and given it a lighter, more mature, and more thoughtful flavor. With a graceful serenity that makes you dance, 5 Seconds Before Sunrise is extraordinarily melodic, contemplative. It has that intensity of classic trance with the modern elements that now categorize it as melodic house and techno. Genres aside, the greatness of this sound needs no tags.

Tistos third studio album Elements Of Life seems to be the body and soul of VER:WEST, and this time it looks like it will deliver a new take on the single that gave the LP its name. What to expect from Elements Of A New Life? You can certainly expect a melodic, shimmering, and quietly uplifting approach to the power that the original offers. Last week Tisto shared the track with a rather lucky crowd atFactory 93, California. In a post of just a few seconds on Instagram, you can hear the melodic gracefulness and power bass that beats in the gut until it penetrates the soul. This new track sounds like its perfect for dancing until the sun comes up. This one feels like a pure and deep throwback to the Dutchmans classic and passionate sound.

If youre one of those who usually says miss the old Tisto, rejoice, hes here, better than ever. Elements Of A New Life will be out as early as this Friday and is just what the world needed right now.

Image Credit: Rutgr Photography https://rudgr.com / Thisismychur.ch

Originally posted here:

Tisto is set to revive his trance legacy with single 'Elements of a New Life' - We Rave You

The mother-son duo of Kavita and Kanishk Seth have reinvented Sufi music for the modern audience. TheyreleasedTrance with Khusrow, the world's first Sufi-Electronic/Trance album that was nominated alongside A R Rahmans album in the best fusion category at the Great Indian Music Academy Awards in 2015. Kanishk and mom Kavita Seth have been collaborating for over a decade and the music they produce is soul-stirring. After the success of their last single, Rangi Saari which got over 1.5 million hits on YouTube, the team is back with a new single, Ki Jaana, which marries electronic beats with Bulleshahs popular poetry. Kanishk shares more about his partnership with his mother as a musicianand how they have struck a balance between contemporary music and ancient texts. Excerpts:

Your mother is one of the most acclaimed Sufi singers and musicians, what is the musical exchange when you are working with her?

My mother and I have been collaborating since I was 14-years-old. Our first collaboration was the world's first Sufi-Electronic album - Trance With Khusrow. It took almost 4 years to produce and was later released through Sony Music India in 2014 and the album was also nominated at G.I.M.A in the Best Fusion Category, alongside A R Rahman! We have developed a unique relationship since the beginning of my musical journey. Its really interesting because our dynamics change frequently. When Im recording her vocals she often says that I am too stringent with her. And this is really funny because when it comes to anything apart from working on a song, its the opposite (laughs)!

Jokes aside, I think that collaborating in different ways has actually helped us develop transparency and trust in our relationship. I consider myself especially blessed because growing up, Id wake up to the sound of my mom doing riyaaz. So while I did absorb the nuances of Indian classical and Sufi music, I was also encouraged to explore other kinds of genres and that is how I stumbled upon the fusion that I now love - blending Indian Classical melodies with electronic music.

Read this:AR Rahman: 'Are we doing enough to nurture English indie musicians or are we denying them fame?'

Tell us about Ki Jaana.

Ki Jaana is a Punjabi sufi poem written by the poet Baba Bullehshah, blended with modern electronic music. With multiple lockdowns and everyone stuck indoors, I just wanted to create something that is positive and fun. Ki Jaana is about finding oneself and expressing love for the Almighty. When I was composing and producing this song, I was thinking of beautiful, bright pastel colours and a girl skateboarding between hills. And this was my reference to the Lebanon-based animator and illustrator, Dana Durr who created the songs visuals. And Im really happy with the way the video has turned out!

Technically speaking, balancing both genres is key for me, so I always make sure that I record one Indian or ethnic instrument in my songs. And in Ki Jaana, the mandolin is the lead instrument and brings a lot of colour to the song.

Why choose Bulleshah's classic poem?

There is something divine and uplifting about Baba Bullehshahs sufi poetry. When I read the poem, I instantly felt a connection as it gave me a sense of love and liberation.

What's next?

