
Kirsi Mikkola. Untitled, 2010, Construction of painted paper. 58 x 41 cm
Seen at carlierge bauer

Wolfgang Betke. Suche, 2008, Öl, Abschliff/ Lwd. 80 x 60 cm
Seen at ScheiblerMitte. Also http://www.betke.de/
Begun during my adventures overseas, the Female Expat Project began as a collection of artworks about female expatriates and their original ideas about place. On the flip side of expatriates' nomadic lifestyles are contemporary nesting instincts—also explored in this blog. Really it's a publicly available sketchbook in the cloud supporting my artwork. http://joelledietrick.com




















Although it is the result of extensive travels and research in five cities of the Middle East and Turkey—Istanbul, Beirut, Amman, Cairo and Dubai—it could just as easily pass as the pictorial record of a dérive through a single, imaginary city: a city without a center, populated by extraordinary and at times implausible architectural artefacts; an urban laboratory whose physical traits are defined by migratory flows, spatial transformation and geopolitical flux on a continental scale.

In other words, forget academic rigor. Never take the appropriate next step. Talk about Chinese urban design, the European space program, the landscape in the films of Alfred Hitchcock in the span of three sentences -- because it's fun, and the juxtapositions might take you somewhere. Most importantly, follow your lines of interest.

- A lot of attention—in Chicago, at least—has been given to the fact that Aqua is the tallest building in the world designed by a woman. That’s nice for Gang, but beside the point, and dwelling on it leads too easily to predictable interpretations of skyscrapers as symbols of male identity...
- balconies on every floor, all the way up. Usually, condominiums sixty or seventy floors above the street don’t have balconies, because it’s just too windy up there to go outside...
- you might think it’s a gigantic version of one of those “blob” buildings of the past few year
- In an age in which so much architectural form—even, sometimes, the best architectural form—has no real rationale beyond the fact that it is what the architect felt like doing, there is something admirable about the tower’s lack of arbitrariness. It reclaims the notion that thrilling and beautiful form can still emerge out of the realm of the practical.

Once again, as in so many of Bellmer’s photographs, this body is riven by inner conflict...both trapped and out of control in the claustrophobic space. And once again, this headless hybrid creature (like octopus and a human combined) suggests the condition of hysteria. By portraying the doll as headless and flailing, Bellmer seems to collude with class nineteenth-century stereotypes of hysterics as woman who have lost their minds, who are emotional and animal-like in nature, and who are literally out of control.
Although the interpretations of hysteria and many of its symptoms have changed in various ways from Greek times to the present, and it has affected both men and women, hysteria has been consistently characterized as a female malady. What we call hysteria today is a psychosexual abnormality that manifests itself through an assortment of physical symptoms. The word hysteria derives from the Greek hyster (womb) and was used in ancient Greece to designate a pathology presumed to result from a displaced or “wandering” womb. The Greeks believed that in cases involving an insufficient amount of sexual intercourse or even sexual abstinence, the womb would become uprooted and wanter around the woman’s body, producing negative behavioral side effects. Women who did not conform to the conventional roles assigned in patriarchal culture—namely, wife and fertile mother—were pathologized...
In most Western cultures in the nineteenth century...according to diagnostic science of the period, the female hysteria registered her symptoms across her body through a nonverbal language f gestures that expressed her unconscious anger and rebellion. These passionate physical tremors, like the pent-up energy of an earthquake rocked her otherwise contained and controlled body.
Such antisocial characteristics were first “documented” in photographs taken under the direction of the famous French psychologist Jean-Martin Charcot at the Salpetriere clinic between 1875 and 1880...hysterical fits were induced by electrical shock, loud noises, pressure on the ovaries, the use of ether, tying women down, or placing their heads in a brace in order to hold a pose for the long exposure time. The cultural historian Sigrid Schade points out that it is not a coincidence that many nineteenth-century hysterical poses resembled epileptic fits, because after 1870 Charcot place epileptic patients and hysterics in the same ward. Many gestures, especially the “hysterical” arched back, resembled depictions of women possessed by demons or images of exorcism found in earlier medieval and Renaissance paintings. Charcot, who was married to a wealthy widow and wa sa patron of the arts, closely connected to Parisian art circles, collected these works and hung them on the walls of the Salpetriere clinic, where patients had visual access to them.

