Tuesday 23 June 2009
Wednesday 17 June 2009
Saturday 6 June 2009
Helen Mirra
Born in 1970, Rochester, New York
EDUCATION
1996
MFA, Studio Arts, University of Illinois at Chicago, Chicago, Illinois
1991
BA, Bennington College, Bennington, Vermont
1987
Visual Studies Workshop, Rochester, New York
For her second solo exhibition at the gallery, Mirra presents a new body of work entitled laws of clash, 247. The title comes from an index Mirra made for a collection of essays by the philosopher William James, which was used to create works for this project. Contrary to the standard columnar index format, Mirra presents her index entries as typed text on hand painted 16 mm cotton bands of various lengths. Installed in a single organic line around the gallery, each band contains the index entries for a specific letter of the alphabet, but are not presented in alphabetical order, rather according to size, largest to smallest. The subtle variations in the color of the bands, a limited pallet of browns, denotes their hand painted nature which, together with the slight shifting of the height of the works, is evocative of the earth and nature in sympathy with the ideas referred to in the texts from which the index was made.
Neither poetry nor prose, the index form has the appearance of objectivity, while relying on Mirra's decisions as to what is included and how entries are notated. Certain index entries seem quite customary and objective such as "nature, 20, 41-44, 56" or "rationalism, 12, 30" whereas the bands also include atypical and wordy entries such as "express a tolerably definitive philosophic attitude in a very untechnical way, vii" or perhaps more personal as with "Rochester, NY, 301" the city of the artist's birth. It is not Mirra's intention that this work be seen as a supplement or a proposal for an actual functional index to the text, but is instead a way for her to create a body of work based on source material which is of interest to her. Mirra first began working in the 16 mm band format in relation to film and chose to employ this method of presentation for this work as a way to evoke the temporality of film. Motion is an integral element to the experience of this work as the physical act of circling the gallery brings the text to light. As the viewer moves through the gallery reading the index entries, an abstraction of the book is unveiled as mediated through the artist's experience of the original text.
Helen Mirra's work has been widely exhibited internationally, including group exhibitions at the Kunsthalle Basel, Kunstverein Hamburg and the 50 th Venice Biennale together with one-person exhibitions at The Renaissance Society, Chicago, the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York, the University of California Berkeley Art Museum and the Dallas Art Museum. Beginning this summer Mirra will be an Artist-in-residence at the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst (DAAD), Berlin and upon her return to the US in 2006 she will commence her position as assistant professor at Harvard University.
Neither poetry nor prose, the index form has the appearance of objectivity, while relying on Mirra's decisions as to what is included and how entries are notated. Certain index entries seem quite customary and objective such as "nature, 20, 41-44, 56" or "rationalism, 12, 30" whereas the bands also include atypical and wordy entries such as "express a tolerably definitive philosophic attitude in a very untechnical way, vii" or perhaps more personal as with "Rochester, NY, 301" the city of the artist's birth. It is not Mirra's intention that this work be seen as a supplement or a proposal for an actual functional index to the text, but is instead a way for her to create a body of work based on source material which is of interest to her. Mirra first began working in the 16 mm band format in relation to film and chose to employ this method of presentation for this work as a way to evoke the temporality of film. Motion is an integral element to the experience of this work as the physical act of circling the gallery brings the text to light. As the viewer moves through the gallery reading the index entries, an abstraction of the book is unveiled as mediated through the artist's experience of the original text.
Helen Mirra's work has been widely exhibited internationally, including group exhibitions at the Kunsthalle Basel, Kunstverein Hamburg and the 50 th Venice Biennale together with one-person exhibitions at The Renaissance Society, Chicago, the Whitney Museum of American Art in New York, the University of California Berkeley Art Museum and the Dallas Art Museum. Beginning this summer Mirra will be an Artist-in-residence at the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst (DAAD), Berlin and upon her return to the US in 2006 she will commence her position as assistant professor at Harvard University.
