Jeg har en jobb som innebærer en viss bejubling av “den digitale transformasjon”, men skal jeg først være ærlig, får den meg i all hovedsak til å le.

Lenge og hjertelig.

Photo: Turkey’s dictator Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. Photograph: Wikipedia.

Not a big fan of the self-absorption of our time, one can restrain one’s desire to share selfies at all hours, or actually all weeks, months or seasons (except perhaps every other year), but found oneself utterly unable to curb one’s impulse to publish this piece of vector graphics, indeed based on a rare selfie. For the mere fun of it, of course.

Posting a picture I shot of the below Michal Trpák umbrella man last year, I’m ashamed to admit that I completely ignored the above lady, hanging practically next to him – as well as the fly on the wall.

Unless, of course, she decided to join her fellow umbrella user, some time between last summer and two weeks ago. You never know.

Umbrella man, Michal Trpák.

En beklagelse til vestlendinger alle vegne

Man bebor både Vestlandet, og det som er tenkt å bli den kunstige konstruksjonen “Vestlandet”, utgått av en gang forna da’rs Hordaland og Sogn og Fjordane – noe man også har gjort de åtte siste årene.

Rett som det er, kan praten blant de lokale, eller i svigerfamilien, gå om en vestnorsk eller verre, bergensk, notabilitet eller andre fenomener, mens Deres ydmyke blogger, med påtatt interesse, later som han forstår hvem eller hva de diskuterer. For skjønt man altså både er født og oppvokst mellem de syv fjellene, som engang omkranser Bergen, eier man hverken interesse for det eller dem som rører seg der – eller på Vestlandet for øvrig.

Ikke desto mindre er det ikke fritt for at min manglende interesse for Vestlandet og det vestnorske, ikke gjør meg mindre vestnorsk – hvor mye jeg enn distanserer meg fra landsdelen og dens vesen. Det står med andre ord ikke til å nekte at jeg er født i Bergen, som den gang riktig nok ikke inngikk i Hordaland, og dermed kjenner på en trang til å overbringe sunnmøringer og rogalendinger de dypeste beklagelser, for mine fylkesfrenders grenseløse imbesilitet.

Det hjelper så lite at jeg, i all min gjøren og mitt vesen, har distansert meg fra alt som er vestnorsk, hordalandsk inkludert, når utenforstående tar meg for en av dem.

Som forebyggende tiltak utstedes herved min uforbeholdne beklagelse, til vestlendinger nord og syd for de to fylkene, på vegne av en skokk regionpolitiske dilettanter jeg ikke representerer – hvor mye de enn måtte tro de representerer meg.

Skjønt jeg nok i virkeligheten toer mine lanker.

K on Sun

Fully aware that I’ve posted both a photograph and a YouTube clip of this before, the last time we visited, a year and a half ago, David Černý’s 39-ton kinetic Kafka head didn’t move, so filmed this some two weeks ago.

In a tweet yesterday (please forgive its – Norwegian – language) I put it to my fellow tweeters that the longer an occupying force (Spain) is able to hold an occupied possession (Catalonia, since 1714), the bigger the chance of the occupation’s international approval:

Most of those protesting the statement objected that the occupation has lasted too long for the assertion to hold true.

Also see: Let Catalonia remain occupied, if they so desire

The baby, 2001. The sum total of ten of David Černý’s babies, 350 centimetres long and 260 centimetres tall, have been put up on different sites in Prague. This one, along with two others, on Kampa.

Il Commendatore, 2000, Anna Chromy (b 1940).

Bronze sculpture in memory of Mozart’s Don Giovanni premiere in Prague on 29 October 1787, put up in front of the National theatre, in which it premiered.

Ai Weiwei: Law of the Journey

 

Visited (in the Prague National Gallery, Trade Fair Palace) on 21 October 2017.

The exhibition Law of the Journey is Ai Weiwei’s multi-layered, epic statement on the human condition: an artist’s expression of empathy and moral concern in the face of continuous, uncontrolled destruction and carnage. Hosted in a building of symbolic historical charge – a former 1928 Trade Fair Palace which in 1939–1941 served as an assembly point for Jews before their deportation to the concentration camp in Terezín [aka Theresienstadt, blogger’s remark] – it works as a site-specific parable, a form of (public) speech, carrying a transgressive power of cathartic experience, but also a rhetoric of failure, paradox and resignation. Like Noah’s Ark, a monumental rubber boat is a contemporary vessel of forced exodus, floating hopelessly within the immense, oceanic abyss of the Gallery’s post-industrial, cathedral-like Big Hall. Set for a journey across the unknown and the infinite, an overcrowded life raft carries ‘the vanguard of their people’, as Hannah Arendt described the illegal and the stateless in her seminal 1943 essay, We Refugees: over 300 figures, squeezed within the confines of a temporary shelter, undertake a journey ‘far out into the unnavigated’, fleeing violence and danger.

— Source: The Prague National Gallery

All pictures blogger’s own.