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Philipp Kleinmichel
on occasion of the exhibition Paradise Lost feat. White Supremacy at Gallery Jette Rudolph, Berlin

As much as the current economic crisis may threaten to shake western societies apart, today we still live within the framework of the culmination of history. More than anything, this experience is based on the understanding that those who live in the excess and safety of western societies are completely satisfied and content. This deep sense of satisfaction is identified primarily with the “American Way of Life” and the Californian lifestyle—one in which what it means to be human, with its traditional religions and humanism, has been erased and replaced by a new “animalistic man” who is more interested in sensual satisfaction and physical vitality than in grasping and exerting influence over reality through reason.

Alexandre Kojève declared by the late 1960s that “after the end of history, men would construct their edifices and works of art as birds build their nests and spiders spin their webs, would perform musical concerts after the fashion of frogs and cicadas, would play like young animals, and would indulge in love like adult beasts.” Indeed, art since so-called postmodernism has also repeatedly been described as a mechanism driven primarily by the impulse to produce innovations within an established discourse. Thus, as is already well known, it is no longer about producing the experience of mimetic autonomy, aesthetic grandeur and transcendence, as was the case with Romanticism and modernism, but about making palpable the randomness, inaccessibility and impossibility of transcendence. The American art critic Craig Owens termed this impulse “allegorical” because neither a deeper meaning nor a divine or historical imperative can be extracted from the images and forms of this art, whose justification is based solely on its own unrestricted interplay of signifiers.
But within this framework of the “end of history,” within which all remaining historical conflicts only seem like stops on the path to the new Californian man, the possibility of an extreme, unsatisfiable yearning has also been repeatedly discussed. The man who is driven by such a lingering desire, if that man exists at all, remains at the end of history as a kind of vestige of what’s human. Thus, if one must still take man into account at the end of history, then Dennis Rudolph experiments with the point of view of such a man in his new works. His drawings and cyanotypes are studies for a messianic gate that Rudolph would like to erect on the edge of California City—a failed, urban modernist utopia in California’s Mojave Desert. Painted on tiles, both sides of this gate ostensibly depict, as symbols of our media-synchronized present at the end of history, images of various medial representations of our reality as well as an artistic vision of a now impossible hereafter. But Rudolph’s studies already allude to the impossibility of realizing such an undertaking. The exceeding complexity of reality conveyed through media, which appears to us primarily as an unstoppable and ever-accelerating flood of images and information, can, particularly in a traditional sense, without losing its complexity, only be effectively depicted as white noise. But because such white noise causes even the concrete images of life at the end of history to disappear, these very studies take on a special relevance.

Since even if Rudolph’s works—based on how they confront the medial nature of our reality and how they present their allegorical character in a fragmentary way—do not differ from other contemporary projects upon first view, his allegories are the expression of a mimetic symbolism that has become impossible, and which alludes to a ever-potential vestige of human negativity.

The Portal in California City
by Dennis Rudolph

Stories about Nat Mendelsohn’s failed utopian community in California City led German artist Dennis Rudolph who was visiting Los Angeles on visa in 2013, to the lost paradise of Los Angeles’ future, an ideal site for his artistic vision: The Portal –a gateway to Heaven or Hell. The Portal is installed at the Cultural Center in Cal City waiting to “see you on the other side.”

Paradise Lost: The Portal in California City

March 24, 2014

"Welcome to California City: Land of the Sun," reads a sign on the side of the road. The surrounding terrain is bordered by an expansive horizon with acres of desert landscape rendered in browns and tans and attached in the distance to the blue of the sky above -- the territory of the sun. Situated in the northern Mojave Desert, California City is part of the greater Antelope Valley, a Kern and Los Angeles County desert region encircled by the remains of failed utopian visions of exurbanite Angelenos seeking to escape L.A. and build a new paradise: a better city, more future oriented, liberated from urban challenges, and perhaps a place of endless space and possibility. These past utopian visions remain today as cultural memorials rendered in the historical ruins of failed alternative endeavors including sites such as Llano del Rio the socialist vision of Job Harriman in 1914, Shea's Castle built in 1924 by the developer Richard Peter Shea, and California City -- a planned model community envisioned by Nat Mendelsohn in 1958. Stories about this enduring desert dynamic between earth and sky, utopia and dystopia, and positive and negative charges, led German artist Dennis Rudolph who was visiting Los Angeles on visa in 2013, to California City the lost paradise of Los Angeles' future, an ideal site for his artistic vision: The Portal -- a gateway to Heaven or Hell.