James Welling
Born 1951 in Hartford, Connecticut; lives in Los Angeles, California
James Welling has long engaged a mediated—or in his own words, a “ventriloquist”— photographic practice that frequently takes photographic norms or the representational field itself as its subject. In the early 1980s Welling was situated alongside appropriation artists including Sherrie Levine, Richard Prince, and Cindy Sherman; they all eschewed claims of verist documentation (and the fantasy of transparency that subtends it) and modernist aesthetic autonomy in favor of deconstructive criticality. Perhaps best known for his early nonreferential studio photographs of such mundane materials as phyllo dough and aluminum foil, however, Welling—unlike his peers—has long investigated the possibilities of abstraction. The exposed chromogenic paper Degradés (1985–2008) recall Color Field painting; his Hexachromes (2005) render uncanny everyday spaces through aurora borealis–like eruptions of color.
An even more apt characterization of Welling’s practice might be that, as Rosalind Krauss contends, his photographs hold “the referent at bay, creating as much delay as possible between seeing the image and understanding what it was of.” Written in 1989 vis-à-vis his early works, this argument is equally relevant to the artist’s recent projects, including the Quadrilaterals (2006) and War (2005) series, both generated using Maya graphics software to create fields of shattered abstract shapes in which spatial confusions and perceptual ambiguities predominate. And while content is clear in his Glass House photographs (2007–08) of architect Philip Johnson’s renowned Connecticut home, the manner of one’s apprehension of it is not: using colored gels and lens flares, Welling physically intercedes in his visual images to create effects such as turning the green grass red (effects more typically rendered digitally today).
So too in Welling’s photogram series Torsos (2005–08) do complexities manifest. He cut screening, of the same type used for windows, to follow bodily contours and placed them on chromogenic paper before exposing them. Folded, curled, and billowing up from the paper ground, the wavy-edged mesh scraps produce lushly variegated passages while also revealing an obdurate materiality through their density, thickness, and permeability to light. Without being hostile to photography, Welling nonetheless has obviated traditional models of pictorialism. Tactility is privileged above opticality, as he turns away from perspective and optics to reground the medium in its fundamental bases of touch, pressure, and weight. (As has often been noted, photography literally means “drawing with light” and is not etymologically related to any mechanical means.) To cite Welling in a 2003 Artforum interview: “In retrospect, I see that there’s no escape from the history of photography.”
James Welling has long engaged a mediated—or in his own words, a “ventriloquist”— photographic practice that frequently takes photographic norms or the representational field itself as its subject. In the early 1980s Welling was situated alongside appropriation artists including Sherrie Levine, Richard Prince, and Cindy Sherman; they all eschewed claims of verist documentation (and the fantasy of transparency that subtends it) and modernist aesthetic autonomy in favor of deconstructive criticality. Perhaps best known for his early nonreferential studio photographs of such mundane materials as phyllo dough and aluminum foil, however, Welling—unlike his peers—has long investigated the possibilities of abstraction. The exposed chromogenic paper Degradés (1985–2008) recall Color Field painting; his Hexachromes (2005) render uncanny everyday spaces through aurora borealis–like eruptions of color.
An even more apt characterization of Welling’s practice might be that, as Rosalind Krauss contends, his photographs hold “the referent at bay, creating as much delay as possible between seeing the image and understanding what it was of.” Written in 1989 vis-à-vis his early works, this argument is equally relevant to the artist’s recent projects, including the Quadrilaterals (2006) and War (2005) series, both generated using Maya graphics software to create fields of shattered abstract shapes in which spatial confusions and perceptual ambiguities predominate. And while content is clear in his Glass House photographs (2007–08) of architect Philip Johnson’s renowned Connecticut home, the manner of one’s apprehension of it is not: using colored gels and lens flares, Welling physically intercedes in his visual images to create effects such as turning the green grass red (effects more typically rendered digitally today).
So too in Welling’s photogram series Torsos (2005–08) do complexities manifest. He cut screening, of the same type used for windows, to follow bodily contours and placed them on chromogenic paper before exposing them. Folded, curled, and billowing up from the paper ground, the wavy-edged mesh scraps produce lushly variegated passages while also revealing an obdurate materiality through their density, thickness, and permeability to light. Without being hostile to photography, Welling nonetheless has obviated traditional models of pictorialism. Tactility is privileged above opticality, as he turns away from perspective and optics to reground the medium in its fundamental bases of touch, pressure, and weight. (As has often been noted, photography literally means “drawing with light” and is not etymologically related to any mechanical means.) To cite Welling in a 2003 Artforum interview: “In retrospect, I see that there’s no escape from the history of photography.”
spike lee
Born 1957 in Atlanta, Georgia; lives in New York, New York
In the spring of 1986, a young American filmmaker presented his debut feature at the Cannes Film Festival: a low-budget, black-and-white production entitled She’s Gotta Have It. Set in the Fort Greene district of Brooklyn, a bohemian enclave of African- American sophisticates, it told of a graphic designer conflicted by the attention of three male suitors and her inability to commit to any of them. She’s Gotta Have It introduced a new voice to American film and announced the driving preoccupation of its twenty-nine-year-old writer-director, Spike Lee, with the divisive forces in contemporary life.
