transit lounge will be back in Berlin + across Australia for 3 weeks in 2008. A partner event of transmediale.08, CONSPIRE...transit lounge 2008 will involve 6 artists working together (and separately) in Berlin, responding to the secret instructions and obstructions received from artists in Sydney, Melbourne, London and Paris, in a 4d online and real world game of exquisite corpse of video, sound, images and performance.
transit lounge will run from Jan 15th - Feb 4th, and will be open to the public in Berlin from Jan 31st at Program Gallery, Mitte.
Project artists include: Bianca Calandra, Robert Curgenven, Benjamin Ducroz, Katie Hepworth, Govinda Lange, Somaya Langley, Silvia Marzall, Kristina Matovic, Michael Prior, Jodi Rose, Sumugan Sivanesan, Anna Tautfest...with more to be announced shortly.
The project website will be launched in early 2008...in the meantime, updates can be found here.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
RE-PLACE BERLIN: A NEW PROJECT BY TRANSIT LOUNGE + PROGRAM
Commuting to work
Walking the dog around the block
Going to the open air market on sundays
Visiting a family on the weekend
The rituals of everyday life trace regular paths along streets and through buildings, organising the solids and voids of the built environment into narratives and patterns of association. Complicated by memory and social rituals, our experience of the city is of a dynamic place, a stage for public performances and private tragedies, of significant moments and the incredibly mundane. The habits, rituals, and actions of its population, the lived experiences within the city define it as something that is always current, always in constant, random movement.
RE-PLACE BERLIN is a web-based urban project that aims to reveal and celebrate the everyday rituals of Berlin’s inhabitants. For Phase I of the project, residents of Berlin are invited to map out frequent routes from their day-to-day living, recording the regular patterns and particular moments associated with this journey, offering others the opportunity to retrace the city in a way that directly relates to the lived experience of those who dwell there.
While commercially available tour packages tend to reduce a city to a handful of its most famous monuments, RE-PLACE BERLIN invites everyone to become a tourist of someone else's everyday ritual, to document and share some of their observations and discoveries made along the way. These insights, collected in the form of text and images, will be assembled on the website during Phase II – as points of intersection develop between the routes, the city will be remapped as a network of lived experiences.
Through the various stages of the project, RE-PLACE BERLIN seeks to provide a way to understand the city, not only through its built space, but in the way its residents are interacting with it in their daily lives – the routes we follow and the moments where these routes cross, overlap, run parallel or tangent to each other.
Please email us for more information and/or click here to participate.
RE-PLACE BERLIN was initiated by program and transit lounge in the summer of 2007.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
CATALOG DVD OUT NOW!
The DVD presents an overview of all exhibitions from January- June 2007, including videos, photos and sound excerpts. The booklet contains short bios of all participants and a brief intro text. If you would like to order your copy for €5 or $10 AUD please write to: transit@transitlounge.org
THANK YOU
After 5 months the transit lounge 2007 came to an end. We would like to thank all our participants as well as Kristina Matovic, Benjamin Ducroz, Austrade and Manfred Fox for their efforts in helping to make this an extremely successful event.
Berlin, July 2007 Miriam Mlecek+Katie Hepworth
Berlin, July 2007 Miriam Mlecek+Katie Hepworth
Sunday, July 08, 2007
sous les pavés, la plage
from Hugo's blog, Informalism, written somewhere in Bangkok.
"S.L.P.L.P! is designed to give anyone who enters it immediate control of a little piece of the public space. Passers by are given the chance to own a space simply by inhabiting it."
sous les pavés, la plage! in the basement from hugo and Vimeo.
"S.L.P.L.P! is designed to give anyone who enters it immediate control of a little piece of the public space. Passers by are given the chance to own a space simply by inhabiting it."
sous les pavés, la plage! in the basement from hugo and Vimeo.
Friday, June 15, 2007
spoken words
Tell me how many languages you speak, and I'll tell you how many people you are"
Armenian proverb. Told to me by a friend that I met in Italy when I used to live there, remembered now because I'm back. Immersed in Italian after the bubble of English that was the Transit Lounge Berlin (a result of my embarrassingly poor German) I've been thinking a lot about the way in which languages change and evolve and the different possibilities for expression - and the concepts that are impossible to express. In the last week I've moved from the place I used to live in the north, where the language keeps traces of the Napoleonic invasion of Europe, turning its grammar back to front to match the French, to Sicily where half my family is from, and where 500 years of Arab invasion have given us sounds that don't exist on the peninsula.