The suburban environment in the Mojave High Desert seems a natural extension of place -- another Los Angeles -- a less congested space in close proximity with open air, more sun, cheaper housing, and seemingly boundless opportunity to forge ahead and build a new improved city filled with hopes and dreams that overcome our inevitable failures. Nat Mendelsohn's California City was intended to rival Los Angeles in both size and amenities with suburban homes built on cul-de-sacs, a Central Park with a twenty-six acre artificial lake for boating and fishing that featured a forty foot waterfall, an eighteen hole golf course, picnic and sporting areas, tennis courts, blossoming gardens, a riding trail, a tavern, a motel, and a museum. Mendelsohn had envisioned an artificially constructed paradise, a modern utopian metropolis. The growth and development that Mendelsohn had expected and invested in never occurred, and although California City today continues to experience a slow expansion, it's topography lies rendered with hundreds of miles of ghostly abandoned streets from a master plan that stands inert -- a monument to artifice and ultimately to failure.

Viewed from above, California City's GIS satellite imagery reveals the efforts of engineers who had constructed the lines of perfectly gridded streets in preparation for the development boom that was never fully realized. The master planned streets appear like ancient petroglyphs in the dirt, lines from a story of another time written to record and remember what has since been abandoned. Up close, the carefully laid out streets are pointedly marked by directional signs with names such as Von Braun Way, and Wonder Ave, signs that lead to nowhere and mark more clearly the pathways to nothingness or what is missing -- not anything that can be found unless you're looking for the absence of a marked present.

Among the ruins of this failed utopian city, artist Dennis Rudolph discovered Desert Butte, a solitary mountain singled out from the rest, jutting from the earth to sky as a seismic natural wonder, a centerpiece to the surrounding human  
intervention -- riddled with petrified palm from the ancient past, and tagged by unknown wanderers scrawling "GNOSIS" on its rocks. High atop this butte, Rudolph decided he would erect his passage to nowhere, The Portal, an effort similar to Milton's epic poem "Paradise Lost "which describes "one greater Man" who will "restore us on the secret top of Oreb, or of Sinai," and regain "how the Heav'ns and Earth rose out of Chaos." Or as Dennis conveys, "The art is always behind (all things). She only consolidates the mess that happened. And the more fucked up [chaotic] the things tend to be, the more to consolidate, the better the art will become. For an artist the future is always bright and shining." At Desert Butte, Rudolph found his Mount Sinai, an artistic exodus above and between earth and sky, Heaven and Hell. His Portal becomes in essence its own chaotic salvation, an artistic pursuit of redemption formed in the continual act of creation and failure.

Rudolph's Portal was originally intended to be of an elaborate German Baroque design reminiscent of the European church doorways that embody the passage into sacred space. Trained in traditional artistic methods such as etching, woodcut and oil painting, and primed with a background interest in German Romanticism and National Socialism, Rudolph presented a series of portraits in oil on wood depicting icons of German WWII soldiers at Perry Rubenstein Gallery in New York in 2008. Having since abandoned the practice of painting, Rudolph has defined his belief that art and its making is also a way to mourn, stating, "the Baroque was the last defiant struggle of a time before its fundamental crisis, the French Revolution...the ripping crack, the cramping pulse of our culture is therefore also the crack and pulsation in me as a painter, knowing the weight of 'Old Europe,' which can hardly be distinguished anymore from the hollow replicas of the European cultural monuments, the props of Hollywood culture." A culture based on our willing suspension of disbelief.