In each of his celebrated narrative films, Lee confronts various forms of antagonism head on: racial (Do the Right Thing [1989] ), sexual (She Hate Me [2004] ), or both (Jungle Fever [1991] ); creative (Mo’ Better Blues [1990] ); ideological (Malcolm X [1992] ); and fraternal (Get on the Bus [1996] ). His interest in dialectic oppositions is reflected in his artistic practice, which alternates between dramatic narrative and documentary, film and video, independent movies and studio productions, theatrical features and television programs. In 2006, Lee released one of his most commercially successful films, the lean, star-studded Hollywood heist thriller Inside Man, as well as one of the most acclaimed works of his career, an expansive television documentary on Hurricane Katrina broadcast on HBO. Sprawling, exhaustive, and furious, When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts memorializes New Orleans before, during, and after the devastation wrought in 2005 by natural forces and human neglect. Using the spontaneous rhythms and associative leaps of jazz music, Lee orchestrates an immense amount of material (interviews, archival footage, photographs, news reports) over four hours of sustained intensity. Both a historically vital document and an emotionally overwhelming experience, When the Levees Broke is the culmination of Lee’s formal and ethical concerns—but only the beginning, hopes the filmmaker, of a proper reckoning with this great national tragedy. “One of the things I hope this documentary does is remind Americans that New Orleans is not over with,” Lee has said. “Americans have very, very short attention spans,” he continues. “And, I’ll admit there was eventually a thing called Katrina fatigue. But if you go to New Orleans, only one-fourth of the population is there. People are still not home. So hopefully this documentary will bring this fiasco, this travesty, back to the attention of the American people.”
In the spring of 1986, a young American filmmaker presented his debut feature at the Cannes Film Festival: a low-budget, black-and-white production entitled She’s Gotta Have It. Set in the Fort Greene district of Brooklyn, a bohemian enclave of African- American sophisticates, it told of a graphic designer conflicted by the attention of three male suitors and her inability to commit to any of them. She’s Gotta Have It introduced a new voice to American film and announced the driving preoccupation of its twenty-nine-year-old writer-director, Spike Lee, with the divisive forces in contemporary life.
In each of his celebrated narrative films, Lee confronts various forms of antagonism head on: racial (Do the Right Thing [1989] ), sexual (She Hate Me [2004] ), or both (Jungle Fever [1991] ); creative (Mo’ Better Blues [1990] ); ideological (Malcolm X [1992] ); and fraternal (Get on the Bus [1996] ). His interest in dialectic oppositions is reflected in his artistic practice, which alternates between dramatic narrative and documentary, film and video, independent movies and studio productions, theatrical features and television programs. In 2006, Lee released one of his most commercially successful films, the lean, star-studded Hollywood heist thriller Inside Man, as well as one of the most acclaimed works of his career, an expansive television documentary on Hurricane Katrina broadcast on HBO. Sprawling, exhaustive, and furious, When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts memorializes New Orleans before, during, and after the devastation wrought in 2005 by natural forces and human neglect. Using the spontaneous rhythms and associative leaps of jazz music, Lee orchestrates an immense amount of material (interviews, archival footage, photographs, news reports) over four hours of sustained intensity. Both a historically vital document and an emotionally overwhelming experience, When the Levees Broke is the culmination of Lee’s formal and ethical concerns—but only the beginning, hopes the filmmaker, of a proper reckoning with this great national tragedy. “One of the things I hope this documentary does is remind Americans that New Orleans is not over with,” Lee has said. “Americans have very, very short attention spans,” he continues. “And, I’ll admit there was eventually a thing called Katrina fatigue. But if you go to New Orleans, only one-fourth of the population is there. People are still not home. So hopefully this documentary will bring this fiasco, this travesty, back to the attention of the American people.”