Its been a hectic but rewarding year. I just graduated from Berklee College of Music, Valencia. I finished my Master's degree there with an Outstanding Scholar Award which was such a pleasant surprise. I intend to go to Barcelona to celebrate this achievement and also perform at the City Hall of Barcelona. I am also excited to announce my upcoming EP - Surmayi that I will be releasing around September. Cant give out too many details yet but its going to be a treat for indie-electronic fans.

Also read this:Exclusive: Sufi sensation Humsufi explains their global sound

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Kanishk Seth on working with his mother Kavita Seth on their new single Ki Jaana - indulgexpress

LONDON All day, there had been noise. The songs had started early in the morning, as the first few hundred fans appeared on Wembley Way, flags fluttering from their backs. They had echoed through the afternoon, as first tens and then a hundred thousand more had joined them, as shattered glass crunched underfoot.

The songs started as soon as the train doors opened at the Wembley Park underground station, the paeans to Gareth Southgate and Harry Maguire, the renditions of Three Lions and Sweet Caroline, and they grew louder as the stadium appeared on the horizon, until it seemed as if they were emanating from the building itself.

Inside, the noise rang around, gathering force as it echoed back and forth when it seemed England was experiencing some sort of exceptionally lucid reverie: when Luke Shaw scored and the hosts led the European Championship final inside two minutes and everything was, after more than half a century, coming home.

There was noise as Italy scrapped and clawed its way back, taming Englands abandon and wresting control of the ball, Leonardo Bonuccis equalizer puncturing the national trance. That is what happens when individual nerves bounce around and collide with tens of thousands more nerves: the energy generated, at some atomic level, is transformed and released as noise.

There was noise before extra time, Wembley bouncing and jumping because, well, what else can you do? There was noise before the penalty shootout, the prospect that haunts England more than any other. It was a day of noise. It has been, over the last few weeks, as England has edged closer and closer to ending what it regards as its years of hurt, a month of noise.

What all of those inside Wembley will remember, though, the thing that will come back to them whenever they allow whenever they can allow their minds to flick back to this day, this moment, is not the noise but the sudden removal of it, the instant absence of it. No sound will echo for as long as that: the oppressive, overwhelming sound of a stadium, of a country, that had been dreaming, and now, started, had been awakened, brutally, into the cold light of day.

Solipsism does not fully explain Englands many and varied disappointments over the last 55 years, but it is certainly a contributory factor. Before every tournament, England asserts its belief that it is the team, the nation, that possesses true agency: the sense that, ultimately, whether England succeeds or fails will be down, exclusively, to its own actions. England is not beaten by an opponent; it loses by itself.

This, as it happens, may have been the first time that theory had the ring of truth. England hosted more games than any country in Euro 2020. Wembley was home to both the semifinals and the final. More important, Southgate had at his disposal a squad that was France apart, perhaps the envy of every other team here, a roster brimming with young talent, nurtured at club teams by the best coaches in the world. This was a tournament for England to win.

In that telling of Euro 2020, Italy was somewhere between a subplot and a supporting cast. That is the solipsism talking again, though. Perhaps this tournament was never about England, desperately seeking the moment of redemption it has awaited for so long. Perhaps the central character was Italy all along.

Italys journey does not have the grand historical sweep of Englands, of course it won the World Cup only 15 years ago, and that is not the only one in its cabinet but perhaps the story is actually about a country that did not even qualify for the World Cup in 2018, that seemed to have allowed its soccer culture to grow stale, moribund, that appeared to have been left behind. Instead, it has been transformed into a champion, once again, in the space of just three years.

Roberto Mancinis Italy has illuminated this tournament at every turn: through the verve and panache with which it swept through the group stage, and the grit and sinew with which it reached the final. And how, against a team with deeper resources and backed by a partisan crowd, it took control of someone elses dream.

In those first few minutes on Sunday at Wembley, when it felt as if England was in the grip of some mass out-of-body experience, as Leicester Square was descending into chaos and the barriers around Wembley were being stormed, again and again, by ticketless fans who did not want to be standing outside when history was being made, Italy might have been swept away by it all.