His journey or ausreiseantrag (exit visa) from the East to the West to visit Hollywood with its commodity desires of the Culture Industry -- could be a "symptom" of a desire for something else, and as Theodor Adorno wrote in "Enlightenment as Mass Deception," "The great artists were never those whose works embodied style in its least fractured, most perfect form but those who adopted style as a rigor to set against the chaotic expression of suffering, as a negative truth." The Portal is either an end game that marks the border of western civilization at a point where "going west" towards Manifest Destiny had no choice to find its end before it ceased to become the East again, or a modernist future whether nothing exists and those with creative ideologies can invent a new beginning -- yet again exit utopia. California and the West could be declared Rudolph's negated truth -- a threshold where suffering and utopia converge, intersecting each other into a final blip through the semantic square, as both the place of the setting sun which can also be understood as an allusion to dying or the rising sun from the East which brings with it a morning renewal of a brighter future. Perhaps we can discover our evolved selves by passing through the doorway, The Portal -- a monument -- in and to California City.

After setting up an art studio in a hangar at the Cal City airport, Rudolph decided that the site specified for The Portal, Desert Butte, required an austere minimalist design which speaks to the surrounding desert environment where efforts of survival require expending little energy at a time in order to survive the heat and water limitations. Leaving his Eastern European ornamentation of Baroque buildings behind, the Golden West of the California High Desert particularly in Mojave is perhaps less about presence and more about the enormity of what's missing including the remnants of a future left behind in the
past. To speak to this unanswered presence Rudolph began executing ceramic tiles with photographs of missing California children burnt into clay in a Mexican faience and underglaze technique that rendered the tile images in a sunburned dust color that nearly blends itself with the desert ground. Instead of the angels opening a doorway to a sacred salvation, his tiles would be placed flat and square on a minimalist doorway, with Heaven and Hell butted together back to back where one leads to directly to the other -- like a Hollywood sign for California City -- a new city of angels, and a memorial to the missing innocence that has been lost.

In 1979, The Pop Group debuted their single "She is Beyond Good and Evil" a blend of disco-funk-punk that band member Mike Stewart saw as dissolving the divisions between poetry and politics. Stewart described the song as being about unconditional love as a revolutionary force -- where idealism and energy mix poetic, existential, and political yearnings with the romantic idea of passing through nihilism and emerging on the other side with something positive, something beyond. "She" as illustrated by Rudolph is perhaps a missing child -- a girl once known in California, gone, now beyond good and evil in her innocence lost or place unknown. In memoriam, The Portal resurrects the images of these children, the missing, neither here nor there, but lost perhaps forever on the River Styx, only to emerge again rendered in golem clay for centuries to come on The Portal's Heaven side. Stuck in the past, without present or future, Rudolph offers the missing with a monument in an earthly threshold dedicated to the lost, to a nowhere we imagine as meant just for them beyond good or evil -- if only we can find it, or them.

To this intent, Rudolph expected to work with children and youth from California City to reinsert the memory of childhood innocence and to influence the appearance of the two sides of Heaven and Hell. After attending council meetings and engaging discussions about the project with initial responses from the local high school, and arts commission, he found his emails eventually went unreturned. Initially embraced, The Portal was becoming another chaotic quest for the impossible rebuilding of utopia that had been abandoned already by California City. Balancing between the success and failure of The Portal before his visa expired, Rudolph displayed his ongoing project in the "Under Construction" exhibition at Antelope Valley College Art Gallery in an experimental format of works in progress that brought The Portal and its artistic chaotic pursuit into the college gallery to explore how challenges, questions, and failures combine in the never ending process of making where success and failure are located both inside and beyond the gallery, the studio, a space transitioned through a doorway to somewhere, anywhere else located in basically the same place. The Portal's tagline paradoxically affirms -- "see you on the other side."

Prior to his return back to the East, Rudolph finalized one half of his Portal (Heaven) that is installed at the Cultural Center of California City -- an outdoor collection of eclectic sculpture and artwork off of the 14 Freeway North from Los Angeles just before Lutie Ave on California City Blvd 93501. His act of creating The Portal as a golem made of clay, fired in the heat of the desert and rendered in form as a monument that will one day return back to dust only to be reborn again by another visionary seeking transcendence, represents the continual cycle of utopia -- the no place we pass through at California City. As such, the project had seen its share of difficulties and challenges defined by an artist and this place that embraces its failures at the edge of Los Angeles -- a desert utopia already defined as a portal to paradise lost.