Carol Bove
Born 1971 in Geneva, Switzerland; lives in New York, New York
I have a sense of history being contained by objects,” Carol Bove recently told Swiss curator Beatrix Ruf, an observation that might well serve as a motto for her nuanced combinatory practice. The particular history with which her work usually has been concerned—namely, that charged, quasi-chronological, sociopolitical moment known as the sixties—is obliquely but convincingly instantiated in her pieces, both the modest shelf-based and the increasingly roomsized displays of carefully chosen found and made objects. Bove’s “settings” draw on the style, and substance, of certain time-specific materials to resuscitate their referential possibilities, to pull them out of historical stasis and return them to active symbolic duty, where new adjacencies might reactivate latent meanings. Whether plucked from the archives of culture or couture, from the spheres of entertainment or the academy, the raw materials of Bove’s evocative assemblages pulse with the affinities and contradictions of their age, fine-tuned within the artist’s categorical systems.
Bove’s earliest pieces were typically Minimalist wooden shelves or tables on which she placed simple arrangements of books and images culled from pop culture sources. The array deployed in At Home in the Universe (2001) is representative, capturing the ambitions and ambivalences of the era’s revolutionary movements (social, political, and sexual) with a pair of shelves holding Soul on Ice, Walden, and books by Aldous Huxley and Buckminster Fuller; The Writings of Robert Smithson and Our Bodies Ourselves; and a nostalgically modest spread from a nudist book. Bove’s recent work has grown physically—outboard installation elements now accompany larger presentational environments that incorporate their own constellations of shelves, tables, and plinths—and broadened its focus to evoke even more ambiguous conditions of history and memory. Bove’s 2006 installation at Georg Kargl BOX gallery in Vienna, for example, included a low table set like a diorama-sized sociological sculpture garden of small plexiglass and concrete cubes, peacock feathers, compositionally symmetrical photographs from a fashion magazine, and a lunar atlas; wall drawings made with thread and nails; and a shimmering beaded curtain. The precise allusions of such expanded arrays are perhaps more elusive than in Bove’s previous projects, but the “ambience cues,” a phrase Bove has used to describe the delicate mechanics of her environments, are as evocative as ever.
I have a sense of history being contained by objects,” Carol Bove recently told Swiss curator Beatrix Ruf, an observation that might well serve as a motto for her nuanced combinatory practice. The particular history with which her work usually has been concerned—namely, that charged, quasi-chronological, sociopolitical moment known as the sixties—is obliquely but convincingly instantiated in her pieces, both the modest shelf-based and the increasingly roomsized displays of carefully chosen found and made objects. Bove’s “settings” draw on the style, and substance, of certain time-specific materials to resuscitate their referential possibilities, to pull them out of historical stasis and return them to active symbolic duty, where new adjacencies might reactivate latent meanings. Whether plucked from the archives of culture or couture, from the spheres of entertainment or the academy, the raw materials of Bove’s evocative assemblages pulse with the affinities and contradictions of their age, fine-tuned within the artist’s categorical systems.
Bove’s earliest pieces were typically Minimalist wooden shelves or tables on which she placed simple arrangements of books and images culled from pop culture sources. The array deployed in At Home in the Universe (2001) is representative, capturing the ambitions and ambivalences of the era’s revolutionary movements (social, political, and sexual) with a pair of shelves holding Soul on Ice, Walden, and books by Aldous Huxley and Buckminster Fuller; The Writings of Robert Smithson and Our Bodies Ourselves; and a nostalgically modest spread from a nudist book. Bove’s recent work has grown physically—outboard installation elements now accompany larger presentational environments that incorporate their own constellations of shelves, tables, and plinths—and broadened its focus to evoke even more ambiguous conditions of history and memory. Bove’s 2006 installation at Georg Kargl BOX gallery in Vienna, for example, included a low table set like a diorama-sized sociological sculpture garden of small plexiglass and concrete cubes, peacock feathers, compositionally symmetrical photographs from a fashion magazine, and a lunar atlas; wall drawings made with thread and nails; and a shimmering beaded curtain. The precise allusions of such expanded arrays are perhaps more elusive than in Bove’s previous projects, but the “ambience cues,” a phrase Bove has used to describe the delicate mechanics of her environments, are as evocative as ever.