The words that languages miss say a lot about the culture that speaks it. There is no word for privacy in Italian. Slowly, without much conviction, and a degree of amusement, people are beginning to adopt the English word for this most Anglo-Saxon / northern European of concepts. And these thoughts remind me of why I like German, and Chinese, the sticking together of smaller parts (whether characters or words) to express new thoughts. The precision and expression that comes from that. Kathrin - you mentioned longing in your last post Tibetu that is since buried in the blog - I love that one of the German words is the same as addiction. Its so much stronger than the English.
Na?
Armenian proverb. Told to me by a friend that I met in Italy when I used to live there, remembered now because I'm back. Immersed in Italian after the bubble of English that was the Transit Lounge Berlin (a result of my embarrassingly poor German) I've been thinking a lot about the way in which languages change and evolve and the different possibilities for expression - and the concepts that are impossible to express. In the last week I've moved from the place I used to live in the north, where the language keeps traces of the Napoleonic invasion of Europe, turning its grammar back to front to match the French, to Sicily where half my family is from, and where 500 years of Arab invasion have given us sounds that don't exist on the peninsula.
The words that languages miss say a lot about the culture that speaks it. There is no word for privacy in Italian. Slowly, without much conviction, and a degree of amusement, people are beginning to adopt the English word for this most Anglo-Saxon / northern European of concepts. And these thoughts remind me of why I like German, and Chinese, the sticking together of smaller parts (whether characters or words) to express new thoughts. The precision and expression that comes from that. Kathrin - you mentioned longing in your last post Tibetu that is since buried in the blog - I love that one of the German words is the same as addiction. Its so much stronger than the English.
Na?
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
1:20, little babylons exhibition (23.05.07)
the photograph is guilty of many miss-deeds, lies and fabrications. as our culture increasingly visualizes, pictures pimp every product imaginable from bikinis to beach houses.
But, the medium is innocent, it is our implicit assumption that the photograph is ‘real’ that leads us astray.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Ben Milbourne
Tanja Kimme
Kristina Matovic
Benjamin Ducroz
Michael Prior
Extending their experiments into new ways of collaboration between photographers and architects, Ben Milbourne and Tanja Kimme are joined by Kristina Matovic, Benjamin Ducroz and Michael Prior, distorting our perception of space and time within the Transit Lounge, through photographic layering and video feedback.
Tanja Kimme
Kristina Matovic
Benjamin Ducroz
Michael Prior
Extending their experiments into new ways of collaboration between photographers and architects, Ben Milbourne and Tanja Kimme are joined by Kristina Matovic, Benjamin Ducroz and Michael Prior, distorting our perception of space and time within the Transit Lounge, through photographic layering and video feedback.
finissage - transit lounge 07
Do. 07.06.2007 19 Uhr
After 4 months in Berlin, the Transit Lounge is having its final show on Thursday 7th June. Come join us for the final show, 1:1 + a review of all of the work created by the (not so) transient Australian and European residents.
Music by Michael Prior following the show.
After 4 months in Berlin, the Transit Lounge is having its final show on Thursday 7th June. Come join us for the final show, 1:1 + a review of all of the work created by the (not so) transient Australian and European residents.
Music by Michael Prior following the show.
transit lounge
Josetti Höfe
Rungestr.22-24
10179 Berlin-Mitte
entry via riverside path
Saturday, June 02, 2007
PLATTENBAU ELEPHANTS
One of many video artefacts collected by Kenzee Patterson while exploring the centres and extremities of Berlin. This group of lazy elephants was found grazing in front of Plattenbau in the far East of the city, towards Marzhan. The videos uncover particular, unique and often absurd moments in the daily life of the city.
Shown in the (inaccessable) basement of the Josetti Hofe as part of the UNDERSCORE exhibition in conjunction with sound piece by Jodi Rose + Isabelle Cordeiro.
"For UNDERSCORE, the artists worked collaboratively and individually on a series of new works reflecting on their experiences of Berlin...The resulting sound, installation, and video works explore marginalised spaces and discarded objects...The underscore serves to underline the spaces in between, the ignored and the unnoticed..."
