Artists insisted on cutting through nostalgia to force the audience to grapple with the many realities of the house.
Biogal exposes the seemingly self-evident logics of sex and the art institution as an aesthetic of bareness that requires its own artful response.
The messy friction of a good party was achieved, even if questions remain.
She stutters and spits, wrestling with each syllable. A linguistic motor is erupting inside of her, driving continuous speech. Text and signifiers appear as a dualistic avalanche, an unnatural fit in this body.