John Baldessari
Born 1931 in National City, California; lives in Santa Monica, California
For the last five decades, John Baldessari has constantly reinvented himself, working in a variety of media and forms including painting, photography, books, sculpture, and exhibition design. Although typically associated with Conceptual art, the only consistent aspect of the artist’s work—aside from his commitment to mining the archives of art history and the mass media—is his defiance of expectations.
So it was again in 2006 when Baldessari aimed his disruptive sensibility toward museum interventions. Notable was his installation at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art of Magritte and Contemporary Art: The Treachery of Images (2006–07), a gathering of works by René Magritte and contemporary artists. Through a dramatic installation gambit, the artist transformed the neutrality of the white cube into a surprising exhibition environment, essentially structuring the show’s dialogue between past and present. Viewers walked on carpeting printed with images of Magritte’s white clouds against a blue sky while the ceiling was papered with images of Los Angeles freeways. In a characteristically playful turn of the screw, the artist even arranged for museum guards to wear bowler hats similar to those famously populating Magritte’s paintings. Baldessari’s juxtapositions, displacements, and spatial interventions resonated with Magritte’s uncanny aesthetics but also with the disjunctive poetics very much at the dyslexic heart of his own work. This was further achieved through the deployment of elective amenities, primarily by displacing the familiar—and familiar narratives—with the unexpected or with other elements of disruption, including surprising spacing or gaps.
For the last five decades, John Baldessari has constantly reinvented himself, working in a variety of media and forms including painting, photography, books, sculpture, and exhibition design. Although typically associated with Conceptual art, the only consistent aspect of the artist’s work—aside from his commitment to mining the archives of art history and the mass media—is his defiance of expectations.
So it was again in 2006 when Baldessari aimed his disruptive sensibility toward museum interventions. Notable was his installation at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art of Magritte and Contemporary Art: The Treachery of Images (2006–07), a gathering of works by René Magritte and contemporary artists. Through a dramatic installation gambit, the artist transformed the neutrality of the white cube into a surprising exhibition environment, essentially structuring the show’s dialogue between past and present. Viewers walked on carpeting printed with images of Magritte’s white clouds against a blue sky while the ceiling was papered with images of Los Angeles freeways. In a characteristically playful turn of the screw, the artist even arranged for museum guards to wear bowler hats similar to those famously populating Magritte’s paintings. Baldessari’s juxtapositions, displacements, and spatial interventions resonated with Magritte’s uncanny aesthetics but also with the disjunctive poetics very much at the dyslexic heart of his own work. This was further achieved through the deployment of elective amenities, primarily by displacing the familiar—and familiar narratives—with the unexpected or with other elements of disruption, including surprising spacing or gaps.
Agathe Snow
Born 1976 in Corsica, France; lives in New York, New York
Based on narratives of environmental collapse, sexual dysfunction, religious or moral decay, and physical disorientation, Agathe Snow’s work simultaneously invokes netherworlds of decrepit horror and suggestions for rescue, celebration, and survival. Her installations typically include one or two large-scale sculptures designating her chosen mode of abjection, accompanied by smaller pieces as remnant treasuries of debris offering hope that today’s detritus may someday become a precious, valued resource. Inhabiting the gallery space while she creates and exhibits her pieces, Snow accumulates and subjects found objects to a selective refining process, linking the artifacts to anecdotes injected with narrative clues pointing to the alternative lifestyle she leads to generate her work. During her exhibitions she often hosts live events to bring her sculpture’s invented tales to life. These narratives are outlined in cryptic textual remarks she pens to accompany each piece or in expository exhibition titles, such as No Need to Worry, the Apocalypse Has Already Happened . . . when it couldn’t get any worse, it just got a little better (2007).
In that show, at New York’s James Fuentes LLC, Snow built a figurative rendition of a beached whale’s skeleton out of chicken wire, cotton padding, duct tape, painted tarp, foam core, and steel mesh. As part of the artist’s fantasy in which Manhattan has been destroyed by flood, The Whale (2007) offered viewers a cavelike refuge. Small piles of common domestic items such as rolls of toilet paper, flowers, goggles, kitchen utensils, and antiquated electronic circuitry were condensed into delicate altars dusted with sand, soil, and gold flakes, as objects affiliated with a previous, antediluvian existence. To set an apocalyptic mood, Snow started her opening in a desolate area under the Brooklyn Bridge, then led her audience on foot, as a processional, to the gallery.
