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AG2017_1070038 [a]nd lovely is the rose

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AG2017_1070038
Et in Arcadia ego

The rainbow comes and goes,
            And lovely is the rose;
            The moon doth with delight
     Look round her when the heavens are bare;
            Waters on a starry night
            Are beautiful and fair;
     The sunshine is a glorious birth;
     But yet I know, where’er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.

Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood, William Wordsworth

I was a field

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THE ORACLE: A Curatorial Diary from LJ by Chus Martínez. Mousse. Series from December 6, 2024 through June 6, 2025.

The 36th Ljubljana Biennale of Graphic Arts, 6. 6. ? 12. 10. 2025

Hanlu Zhang’s review in ArtForum.

The 36th Ljubljana Biennale of Graphic Arts develops through two symbolically complementary images. At the forefront is a simple, striking title that evokes magic, imagination, and fantasy: “The Oracle.” Alongside it stands the figure of the puppet, which pays homage to Žogica Marogica (Speckles the Ball), a beloved Slovenian puppet character from the 1950s. This image animates conversations around power, control, and autonomy. The interplay between the two symbols articulates a view of the politics of art that, while not entirely new, feels renewed in today’s context. Yet it’s not without its risks.

The Biennale reiterates an ancient belief that artists wield a divine power to bring new worlds into being. Goddesses, ghosts, robots, human/animal hybrids, and of course puppets populate the exhibition. The puppets especially enchant. However, by the fourth or fifth encounter—especially when they appear in different works sharing the same space—the spell begins to wear thin. Also potent throughout the show is the power of words, the practice of the oracular voice. Beyond an abundance of curatorial texts, banners bearing verses by Slovenian poet Svetlana Makarovi? punctuate each venue, adding texture to the exhibition’s linguistic terrain.

In another dream, I was a field

and you combed through me
searching for something

you only thought you had lost.

~

What have we left at the altar of sorrow?

What blessed thing will we leave tomorrow?

Omens, Cecilia Llompart

not quite what one would choose

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“& from wherever thou willst thou gatherest me” – “steel from the belly of Aries,/Or that cold fire which plays/above the sea/White sow munching acorns in graveyards where roots/of oaks wrap powdery bones of the devas./ There, suckle at my tits. Crucify/me like a beetle on yr desk. Nod out/admist the rustling play of lizards, recognize/ epics the lichen whisper. read twigs/& leaves as they fall/ Nurture my life with quartz & alabaster/& drink my blood from a vein in my lower leg/ I neigh, I muzzle you, I explode/ your certain myth/ I crawl slimy from a cave beneath yr heart/ I hiss, I spit oracles at yr front door/in a language you have forgotten. I unroll/the scroll of yr despair, I bind yr children with it./ It is for this you love me/It is for this/you seek me everywhere/ Because I gave you apples out of season/Because I gnaw at the boundaries of the light.”

Diane di Prima, Loba. via

Sweetheart

when you break thru

you’ll find

a poet here

not quite what one would choose.

I won’t promise

you’ll never go hungry

or that you won’t be sad

on this gutted

breaking

globe

but I can show you

baby

enough to love

to break your heart

forever

Song for Baby-O, Unborn, Diane di Prima