When I was fourteen I followed my mom to an energy healer. It was her first appointment and I sat in while they spoke. I remember the healer describing a “gift,” as she called it: the ability to bring together and hold seemingly disparate things. This was something to aspire to. I see now that the word “hold” was important, rather than “bind,” as these elements—ones that at first glance seem to have nothing to do with each other—aren’t fixed. Rather, they vibrate in relation to each other, their connections elastic, squishy, malleable. In my head I pictured someone cupping their arms as if to embrace a beach ball, their hands gently corralling a group of floating objects. She apologized for being vague; it wasn’t a particularly seductive concept for a teenager to grasp. But she emphasized the agility needed to do such a seemingly intangible task with grace.

Now, this “gift” makes more sense to me. It makes sense when I look at your work. I imagine each of you has a floating pool of bits and parts, expertly tended to, expertly kept. I imagine this archive follows you around from day to day and year to year. I remember the healer describing her process: like submerging deeper and deeper into a river, as she called it. Each strata offering a new perspective into someone’s energetic makeup. There’s this flow. And the river is the container for all of its constituent parts. 

To extend the metaphor—I’m thinking—what if each of you had some special type of glue on your fingers as you worked? It would stretch like a piece of slime as you retrieve items from your pool, leaving a thin yet unbroken line between what you touch and your body. What if we could see the sinews of your archive’s many parts, their sources and referents—the sticky tendrils tracking their travels. It would spin a complex web of correspondences. I wonder if the healer would get stuck in a web like that, or if, like an evidence board, lines could be followed, delineating clear routes and patterns.

So when, then, do several individual parts become a “piece”? The constant movement of your work, the flow, can dissolve that distinction between a sketch and a final product. I like this idea of floating. It seems to me as if you’re framing a passing moment rather than sealing a rigid final product. It’s a stop along a timeline, but not a linear one. Instead, the energetic reverberations—the kind that the healer could step into and read—expand outward. They bloat, shimmy and cascade from each assembly you present. Maybe if something is never fixed, it never has to end.  


A Conversation With Marlon Kroll


Documentation of Marlon Kroll at soon.tw available here.

Maya – Muted and strange, olive, dust coloured, comma, basic and new

Marlon – I’m happy you said olive, I think that’s true. I think that’s a perfect summary. 

Maya – Mutedly strange

Marlon – Strange but approachable, not strange like an alien, like a webbed, I feel you

Maya – It’s very naturally strange

Marlon – It is strange because of the shapes, but it’s approachable because it’s ceramic. I think there’s a comforting relationship with ceramics because of ceramics in the home, ceramics in everyday life. 

Maya – And the shapes are strange but organic.

Marlon – Always very smooth lines. 

Maya – So what was the process like, how did you run yourself making these?

Marlon – Well, everything starts as an inventory of objects. The beginning is establishing, usually months before hand, a bunch of objects that i want to make. Along the way, some are clear. Like this one, the tall spine against the wall, I knew. I wanted to make something graphic and taller than anything I’d ever done before. And usually along the way, since it’s ceramic, things break. For really, it’s kind of impossible to have a plan. Which seems like a stressful situation from a commercial standpoint. It’s all loosely assembled. It’s hard to make units, as opposed to things that seem temporary. Like this thing is impossible to duplicate, impossible to sell. It will never live in the same way again. It is very unlikely that they will ever exist in this same configuration again. 

Maya – It seems like the intimacy of the objects compounded in the room has the impact of sculpture, like raises the awareness of them. 

Marlon – Maybe, cause they feel like these everyday objects, though abstracted. I’m curious. 

Maya – It’s pretty personal though, just a comment, that these pieces feel so intimate. The heightened state, the state of intimacy that there is with them, feels like one that I think is only possible in solitude, or like during sex. 

Marlon – True, yes. 

Maya – And I saw that one is called dick duck or something. 

Marlon – Dick duck penis. It’s this one, on the radiator. 

Maya – That coil?

Marlon – Cause have you seen a duck’s penis? They’re really long and they spiral like that. 

Maya – Weird

Marlon – I thought you might say something about Jeba. She’s comes into, into the work sometimes in other ways.

Marlon – They are actually unresolved  

Maya – Unresolved, cause the water evaporated?