Shown in the (inaccessable) basement of the Josetti Hofe as part of the UNDERSCORE exhibition in conjunction with sound piece by Jodi Rose + Isabelle Cordeiro.
"For UNDERSCORE, the artists worked collaboratively and individually on a series of new works reflecting on their experiences of Berlin...The resulting sound, installation, and video works explore marginalised spaces and discarded objects...The underscore serves to underline the spaces in between, the ignored and the unnoticed..."
Friday, June 01, 2007
HERMAN AND THE PUNKS
"Sous les pavés... La plage" by Hugo Moline
A rogue beach pavilion takes to the streets to subvert kapital and urbanism`s unholy alliance of socio-spatial control. But will the people listen? Will anyone come out to play?
HERMAN AT GORLITZER
"Sous les pavés... La plage" by Hugo Moline
A rogue beach pavilion takes to the streets to subvert kapital and urbanism`s unholy alliance of socio-spatial control. But will the people listen? Will anyone come out to play?
Saturday, May 26, 2007
little babylons opening
"Sous les pavés... La plage" by Hugo Moline
rogue beach pavilion, monitors, video
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
1:20
Tanja Kimme and Benjamin Milbourne
slide projectors, data projector, slides, stop motion animation, props/remnants
Tanja Kimme and Benjamin Milbourne
slide projectors, data projector, slides, stop motion animation, props/remnants
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Tibebu
By Jane Haugh
Last Monday I drove 100 miles to a diner in Latham, New York, U.S.A. and sat down to eat with a bunch of people I didn’t know. Luckily, this is not a restaurant review because in the U.S., Diners are places full of deep fried foods and bad coffee. I went to meet these strangers not for the cuisine but because they have all adopted children from Ethiopia, a possibility my family is considering -- but this is not, strictly, an adoption story either.
A year ago, I would not have been able to identify a child as Ethiopian as apposed to African American or Caribe. Most of the darker skinned children at the diner last Monday had come from Addis Ababa by way of an agency called Adoption Advocates International. AAI runs an orphanage in Addis called Layla House, which I visited in December. I spent a week with the waiting children there and I now find it startlingly clear when I see an Ethiopian face – in Latham at the diner I was clearly watching Ethiopia eating, laughing, talking in American voices while looking at me with Ethiopian eyes. I had expected to find out more about adoption but instead, I sat with a silly grin on my face, happy to be back in Addis, glad to hold a baby for his mother, or pretend to steal greasy French fries from a toddler – ignoring the adults completely.
My new ability to identify ethnic origins aside, time in Africa taught me something subtle about our proximity to each other. When human beings travel, we don’t just move through space -- our bodies transiting through the airport to the taxi to the guest house and back again. Each hand shaken and smile exchanged make the world less strange for all of us. In Addis, at Layla House, I often felt at a loss for what to do. I don’t speak Amharic and these children are from a culture alien to me. In Europe, at least, there are people like me, middle class people with similar hopes for their children, attached to similar comforts (like safe drinking water!), and at least the same alphabet if not a common language. Africa is another matter. Africa is an idea, a cradle, a horn, a great and terrible river, an inexhaustible desert. Before I went and saw it for myself, Africa was mostly a place of bugs and disease and famine and war. And orphans.
There are 1.3 million orphans. Today. In Ethiopia. It sounds and feels impossible to comprehend. It is. But having landed in that place with those particular people around me, I watched the workers at Layla House and began to learn from them a new language, one child at a time.
Mentasinot, Leuld, Honi, Tibebu.
On my first day at Layla, I met and fell in love with a five year old with impossibly long eyelashes named Mentasinot. He’s the youngest of four siblings and waiting for someone in the US to give him (together with his siblings) a hug and a bed and some food. He was an excellent flirt, looking at me from under his eyelashes with a shy smile that broke into a huge grin at my slightest encouragement. In despair, that first day, I wondered who could take four children? When I went to say good-bye on my last day, as I stood knee deep in toddlers I had come to know, I wondered who could not. The day after we left, a couple came to pick up a sibling group of five.
Now, even though I live half way around the world, I can still feel Mentasinot waiting. I smile whenever I look at photos of my trip and one of him comes up.