The noise and the energy made the stadium feel just a little wild, edgy and ferocious, and Mancinis team seemed to freeze. England, at times, looked as if it might overrun its opponent, as if its story was so compelling as to be irresistible. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, Italy settled. Marco Verratti passed the ball to Jorginho. Jorginho passed it back. Bonucci and his redoubtable partner, Giorgio Chiellini, tackled when things were present and squeezed space when they were not.

It felt England was losing the initiative, but really Italy was taking it. Federico Chiesa shot, low and fierce, drawing a save from Jordan Pickford. England sank back a little further. Italy scented blood. Bonucci tied the score, a scrambled sort of a goal, one borne more of determination than of skill, one befitting this Italys virtues perfectly.

Extra time loomed. Mancinis team would, whatever happened, make England wait. The clock ticked, and the prospect of penalties appeared on the horizon. For England, one last test, one last ghost to confront, and one last glimmer of hope. Andrea Belotti was the first to miss for Italy in the shootout. Wembley exulted. It roared, the same old combustion, releasing its nerves into the night sky.

All England had to do was score. It was, after two hours, after a whole month, after 55 years, the master of its destiny. It was, there and then, all about England. Marcus Rashford stepped forward. He had only been on the field for a couple of minutes, introduced specifically to take a penalty.

As he approached the ball, he slowed, trying to tempt Gianluigi Donnarumma, the Italian goalkeeper, into revealing his intentions. Donnarumma did not move. Rashford slowed further. Donnarumma stood still, calling his bluff. Rashford got to the ball, and had to hit it. He skewed it left. It struck the foot of the post. And in that moment, the spell, the trance that had consumed a country, was broken.

Jadon Sancho missed, too, his shot saved by Donnarumma. But so did Jorginho, Italys penalty specialist, when presented with the chance to win the game. For a moment, England had a reprieve. Perhaps its wait might soon be at an end. Perhaps the dream was still alive. Bukayo Saka, the youngest member of Southgates squad, walked forward. England had one more chance.

And then, just like that, it was over. There was still noise inside Wembley, from the massed ranks clad in blue at the opposite end of the field, pouring over each other in delight. But their noise seemed muffled, distant, as if it were coming from a different dimension, or from a future that we were not meant to know.

Italys players, European champions now, sank to their knees in disbelief, in delight. Englands players stared blankly out into the stadium, desolate and distraught, unable to comprehend that it was over, that the tournament in which everything changed had not changed the most important thing of all, that the wait goes on. And the stadium, after all that noise, after all those songs, after all those dreams, stood silent, dumbstruck, and stared straight back.

See more here:

Italy Wins Euro 2020, Leaving England in Stunned Silence - The New York Times

Theres a coffeehouse not far from where I live in Oviedo. Its a chain coffeehouse, so if you know America, you know the coffeehouse I mean.

When Im downtown in Orlando, there are any number of excellent independent shops I like to support, but where I live, miles from the city, one neighbor has a horse and another keeps chickens. On cold nights, I hear the chickens clucking. On colder nights, my neighbor brings the chickens in.

Not much, then, in the way of coffee, except for the place by my house. Thats where I writeor wrotefive days a week. Before the arrival of COVID-19, I dropped my daughters off at school, then arrived at my coffeehouse by 9 a.m.

Kevin, the man who most days works the morning shift, would greet me. Kevin plays in a band. Ive never heard his music, and hes never read my books. Its not that kind of friendship. Which isnt to say that its a lesser friendship. Its a friendship that doesnt require admiration for one anothers art. Kevin makes my coffee. Sometimes I tip him extra. Sometimes my coffee is free, a perk that comes along with being a regular.

Before the pandemic, my office was the coffeehouse.

Then, most days, I get to workor got to workfinding a quiet corner, facing away from the windows and the rest of the customers, firing up my laptop, securing my noise-canceling headphones over my ears, and navigating to one of three audio recordings I keep bookmarked: bathroom fan, airplane hum, summer storm. The white noise blocks out coffee orders, background conversations, and the chug and hiss of the espresso machines. Within minutes, Im in a trance, the world falls away, and I can dream my way into fiction.