Gender is not something that I manufacture from a historical or theoretical perspective. It's actually something that surprises me in the work. It doesn't come from some sort of pre-conceived notion. It's is only the unconscious imagination that would wake up to find their mother dressed up as their father and vice versa. It’s only from this place that I can imagine doing the laborious task of mopping the floor with my hair or making lipstick out of six hundred pounds of chewed chocolate. It's sort of this confusion...this misunderstanding that I find illuminating... I'm not talking about a kind of non-thinking or idiot savant attitude, but I'm talking about...the unconscious as a kind of a product of the conscious mind...and the conscious mind that's done a lot of work on this issue that is very aware of the way that I'm treated in the world as a woman. A conscious mind that sort of watches how gender plays itself out in the world. It's my belief that in liberating the imagination is the only way that I can envision some other possibility.







The gross and net result of it is that people who spent most of their natural lives riding iron bicycles over the rocky roadsteads get their personalities mixed up with the personalities of their bicycle as a result of the interchanging of the atoms of each of them and you would be surprised at the number of people in these parts who nearly are half people and half bicycles. They go on to discuss percentages: apparently the postman, due to the nature of his job which involves much bicycle-riding, is a full 71% bicycle. This also means that his bicycle is 71% human. When it gets to this stage, the bicycle will start sneaking inside to sit by the fire, and food will start disappearing. "If you let it go too far it will be the end of everything," says the Sergeant. "You would have bicycles wanting votes and they would get seats on the County Council."










Nora won a 2007 Bessie Performer Award for her performances during Urban Bush Women's Joyce season. In Dance Magazine's May 2008 issue, Eva Yaa Asantewaa writes, "Nora Chipaumire is a lioness--a regal, iconic presence hailed for her performances with Urban Bush Women as well as her own solo creations." The article continues to comment on Nora's law school degree and her decision to switch to contemporary dance so that she can take charge of how Africans are seen. Nora says, "Art can be transformative, reach a higher place in humanity without being dogmatic...for Africans, dance is a fundamental, democratic way to communicate."




There are moments in our lives , there are moments in our days, when we seem to see beyond the usual. Such are the moments of our greatest happiness. Such are the moments of our greatest wisdom. If one could but recall his vision by some sort of sign. It was in this hope that the arts were invented. Sign-posts on the way to what may be. Sign-posts toward greater knowledge. -Robert Henri


It occurred to me some time ago that among many of my art and academic friends, the success and viability of one's work is now measured in proportion to the accumulation of frequent flyer miles. The more we travel for work, the more we are called upon to provide institutions in other parts of the country and the world with our presence and services; the more we give into the logic of nomadism, one could say, as pressured by a mobilized capitalist economy, the more we are made to feel wanted, needed, validated, and relevant. It seems our very sense of self-worth is predicated more and more on our suffering through the of always traversing through elsewheres. Whether we enjoy it or not, we are culturally and economically rewarded for enduring the "wrong" place. It seems we're out of place all too often.
But what is a "wrong" place? How does one recognize it as such, as opposed to a "right" place? What do we really mean by these qualifying adjectives? Is being in the wrong place the same thing as being out of place? And what are the effects of such mis/displacements for art, subjectivity, and locational identities? In light of the intensified mobilization of bodies, information, images, and commodities on the one hand, and the greater and greater homogenization and standardization of places on the other (which, by the way, facilitates the smooth, unimpeded mobilization and circulation of these bodies, information, images, and commodities), I continue to wonder about the impact, both positive and negative, of the spatial and temporal experiences that such conditions engender not only in terms of cultural practice but more basically for our psyches, our sense of self, our sense of well-being, our sense of belonging to a place and a culture.