Another little smile I met is called Leuld, a three year old whose mother died just before we arrived. Each time I walked into Layla, he would find me and hold his arms up. I carried him for hours as he cried and cried some more. When he was up for it, I bounced him on my knee and sang silly songs, then he’d dissolve again, his face hot and damp and tucked beneath my chin off and on for days. The only thing that could distract him was laundry. He loved to help the laundresses and, despite an enormous workload, they patiently let him. When I got home it was a shock to hear people debate the downside of interracial adoption. What were they talking about? Sure, I felt inadequate to the task of comforting Leuld. But not to pick him up because our skins are different colors? He has gone home to a family in Seattle, Washington since then and I hope his new room is full of sunshine and... well, laundry.
On my way home, I had the amazing privilege of escorting a seven-month-old named Honi to her new mother in New York City. I scooped her up off a blanket on the floor of the nursery in Addis Ababa late on a Friday night. The woman who had spent the most time feeding and changing and tickling and rocking and feeding her again, was overwhelmed with sudden tears and had to step out of the room while they changed Honi into a “Let’s Go Mets” outfit they had been saving (the Mets baseball team also has its home in New York). I followed the young caregiver out to where she stood breathing hard, just outside the door and gave her my hand. For one still moment, she looked into my eyes and pressed my palm to her heart. Then she ducked her head and tore herself away.
In my house right now, we are waiting for a referral of a single male child, aged 2 to 6 years old. We say we are waiting for “A Tibebu” after another boy I would have put in my suitcase if I could have. That tibebu has since found a home but another tibebu will, I hope, find his way here to mine. He will be my child then, surely, as much as the 6 and 8 year old girls who crawl into bed with me when they have a bad dream and write me gloriously misspelled mothers’ day cards, and happen to have come from my body.
So you see, the world is moving in next door. Not down the street or into the next arrondissement or county or stadt teil. Right next door or even into your very own house. And it’s not just through adoption. Commerce and friendship, and simply travel itself are changing the neighborhood. And the neighborhood is stretching, getting larger and larger -- mine, certainly, encompasses Addis Ababa. I now know a whole bunch of people who aren’t “like” my anglo-european self. And my hope is that each child I held or tickled or fed will be less afraid of their new world, my world, of (mostly white) America. I went to Africa expecting to be overwhelmed, I came home feeling privileged and full of wonder. I didn’t save a single child but I sure hugged a whole bunch of them.
And somewhere on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, there’s a little girl growing up as a New Yorker. I handed little Honi over at Kennedy Airport to a single mom who had brought her own mother for support. I asked some questions about her new life and, having grown up myself in New York, I could suddenly see her future spread before me. From a floor in Addis Ababa where women die by the thousands giving birth on street corners and there are no street lights, from the hands of a woman with beautiful black eyes and a huge heart who speaks an ancient language – to New York City and a nutritious diet and good healthcare and a closet full of beautiful clothes, to another woman with a huge heart and a manicure and great hopes and plans – to the possibility of a future.
Because I traveled and met Honi and Leuld and Mentasinot and Tibebu, Africa has moved closer than it was before, certainly as close as the Diner in Latham, New York. I am five months back from Ethiopia and, this past Monday as I drove to eat bad food I didn’t think much about the children that would be there. I wanted mostly to connect with the adults for the advice I’ll need from them in the days after my tibebu comes home. But although I share formative experiences with all the white American adults around that table, I was more pleased, gratified, in fact relaxed by the un-foreignness of the children from Ethiopia. What was exotic, has become domestic. What was so alien, is now conceivable as my own family. I am more deeply at home in the world than I was before my trip and for that, I am indebted to the times we live in with the easy possibility of travel in a shrinking world, and to the children of Addis Ababa.
Last Monday I drove 100 miles to a diner in Latham, New York, U.S.A. and sat down to eat with a bunch of people I didn’t know. Luckily, this is not a restaurant review because in the U.S., Diners are places full of deep fried foods and bad coffee. I went to meet these strangers not for the cuisine but because they have all adopted children from Ethiopia, a possibility my family is considering -- but this is not, strictly, an adoption story either.
A year ago, I would not have been able to identify a child as Ethiopian as apposed to African American or Caribe. Most of the darker skinned children at the diner last Monday had come from Addis Ababa by way of an agency called Adoption Advocates International. AAI runs an orphanage in Addis called Layla House, which I visited in December. I spent a week with the waiting children there and I now find it startlingly clear when I see an Ethiopian face – in Latham at the diner I was clearly watching Ethiopia eating, laughing, talking in American voices while looking at me with Ethiopian eyes. I had expected to find out more about adoption but instead, I sat with a silly grin on my face, happy to be back in Addis, glad to hold a baby for his mother, or pretend to steal greasy French fries from a toddler – ignoring the adults completely.