Perhaps it's better not to see The Portal in its absolute existence, but to imagine its potentiality of becoming again and again. Rudolph's vision was to "take the shattered pieces and put them back together, to build a monument out of the scattered thoughts of memory from your earliest days... The portal is a passage, passing through, things appear as if they have been given or taken, depending on your point of view. But this is all fiction of course. The world is as it is." Just outside of California City, Richard Branson's Virgin Galactic SpaceShipTwo glides through the sky performing touch and goes at the nearby Mojave Air and Space Port -- another site for desert dreamers looking to expand upward rather than westward a search for utopia above us where space is infinite, and the next California City looms larger and better, with nothingness or nothing but endless opportunity. In the California West, it always begins again -- as long as the sun also rises.

TV Resists

by Ingrid Luquet-Gad
In his 2009 biography of Marshall McLuhan, the writer Douglas Coupland comes up with the following witty words: “Why isn’t the TV ‘medium’? Because it’s rarely ‘well done’.”1Without wanting to be a killjoy, it is also altogether possible to take the witticism literally. In the mediasphere we are living in, the TV is actually not medium: it can be cooked in various ways. Co-existing with other media, it is part of a technological layering where many different media platforms are overlaid and dovetailed. So television is presented to us as a medium—one medium among others in the post-medium age.2 This observation has, when all is said and done, become somewhat commonplace, but it nevertheless twists a teleological understanding that is frequent in the field of media studies which, up until the end of the 1990s, tended to turn every new “optical medium”3 into the Hegelian cannibal devouring the previous ones. If the technicist naivety of the uni-medium and the super-medium is no longer common currency these days, what should surprise us is thus not so much that the arrival of the Internet has not banished the other media from the
playing field, but rather the survival of one of them.

It has to be said that, at least in our elected area of observation—France’s present-day art scene—, television is putting up resistance. After the summer, Benjamin Valenza invited artists, musicians, theoreticians and poets to bolster Labor Zero Labor, an “artists’ medium” whose shooting set installed at La Friche la Belle de Mai in Marseille was extended by a streaming website. Then this winter, the exhibition “JUMP” at the Brétigny Contemporary Art Centre, curated by Céline Poulin, broadened the spectrum with a group show in which most of the installations in fact opened up autonomous dissemination systems—with the opening, incidentally, broadcast live on the art centre’s website. The golden age of television is no more, and yet it remains a reference, a formal reservoir and a tool working for artists. What is it, in TV, that goes beyond the viewing of moving images, over which it no longer has a monopoly? What is the surplus value that justifies talking about a comeback of the medium?
Labor Zero Labor, Sara Sadik’s performance , Triangle France, 2016.

Artists and television in the digital age: a Frankenstein effect?
First and foremost, let us specify that the fact of wearing art glasses to examine the phenomenon has a certain effect on what is at stake. Most media theoreticians have focused on the phenomena of reception and use, as such inheriting the legacy of Marshall McLuhan, much of whose analytical system is based on a distinction between hot media and cold media, made on the basis of the quality of participation introduced.4 The fact is that in the field of art, the issue of production is just as significant as that of reception. In an age where television still assumed the position of a great global medium, dreaming of being a television producer was a way of subverting the system from within. Henceforth obsolete and losing its social meaning, continuing to want to play that part when it is perfectly possible to get away from it, has perforce to do with more complex motives. For Will Benedict, currently busily preparing two new post-documentary fictions which extend his first video, Toilet Not Temples (2014), it is indeed because the golden age of television is behind us that it becomes possible to hijack its codes, and appropriate them. For his part, he sticks with the system of TV news and the embedding of one image in another image, where there is a juxtaposition of the space/time-frames of the studio programme presenter and the reporter in the field. 
A procedure of truth well rooted in perceptive habits, and as such, the ideal terrain for sowing the virus of fiction—with nobody being especially surprised that TV presenters look like whales or dolphins.
However, does this Frankenstein effect necessarily go hand in hand with a nostalgic stance? For the philosopher Mark Alizart, it is in fact possible to read in this way of looking back at things a buffer-like modus operandi with the upheavals brought on by the de-materialization of the digital signal. At the very least, this apprehension exists in the field of thought, as is analyzed by his next book Informatique Céleste, dealing with cybernetic thinking and its non-reception among French intellectuals: “In philosophy in France, there is a huge difficulty in thinking computer-wise. The way I see it, this comes from way back: when it emerged in the 1950s, the theory of information, and even more so of cybernetics, was perceived like a comet’s tail of mechanistic thinking, and thus violently rejected. In relation to the return to television among certain artists, I cannot stop myself from thinking that there is also a certain form of nostalgia mixed with apprehension in the face of the world in the offing. Which is to say that even in the place where this is being de-materialized, we are all the same much more at ease with a signal that looks like something living than with a totally de-materialized signal.”
Virgile Fraisse’s shooting of Pragmatic Chaos, prod. Labor Zero Labor, Triangle France, 2016. Photo: Virgile Fraisse