Marlon – That’s not why it’s unresolved though, that’s actually the crux of the show and a lot of things that I am working towards. It’s staining as a force of mark-making. It’s leaving materials on their own, not forcing things. I relate to that in a few ways— staining as making a stain, staining as something that happens through time by itself. This is like the rust of a bolt on a kiln, something you could never replicate. Staining as something that is not desired, something broken. So this is something I am really excited about. It brings together the repetitive use of objects, drinking. And the things that happen naturally that are beautiful. Like you leave your coffee cup out in your living room and it evaporates; you have an evaporation drawing. It can be beautiful. So that’s what that is. It’s kind of like rings in a tree in some ways, though it depends on the day, sometimes it’s more humid, there’s a thicker line. 

So these pots were to be large pieces for evaporation drawings though they haven’t happened yet. 

Maya – The slight surprise of seeing water in there was so effective. They are almost like shoes or skins, very visceral. 

Marlon – I do want them to feel slightly weird, to engage people, so you could have your own experience. That’s definitely my goal. Thank you. 


Chris Andrews —
Touching the image softly: On Documentation Images and Artistic Labour

“The global art market’s capacity for care is somewhat, shall we say, limited.”[1]

The art market’s lack of care has been met by the leisurely pace of the art institution; searching for the right words to sign-off the email to the museum that will probably not be met with response. We get used to its familiar processes of inaction, but still labour for its recognition. Proposing to see yourself in the image documentation you begin to press your hand into each image, hoping it leaves an impression on each surface: a mark of labour, of touch. How do we bring touch, or care, back into the contemporary art market? As put succinctly in the introduction essay to What’s Love (or Care, Intimacy, Warmth, Affection) Got to Do with It? published by e-flux, love has everything to do with it: “Love is a commodity and a fetish but it is not often traded seriously enough on our intellectual markets or kept in high enough quantity in our theoretical stockpiles. We’d like to encourage a move toward bringing love back in.”2 Is there love in the images that scour the internet platforms for contemporary art? Delving into our interactions with images through the tender touch-screen, poking at the post-Internet environment that is filled with a steady influx of images, this essay wages the new currency and cultural value of documentation images. A critical inquiry into the post-Internet, post-care, even post-touch global art market, snapping into view are biopolitical concerns, issues of precarity, differing forms of ability, artistic labour, touch and the performativity of the touch­ screen.

Within the contemporary art world, the importance and value of photo documentation (installation images of exhibitions and works of art) has become increasingly prominent. This can be seen through the attention and cultural weight given to platforms such as Art Viewer and Contemporary Art Daily, where the cultural capital of these images has become hyper-valued. Problems surface in the lack inherent in these images: photo documentation is void of artistic labour. This lack is ever-present in the contemporary art world too, both in the representation and support of, artistic labour. To illustrate this absence is to make visible the labour that has previously been rendered invisible, or been continuously devalued. Proposing that how we view these images is perhaps some tender, intimate process with this soft touch: finger pads scroll the moon-face of the screen, this in turn further removes or distances any nitty-gritty or any sweat, any markings of labour that produced the image. Documentation images are thus precarious: instability seeps out, as they lack all of the components that hold them together, or, all the hands that assembled them.

Positions of Precarity, or, a Shaky Finicky Line Impressed into the Skin

Fracture, instability and shakiness have become a defining feeling of image-culture, but this performativity in the scroll of the touch-screen adds a new feeling of how to know an image through touch, perhaps restoring care with it. How do we, then, restore this care, acknowledge this labour, to the producer of the image? How does precarity play into these movements or negotiations?

Judith Butler’s update to her concept of gender performativity includes discussions of precarity and its positionings. This is important here as it leaves room to expand on the politics of ability and biopolitical concerns as they relate to precarity. “Performativity was, to be sure, an account of agency, and precarity seems to focus on conditions that threaten life in ways that appear to be outside of one’s control” (Butler 1). The threats, the infections, the things that impose or propose to harm the body are all present in agency, precarity is always present in agency, as if in some negotiation with the forces that push back on the movements of the body. Bodies differing from those typically represented, have become mirages in the biopolitical sphere through institutional deflection or even neglect. Their occupation of space causes visibility and invisibility to vibrate and shake, collapse and slip through finger pads.

As put in the first issue of MICE Magazine, it should be an obligation for us to see the labour (or precarity) of others from our respective positions. This act of seeing, might be labour in and of itself: “I think interrogating our own ways of benefitting from privilege is part of how we work toward causing less harm. To cultivate care, love, and trust is work.”[3] Identifying and acknowledging when others are laboring and working and making: these are the moments of recognition needed if we are to affirm the importance of emotional, affective, and artistic labour.

