May 2011 Archives
http://moravabooks.com/en/mrv07/
“My Grandma’s Recipes” is a collection of 35 recipes that artist David Horvitz’s grandmother has collected throughout her life. Born in Northern California to Japanese Immigrants, and having spent time in the Amache Internment Camp during the Second World War, Kay Maruyama’s (Horvitz’s grandmother) collection of recipes reflect the second and third generation culture of Japanese Americans living on the West Coast.
Most of the recipes come out of sharing, similar to how digital
information today is shared. Some are clipped out of newspapers, others
given by friends or family, and some typed or hand written by Horvitz’s
grandmother. The recipes are stored in a small box inside of his
grandmother’s kitchen, in Los Angeles, California, where she has lived
most her life. Many of these recipes Horvitz remembers eating at family
events and holidays.
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Editing: David Horvitz, Honza Zamojski
Design: Honza Zamojski
ISBN: 978-83-926924-7-8
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format: 135 x 90 x 22 mm, 35 loose sheets, offset printing, cardboard box
color: fullkolor + Pantone 185 (box)
edition: 200
language: english
prize: 8 EURO / 10 $+ shipping
SHOP
or
ORDER BY EMAIL
morava@moravabooks.com
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This book has been executed with the participation of the resources from
the 2010-2011 grant programme of the Fundusz Promocji Twórczości, The
Ministry of Culture and National Heritage.
——————-2011 CC License: CC BY-NC-SA
Exhibitions
Launch Party & Exhibition Opening
Thursday, May 19th from 6 – 9 PM
25 Central Park West & 62nd Street
Manhattan, New York 10023
Conveyor Magazine is pleased to announce the release of its very first issue! Join us for the launch party on Thursday, May 19th from 6 to 9 PM at 25 CPW in Manhattan. The evening also marks the opening of Undressing the World, an exhibition highlighting new work from selected artists featured in the first issue.
Aaron Gustafson, Arthur Ou, Christine Shank, Claudia Sohrens, David Horvitz, Elizabeth Bick, George Pitts, Haley Bueschlen, Hrvoje Slovenc, Laura Bell, Leif Huron, Nicholas Alan Cope, Penelope Umbrico, Simone Douglas, Sophie Barbasch, Stephen Cardinale and "Conveyor Magazine Presents 'Undressing the World'" curated by Christina Labey at 25CPW
25 Central Park West, New York (View Map)
May 19-22, 2011
I want to write some thoughts for you before they escape me. Last Sunday, I arrived in Paris. I came by train, arriving at Gare du Nord just as the sun was setting. I spent the last part of the journey watching the sun become more vibrantly red as it descended upon the horizon. When I exited the train and walked into the station, I was still carrying the sun's image in my retinal memory. It was like a small ball of light that fell on everything I pointed my eyes at. Upon looking at the lamps in the station, I noticed how similar they were to the ball of light I was carrying with me. It was as if the station was filled with little suns that rise when the real sun disappears.
Two days prior, last Friday, I went to the Musée Kröller-Müller in Holland. After visiting the museum and attempting to look at every sculpture in the sculpture garden, I became a little tired. I rode the white bike around looking for a place to lie in the grass to take a nap. I found a sundial, and decided that was the perfect place to lie under the sun. The part of the sundial that casts the shadow is called the gnomon, which points towards the North Star. The shadow of the gnomon falls upon a number, in which one can read the day's time. In a sense, this shadow was the first time that time had an image. Unlike a clock, it only worked in the daytime (and only when the weather was good). But also unlike a clock, dependent on self-contained mechanics to function, the sundial depended on a larger celestial relationship. It developed out of a relationship with the skies. Time was inseparable from the sun, the moon, and the stars. This inseparability, this relationship with the skies, is no longer.
I have been spending my nights in Paris wandering through the streets (like many before me). Though a familiar sight, my eyes have been attracted to the shadows on the ground. In particular, the shadows from narrow objects which stand perpendicular to the street: poles, trees, posts, etc... These shadows, resulting from the lights of street lamps, stores, and advertisements, stay motionless for the duration of the night. Like the shadow of a gnomon, they tell a particular time. Because they are motionless, it is as if time was standing still. But I feel this observation is too quick. The gnomon did not only tell what time it was. It stood as a mediator between the skies and the Earth. These shadows are indicative of a lost relationship. Clocks, the city, the ATM machines that never sleep, they follow no on-and-off rhythms but the mechanization of constant perpetuity. They do not allow time for rest. They do not follow the sun, and allow for the stars to come out. And it is these same lights, the ones that cast the shadows of motionless gnomons at our feet that obscure the sky above. They are why our nights have no stars in the sky.
Sometimes, I imagine a blackout occurring across the city after the rain comes and washes away all the pollution in the air. We could sit in the middle of a boulevard and stare up at the sky watching the time pass with the stars.