Based on narratives of environmental collapse, sexual dysfunction, religious or moral decay, and physical disorientation, Agathe Snow’s work simultaneously invokes netherworlds of decrepit horror and suggestions for rescue, celebration, and survival. Her installations typically include one or two large-scale sculptures designating her chosen mode of abjection, accompanied by smaller pieces as remnant treasuries of debris offering hope that today’s detritus may someday become a precious, valued resource. Inhabiting the gallery space while she creates and exhibits her pieces, Snow accumulates and subjects found objects to a selective refining process, linking the artifacts to anecdotes injected with narrative clues pointing to the alternative lifestyle she leads to generate her work. During her exhibitions she often hosts live events to bring her sculpture’s invented tales to life. These narratives are outlined in cryptic textual remarks she pens to accompany each piece or in expository exhibition titles, such as No Need to Worry, the Apocalypse Has Already Happened . . . when it couldn’t get any worse, it just got a little better (2007).
In that show, at New York’s James Fuentes LLC, Snow built a figurative rendition of a beached whale’s skeleton out of chicken wire, cotton padding, duct tape, painted tarp, foam core, and steel mesh. As part of the artist’s fantasy in which Manhattan has been destroyed by flood, The Whale (2007) offered viewers a cavelike refuge. Small piles of common domestic items such as rolls of toilet paper, flowers, goggles, kitchen utensils, and antiquated electronic circuitry were condensed into delicate altars dusted with sand, soil, and gold flakes, as objects affiliated with a previous, antediluvian existence. To set an apocalyptic mood, Snow started her opening in a desolate area under the Brooklyn Bridge, then led her audience on foot, as a processional, to the gallery.
Friday 5 June 2009
Addendum
Whats relevant?
The failure of our world to resolve the issue of war, poverty, and corruption, rests within a gross ignorance about what guides human behavior to begin with. 'Zeitgeist-Addendum' addresses the true source of the instability in our society, while offering the only fundamental, long term solution.
The failure of our world to resolve the issue of war, poverty, and corruption, rests within a gross ignorance about what guides human behavior to begin with. 'Zeitgeist-Addendum' addresses the true source of the instability in our society, while offering the only fundamental, long term solution.
William Burroughs and cutting things
Cut word lines — Cut music lines — Smash the control images — Smash the control machine — Burn the books — Kill the priests — Kill! Kill! Kill!
The Soft Machine (1961), William S Burroughs
If You Find This World Bad, You Should See Some of the Others
If You Find This World Bad, You Should See Some of the Others
I can even tell you what caused me to remember. In late February 1974 I was given sodium pentothol for the extraction of impacted wisdom teeth. Later that day, back home again but still deeply under the influence of the sodium pentothol, I had a short, acute flash of recovered memory. In one instant I caught it all, but immediately rejected it -- rejected it, however, with the realization that what I had retrieved in the way of buried memories was authentic. Then, in mid-March, the corpus of memories, whole, intact, began to return. You are free to believe me or free to disbelieve, but please take my word on it that I am not joking; this is very serious, a matter of importance. I am sure that at the very least you will agree that for me even to claim this is in itself amazing. Often people claim to remember past lives; I claim to remember a different, very different, present life. I know of no one who has ever made that claim before, but I rather suspect that my experience is not unique; what perhaps is unique is the fact that I am willing to talk about it.
⚡ Philip K. Dick, If You Find This World Bad, You Should See Some of the Others, 1977
I can even tell you what caused me to remember. In late February 1974 I was given sodium pentothol for the extraction of impacted wisdom teeth. Later that day, back home again but still deeply under the influence of the sodium pentothol, I had a short, acute flash of recovered memory. In one instant I caught it all, but immediately rejected it -- rejected it, however, with the realization that what I had retrieved in the way of buried memories was authentic. Then, in mid-March, the corpus of memories, whole, intact, began to return. You are free to believe me or free to disbelieve, but please take my word on it that I am not joking; this is very serious, a matter of importance. I am sure that at the very least you will agree that for me even to claim this is in itself amazing. Often people claim to remember past lives; I claim to remember a different, very different, present life. I know of no one who has ever made that claim before, but I rather suspect that my experience is not unique; what perhaps is unique is the fact that I am willing to talk about it.
⚡ Philip K. Dick, If You Find This World Bad, You Should See Some of the Others, 1977
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