Most of my novel, Lake Life (published in paperback by Simon & Schuster last week), was written at this coffeehouse between the hours of 9 a.m. and 3 p.m., before I returned to my daughters school to bring them home for the day. Now, our home is their school, and my bedroom doubles as my office.

But before the pandemic, my office was the coffeehouse. There, I would drink two cups of coffee, maybe three, dark roast, with cream and a dash of sugar. I like bitter, and Ive always preferred strong coffee to lattes or cappuccinos that tend to be mostly milk.

After weeks spent on a 2016 book tour across Europe, I returned to Florida and, for a month, drank straight espresso. But I never found anything in Florida approaching the strength of the ristretto shots I grew fond of in Venice and Milan and Palermo. (This, I recognize, is a pretentious-sounding sentence. In truth, I havent traveled particularly widely, I just got lucky with my last book. And I dont drink dark, strong coffee to feel cool. Im decidedly un-cool. I rarely drink alcohol. I dont smoke. And, as a matter of fact, the darker the roast, the less caffeine the coffee has. I just happen to have a palate that favors bitter. Ill take dark chocolate over milk chocolate any day.)

When asked why I dont prefer writing at home or in the office that UCF provides, I have several answers. First, Im undisciplined. If Im home, there is the TV. There are walls of books. Theres the bed. Any number of things are more tempting than sitting down to write for hours. Once Ive started, found my way into a story, Im good, on taskbut resolving to sit down and write for the day, thats the hard part. At the coffeehouse, theres no TV, and I bring no books. I dont even activate the Wi-Fi, so as not to be distracted by Twitter or Facebooks endless scroll. No, if Im at the coffeehouse, I have one job, and I do it. After all, my afternoons and evenings are occupied by teaching, so if I dont write in the mornings, I dont write.

Then theres the coffee. Its always a little better at the coffeehouse than the coffee I make at home. I have a coffeemaker, a French press, and an overpriced espresso machine. I order the best beans. I grind them fresh. Still, I can never match what they do there.

What I miss most about my coffeehouse, though, isnt the coffee or the gift of a place to write. What I miss most, Ive discovered, is being with people. If its true that you can be lonely at a party thrown by friends just for you, its also true that you can feel loved surrounded by people you dont even know.

At the coffeehouse, once Ive finished talking to Kevin, even after Ive plugged in my laptop and turned my back to the crowd, theres a feeling that rises from the floor and tangles up in the rafters, a security that comes from being among others, as in church, each of us struggling in a job or a marriage or just trying to finish a novel, everyone alone, but together, a body of humans, breathing as one, warm, at once, all in one place.

Its been more than a year since I stopped going to the coffeehouse, and I have yet to return. The coffeehouse is open. Everything, where I live, opened up almost a year ago. But Im wary. Even masked and vaccinated, it will be some time before Im comfortable writing among others, breathing the same air. And this is a loss.

I miss Kevin. I miss the taste of coffee made the right way by pros who know what theyre doing. Over a year in quarantine, and my home brew still pales in comparison. Though, if nothing else, Ive proven to myself that I can write anywhere. A new book is finished, and another is underway, so all is not lost.

But Id trade this, the books and my newfound productivity, trade it in a second to return to a world pre-pandemic. To sit among strangers and friends, and strangers as friends, and feel safe. To not be afraid of my fellow humans.

David James Poissant is an associate professor at the University of Central Florida where he teaches in the MFA program in creative writing. He can be reached at [emailprotected].

TheUCF Forumis a weekly series of opinion columns from faculty, staff and students who serve on a panel for a year. A new column is posted each Wednesday on UCF Today and then broadcast on WUCF-FM (89.9) between 7:50 and 8 a.m. Sunday. Columns also are archived in the campus librarys STARS collection and as WUCF podcasts. Opinions expressed are those of the columnists, and are not necessarily shared by the University of Central Florida.