My new ability to identify ethnic origins aside, time in Africa taught me something subtle about our proximity to each other. When human beings travel, we don’t just move through space -- our bodies transiting through the airport to the taxi to the guest house and back again. Each hand shaken and smile exchanged make the world less strange for all of us. In Addis, at Layla House, I often felt at a loss for what to do. I don’t speak Amharic and these children are from a culture alien to me. In Europe, at least, there are people like me, middle class people with similar hopes for their children, attached to similar comforts (like safe drinking water!), and at least the same alphabet if not a common language. Africa is another matter. Africa is an idea, a cradle, a horn, a great and terrible river, an inexhaustible desert. Before I went and saw it for myself, Africa was mostly a place of bugs and disease and famine and war. And orphans.
There are 1.3 million orphans. Today. In Ethiopia. It sounds and feels impossible to comprehend. It is. But having landed in that place with those particular people around me, I watched the workers at Layla House and began to learn from them a new language, one child at a time.
Mentasinot, Leuld, Honi, Tibebu.
On my first day at Layla, I met and fell in love with a five year old with impossibly long eyelashes named Mentasinot. He’s the youngest of four siblings and waiting for someone in the US to give him (together with his siblings) a hug and a bed and some food. He was an excellent flirt, looking at me from under his eyelashes with a shy smile that broke into a huge grin at my slightest encouragement. In despair, that first day, I wondered who could take four children? When I went to say good-bye on my last day, as I stood knee deep in toddlers I had come to know, I wondered who could not. The day after we left, a couple came to pick up a sibling group of five.
Now, even though I live half way around the world, I can still feel Mentasinot waiting. I smile whenever I look at photos of my trip and one of him comes up.
Another little smile I met is called Leuld, a three year old whose mother died just before we arrived. Each time I walked into Layla, he would find me and hold his arms up. I carried him for hours as he cried and cried some more. When he was up for it, I bounced him on my knee and sang silly songs, then he’d dissolve again, his face hot and damp and tucked beneath my chin off and on for days. The only thing that could distract him was laundry. He loved to help the laundresses and, despite an enormous workload, they patiently let him. When I got home it was a shock to hear people debate the downside of interracial adoption. What were they talking about? Sure, I felt inadequate to the task of comforting Leuld. But not to pick him up because our skins are different colors? He has gone home to a family in Seattle, Washington since then and I hope his new room is full of sunshine and... well, laundry.
On my way home, I had the amazing privilege of escorting a seven-month-old named Honi to her new mother in New York City. I scooped her up off a blanket on the floor of the nursery in Addis Ababa late on a Friday night. The woman who had spent the most time feeding and changing and tickling and rocking and feeding her again, was overwhelmed with sudden tears and had to step out of the room while they changed Honi into a “Let’s Go Mets” outfit they had been saving (the Mets baseball team also has its home in New York). I followed the young caregiver out to where she stood breathing hard, just outside the door and gave her my hand. For one still moment, she looked into my eyes and pressed my palm to her heart. Then she ducked her head and tore herself away.
In my house right now, we are waiting for a referral of a single male child, aged 2 to 6 years old. We say we are waiting for “A Tibebu” after another boy I would have put in my suitcase if I could have. That tibebu has since found a home but another tibebu will, I hope, find his way here to mine. He will be my child then, surely, as much as the 6 and 8 year old girls who crawl into bed with me when they have a bad dream and write me gloriously misspelled mothers’ day cards, and happen to have come from my body.
So you see, the world is moving in next door. Not down the street or into the next arrondissement or county or stadt teil. Right next door or even into your very own house. And it’s not just through adoption. Commerce and friendship, and simply travel itself are changing the neighborhood. And the neighborhood is stretching, getting larger and larger -- mine, certainly, encompasses Addis Ababa. I now know a whole bunch of people who aren’t “like” my anglo-european self. And my hope is that each child I held or tickled or fed will be less afraid of their new world, my world, of (mostly white) America. I went to Africa expecting to be overwhelmed, I came home feeling privileged and full of wonder. I didn’t save a single child but I sure hugged a whole bunch of them.