Imagine a pristine iPhone screen, but the remnants of touch on the screen from fingers, of grease and nerves and the seeping of the body to exteriority are apparent on its surface: if we can visualize and identify these markings of touch, moments of labour, this is a step towards bringing care back in.

Labour as a “Flash of Skin”:

“How does collective bargaining work when it comes to emotional labor? Should we organize a union or just call a general strike? Who is heading those gatherings up, and who will we find crossing the picket lines the next day?”[5]

As critic and curator Gabrielle Moser has claimed, in recent artistic labour environments the modes of working have become even more “abstracted”:

“It would be easy to argue that this desire [to erase any labour] is motivated by the appeal of borrowing the seductive powers of consumer capitalism (epitomized for me by that thrilling moment in a public talk when a speaker’s computer desktop-often crammed with PDFs of research and in-progress Word documents-is made public, briefly concretizing artistic labour as a visible object).”[6]

This moment, this image, described here could be thought of as a “flash of skin,” alluding to the excitement of seeing the “slips,” or moments of labour. The “flash,” as Jane Blocker explains, is a poetic metaphor of desire derived from Roland Barthes: the moment when skin is visible in between articles of clothing, to then disappear.

These moments of appearance and disappearance, or visibility and invisibility, are discussed by Moser in that when artistic labour does become visible it is often aestheticized. I would argue that this same gap in visualization, or a multiplicity of gaps, is too present in documentation images. Filled with touch-ups and crops, the field of documentation has become increasingly aestheticized and more void of touch, of any evidence that someone even placed these objects here. Whoosh! This gap acts as a void: these images lack the human, empathy, compassion, the viewer.

Freeports and the Image as Second Existence

Berlin-based writer Stefan Heidenreich’s “Freeportism as Style and Ideology: Post-Internet and Speculative Realism” delves into the phenomena of the freeport, vital in thinking about artworks as assets. Freeports are storage facilities in tax-free zones (the largest of these are currently in Geneva and Singapore) where artworks and the like are stored with the sole purpose of accumulating value. A painting can sit in a crate in a vast storage facility, where its existence is rendered closer to stocks in a technology company than of an artwork with “exhibition value.” They might move onto an auction to be sold if their value increases, or sold to another collector. Relevant here, is their “second” mode of existence as images on the internet or in database and archiving software – viewed only by way of clicks and scrolls. This alludes to the new processes of sales and what that looks like today, especially in a digitally-oriented contemporary system – the commercial gallery intern sends high-resolution images to potential buyers from their perch behind the desk.

Can support be present in a structure? Can care really emit from a platform? Or does it reside in the fluid, or otherwise free, aspects of society, in its gaps or openings? Often, structures are associated with limitation and seldom a system of support, despite their intention(s). Due to the flaws, lacks, and bureaucracy, such as the waiting list in the health-care system, the daunting and seeming inaccessible process of receiving arts-based financial assistance, structures could be seen as inherently negative. Acknowledging this lack in the systems of support in the contemporary art world is a step or slouch towards where they can hopefully be questioned or rethought.

What is the weight of the documentation image? In contemporary art practice, these images (documentation) have become something weighty, even a new kind of currency, whether cultural or economic. With these web-based platforms for art documentation gaining increasing popularity and cultural capital, this discussed “second life” of artworks has negotiated its importance with the first or physical interaction with artworks: a gap in intimacy between the viewer and the artwork, further, a gap between viewer and artistic labour. Let’s try for something closer to embodiment – work towards moving care into the contemporary art market, and softly touch the images that litter the biogs, the platforms, the spaces of social media.

[1] Aranda, Julieta, et al. “Preface: Missed Connections.” What’s Love (or Care, Intimacy, Warmth, Affection) Got to Do with It?, Sternberg Press, 2017.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Badger, Gina, and Nasrin Himada. “What Is Invisible Labour?” MICE Magazine. 2016.
[4] Jones, Amelia. “Authorship and Identity.” The Art of Art History: A Critical Anthology. Preziosi, Donald, ed. Oxford University Press, 2009.
[5] Aranda , Julieta, et al.
[6] Moser, Gabrielle. “Always Working: Introduction.” Fillip. Fillip, Spring 2013. Web.
[7] Moser, Gabrielle. “Always Working: Introduction.” Fillip. Fillip, Spring 2013. Web.
[8] Rose, Jacqueline. “Sexuality in the Field of Vision,” in Difference: On Representation and Sexuality,The New Museum of Contemporary Art, New York, 1884.