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Coffee in the Age of COVID - UCF

Visitors milling around the Great Court at Blenheim Palace in Oxfordshire last Friday were caught off guard by the sound of a swelling chorus. A troupe of players who, moments before, had seemed like any other tourists there to discover the stately rooms and sprawling grounds of the Baroque countryside estate, broke out into a series of trance-like intonations: wow, ooh, wow, ooh.

For the audience invited to see the work of Berlin-based visual artist Tino Sehgal, the troupes movements around the courtyard might have evoked the nonsensical dadaist performance art of the interwar years. But I could also relate to the bemused expressions of unsuspecting visitors to the palace, who might more readily have related it to the carefully choreographed flash mobs that were popular marketing ploys in the early 2000s. Either way, it was all a bit weird.

Sehgal is revered in the art world for creating these kinds of scenes, which the 45-year-old artist calls constructed situations, designed to stir viewers out of passivity. His artistic practice eschews physical objects, relying on the human responses to these ephemeral live events. Once played out, there is no physical documentation of the work in the form of exhibition catalogues, video recordings, or photographs.

My basic premise is: Can you make an artwork without making an object? So why would I, on a secondary level, then make a photograph? Sehgal asked me, as we sat in a shade overlooking one of Blenheims manicured gardens.

Blenheim Park and Gardens. Landscaping by Capability Brown. Courtesy of Blenheim Art Foundation.

Even without the wristbands identifying us, you could pretty easily tell the art audience from those who had just stumbled upon the work. Only the latter group (the larger one) reflexively whipped out their cell phones to take pictures. Sehgal has given up trying to control this particular impulse from the public. I dont mind it if it is for their private use, Sehgal told me. Society has changed. When my work first started, mobile phones literally didnt even have a camera.

Sehgal, who is of German and Indian descent, has been exalted by many critics as among the greatest artists of his generation. In 2005, he was the youngest artist ever chosen to represent Germany at the Venice Biennale, for which he sent performers dressed as security guards pirouetting around visitors to the pavilion chanting, Ooh, this is so contemporary, contemporary, contemporary! He later won the Golden Lion for work included in the 2013 biennale.

His current exhibition, on view through August 15, was staged by the Blenheim Art Foundation, and blends elements of some of his past works with new scenes designed specifically to respond to the environment of the palace grounds. Sehgal was introduced to Blenheim in the spring because he was looking for a maze to site a project, one of the first initiatives organized as part of veteran gallerist Marian Goodmans nomadic exhibition program after closing her permanent London space, Marian Goodman Projects. As chance would have it, the art foundation did not have an exhibition scheduled for this summer, and Sehgal was suddenly invited to make a much larger project than he had initially envisioned, unfolding across the vast grounds of the estate.

Tino Sehgal in the grounds at Blenheim. Photo by Edd Horder. Courtesy of Blenheim Art Foundation.

It was really spontaneous, Sehgal told me. But Michael [Frahm, director of Blenheim Art Foundation] was adamant that he wanted to do it now after corona, and it made sense for me after we have been deprived of human interaction for so long.

Both Frahm and Sehgals main producer, Louise Hjer, were up for the sports-like challenge of pulling off the exhibition in just a few months.

After a long year distanced one from another, Tinos work feels more relevant than ever: bringing bodies together in space and calling attention to the fleeting, immaterial magic of human connection, Frahm wrote in his introductory statement.

Hjer traveled to the U.K. ahead of Sehgal and scouted 52 amateur participants from the local area, ranging in age from 16 to 74, to take part. A few of Sehgals regular dancers, in-demand contemporary stars from Brussels and Berlin, also traveled to take part.

Then there was the matter of organizing an exhibition based on human interaction for the age of social distancing. Although it was mostly staged in an outdoor setting, they decided it would be best for the players approaching visitors to don masks and keep their distance, as a sign of respect and to help people feel safe.

Tino Sehgal in the Rose Garden at Blenheim. Photo by Edd Horder. Courtesy of Blenheim Art Foundation.