And somewhere on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, there’s a little girl growing up as a New Yorker. I handed little Honi over at Kennedy Airport to a single mom who had brought her own mother for support. I asked some questions about her new life and, having grown up myself in New York, I could suddenly see her future spread before me. From a floor in Addis Ababa where women die by the thousands giving birth on street corners and there are no street lights, from the hands of a woman with beautiful black eyes and a huge heart who speaks an ancient language – to New York City and a nutritious diet and good healthcare and a closet full of beautiful clothes, to another woman with a huge heart and a manicure and great hopes and plans – to the possibility of a future.
Because I traveled and met Honi and Leuld and Mentasinot and Tibebu, Africa has moved closer than it was before, certainly as close as the Diner in Latham, New York. I am five months back from Ethiopia and, this past Monday as I drove to eat bad food I didn’t think much about the children that would be there. I wanted mostly to connect with the adults for the advice I’ll need from them in the days after my tibebu comes home. But although I share formative experiences with all the white American adults around that table, I was more pleased, gratified, in fact relaxed by the un-foreignness of the children from Ethiopia. What was exotic, has become domestic. What was so alien, is now conceivable as my own family. I am more deeply at home in the world than I was before my trip and for that, I am indebted to the times we live in with the easy possibility of travel in a shrinking world, and to the children of Addis Ababa.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
rawked!
hay guise!
jarst wanna sei, ewe guise awl rawked sew hurd inn berlin eit TRANZIT LOWNJ! Leik tewtally! eespeschalee jewdee, kristeena, kaytee ant thad hipee go-vindar - sew kuhl!
jarst dewing anutha Awstraylean tewer nau - ant ets rawkin tew!
sew, wurd up yew guise!
rawk arn!
:)r
ps blarg mie tew!
http://outbackfella.blogspot.com/
yar!
jarst wanna sei, ewe guise awl rawked sew hurd inn berlin eit TRANZIT LOWNJ! Leik tewtally! eespeschalee jewdee, kristeena, kaytee ant thad hipee go-vindar - sew kuhl!
jarst dewing anutha Awstraylean tewer nau - ant ets rawkin tew!
sew, wurd up yew guise!
rawk arn!
:)r
ps blarg mie tew!
http://outbackfella.blogspot.com/
yar!
Monday, May 21, 2007
23.05.07 19-22:00 LITTLE BABYLONS
1:20 by Tanja Kimme/Ben Milbourne
An open investigation of new methods of collaboration for photographer/artist and architect, the 1:20 project established a conceptual and practical feedback loop: site-artiface-site.Generating hybrid methodologies and highlighting mis-truths hidden in the image.
An open investigation of new methods of collaboration for photographer/artist and architect, the 1:20 project established a conceptual and practical feedback loop: site-artiface-site.Generating hybrid methodologies and highlighting mis-truths hidden in the image.
"Sous les pavés... La plage" by Hugo Moline
A rogue beach pavilion takes to the streets to subvert kapital and urbanism`s unholy alliance of socio-spatial control. But will the people listen? Will anyone come out to play?
A rogue beach pavilion takes to the streets to subvert kapital and urbanism`s unholy alliance of socio-spatial control. But will the people listen? Will anyone come out to play?
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Monday, May 14, 2007
Monday, May 07, 2007
Saturday, May 05, 2007
26 surf street
I was recently involved documenting this ephemeral intervention project.
A group of 8 artists had the rare opportunity to do whatever they wished with a house, located at 26 Surf Street at Merrick’s Beach in Victoria Australia, only a week before it got demolished. The group had met a few times, and had loosely discussed possible ideas, but there was no common project that necessarily united them. Some members knew the owners of the house, others came to the house as strangers, armed with tools and industrial equipment..
http://26surfstreet.blogspot.com/
A group of 8 artists had the rare opportunity to do whatever they wished with a house, located at 26 Surf Street at Merrick’s Beach in Victoria Australia, only a week before it got demolished. The group had met a few times, and had loosely discussed possible ideas, but there was no common project that necessarily united them. Some members knew the owners of the house, others came to the house as strangers, armed with tools and industrial equipment..
http://26surfstreet.blogspot.com/
Friday, May 04, 2007
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