We would like to learn, and we are working on a book. This book is a classroom
||We would like to learn,
and we are working on a book.
The room it offers is circumscribed and structured by the book’s parameters:
format, binding, jacket, title page, layout, preface, postface, table of contents, captions, cross headings, intertitles, annotations, editorial notes, appendix, blurb, names and accessories.
This book is a classroom.
We invite you to play this classroom together with us—
a play to be played
indoors or out—
by a text or picture contribution;
as a professor, student, guest, friend, reader, lecturer, listener, assistant, staff, animal, as equipment, materials, furniture, architecture or sound.
What does it look like, this space of text and images?
We do not know.
We can only recognize the scaffolding of its construction and begin to fathom the negative space that it creates.
We are thinking of fluxes and streams of text and images that flow through it, that may interdigitate and fold into each other, or bounce. Maybe they are tracking preset paths; maybe they are digging out hidden paths or finding new paths by trespassing on the old ones, turning the story into a space without coordinates.
Maybe this space is located at the borders and within the splices of art, maybe it is a scaffold between (the borders of) other spaces and their parameters.
It is a space for art and theory in equal measure, as a zone of transaction, in which questions of the relationship and demarcations between the two can be addressed.
It is a space for reading and writing, of texts and images.
This room is being constructed by its contributions, it is being modeled by the filling of its parameters. The hinges of this construction might be functions within it that become as yet unknown parameters by the very act of reading them.
It is a stopover.