The roving troupe of dancers intermittently swarmed around the visitors to the art foundation, shepherding us throughout the grounds to where other works materialized. Outside, in the secret garden, a young girl serenaded passersby, an iteration of Sehgals 2006 work, This You. Inside the grandiose Great Hall, amid classical statuary including Venus and Bacchus, an intertwined couple writhed on the floor for Sehgals Kiss (2002), re-enacting kiss scenes from famous works of art throughout history, from Auguste Rodins embracing nudes to Jeff Koons and Iona Stallers more provocative poses.

A more recent work, This Joy, conceived last year for the Kunsthistorische Museum in Vienna, occurred next to a small fountain. Players sang out a bizarrely electric scat version of Beethovens Fr Elise, which built to a crescendo that was theatrically synchronized with a burst of water springing from the fountain.

The most affecting parts of the exhibition were the works specifically designed to respond to the palace grounds. Across the vast lawn in front of the palace, on the majestic water terraces, and nestled in the rose garden, players almost blended into the landscape. If you werent paying attention, your eye might have glossed over them as picnickers on the lawn or even perhaps more delicate shrubbery designed by Capability Brown. If you got close enough to one of the players, they might approach you and share details about their lives.

This story-telling component of the new work, titledThis Element, borrows from SehgalsThese Associations, a work first shown at Tate Modern in 2012. The stories shared by the participants are answers to a number of prompts from the artist, such as: When have you felt a sense of arrival? What is something you are dissatisfied with in yourself? What are the personality traits of somebody you admire? But the artist does not control what intimacies they share beyond this.

When I summoned up the courage to open myself up, and gave permission with my eyes for someone to approach me, it was a local bus driver, who told me about a regular passenger of his, an elderly gentleman who battles his own physical decline to ride the bus to go and visit his niece every Thursday. The story was not particularly emotional, but after a year and a half of being starved of interaction with friends, let alone strangers, I was in a very raw emotional state. I was embarrassed when tears welled up in my eyes.

Blenheim Park and Gardens. Landscaping by Capability Brown. Courtesy of Blenheim Art Foundation.

Sehgals art tends to trigger this kind of reaction. And despite his forbearance of objects, he does actually sell his workwhich he does through oral agreements with no paper trail. The rights to stage his situations have sold for six figure sums to museums including the Hirshhorn, MoMA, and the Guggenheim, as well as many private collections.

There is not a huge [market] but when people are interested, the fact that we do it with an oral contract is not really an issue, he said. If anything, it is maybe something that they find attractive. If buyers want to show it, they need to give a six-months heads up, and trusted associates of the artist will be dispatched to set it up.

I asked him what he thinks about the possible legacy of his work given that it is so ephemeral. What happens when hes gone, and the chain of knowledge dilutes the work further and further from its original iteration?But Sehgal is not worried about obsolescence. He intentionally structures his situations like a game, with basic rules of play, and the interruption of chance encounters means that no two situations are exactly alike anyway. He could get deep into the theory behind this, but he offers a helpful sports analogy.

Nobody is worried that beach volleyball would cease to exist because you have got the rules, he shrugged. People can play it better or worse, but it is still beach volleyball.

Besides, material objects face obsolescence too. Paintings can burn up in a fire, or be eaten by pests, or deteriorate through age. Somebody attacked a Barnett Newman at the Stedelijk Museum oncethat can happen, Sehgal pointed out.I think everything on this planet is, in that sense, endangered and can deteriorate. And with art objects we make a big effort to ensure that they dont . So I think it is just a question of effort, finances, will, [and] planning decisions.

He recalled a particularly important exchange he had with a conservator during his early days in the art world, who pointed out that most of the objects that populate museums would not exist today without careful conservation and restoration efforts. We dont really conserve paintings, we produce them, the conservator said. When a painting has been restored three times, is it the same painting?

In that sense, Sehgals object-less work doesnt seem any less ephemeral. He invited me to look further back into the past. We have the tendency to think that objects are what remain or persist, but if you go back to antiquity, it is Plato, he said, and ideas that continue to exist.

Tino Sehgal is on view at Blenheim Art Foundation through August 15.

Read more from the original source:

Everything on This Planet Is Endangered: Artist Tino Sehgals New Show in England Enacts the Immaterial Magic of Impermanence - artnet News