In 2010-2011, the group show “Are You Ready For TV” at the MACBA in Barcelona also fitted the medium into an achronic relation. The undertaking was ambitious: drawing up a sweeping overview of the relations between art and television between 1960 and 2010, and up until today, in order to give the medium a history of art. Faced with the immensity of the task, the curator Chus Martínez explained that she had followed a second thematic thread in her approach, basing her selection on works “outside time”. These works, by artists as diverse as Dara Birnbaum, Chris Burden, Jef Cornelis, Guy Debord, Harun Farocki, Alexander Kluge, David Lamelas, Richard Serra, Bill Viola and Andy Warhol, presented, according to her, the 
following common feature: “These ways of re-imagining the world were from the outset conceived to be radically different from their day and age.”5 This imaginary outside-time factor, making television one of those “non-places” of super-modernity dear to the anthropologist Marc Augé,6 nevertheless seems to still belong to the old paradigm of television as an operative global medium. So for these artists, hewing out a utopian –and atopic—space within it linked back up again with a form of minimal activism, and a refusal of the established order valid as a result of its simply taking its distance.
The project-space will be televised: a collective and multifacted economy of production
Labor Zero Labor, Benjamin Thorel and Maeve Connolly’s talk show, Triangle France, 2016.

Six years later, the setting has definitely changed. In the present-day dispersal of the digital flux, setting up an A-to-Z broadcasting channel becomes not only a way of generating a concentration of content and production, which has been lacking, but also of inventing a tool making it possible to grasp reality, and create a situation. Rather than talk in terms of essence, which ushers in the nostalgic stance, it is thus necessary to focus on use. At La Friche la Belle de Mai, Benjamin Valenza thus launched Labor Zero Labor, a television station whose content filmed in the studio on the spot is broadcast live on the Internet. For him, “it was a matter of not making a simple TV-website, at the risk of tumbling into a parody of the Telethon or weather reports. Keeping a political dimension was essential, and in tune with the projects of the 1990s such as the telestreet movement, close to thinkers such as Franco Berardi and Antonio Negri”. Launched during Art-O-Rama over the last weekend in August of this year, Labor Zero Labor came into being from an invitation made by Céline Kopp, curator of Triangle. “Rather than a solo show, I preferred to make the most of things to set up a collaborative and informative medium managed by artists”, explains Benjamin Valenza. “In 2014, I started to ask myself about live broadcasts in relation to my performance activities, first of all with a view to producing myself the documentation of my pieces. Then, in collaboration with Lili Reynaud-Dewar, we came up with a televised programme around performance called Performance Proletarians!!!. For a weekend at Le Magasin in Grenoble, we brought together fifteen artists and broadcast 36 hours live. With Labor Zero labor, I was keen to open up to other spheres, and  
include fiction in particular. Even if the project is hosted by an institution, which made it all possible through its logistical capacity, I never conceived it as an exhibition. The medium will go on existing. For the time being, we’re starting out with a two-year time-frame, based on five hours live per month.”
Regarding television as a work situation, both collective and experimental, also recurs in the argument put forward by Benjamin Thorel. This art critic and curator is also the author of L’art contemporain et la télévision (2007), and contributes to Labor Zero Labor with a series of talk-shows called Tell’N’Talk.7 For him, being interested in television was first of all a way of getting away from the hyper-essentialization of the video medium and its formalist dead ends. He also reminds us that “since the 1960s and 1970s, and Nam June Paik, who cobbled together more than a few machines and invented circuits for both distribution and creation, the television motif has made it possible to shift the stakes. In relation to video art, it makes it possible to not stay confined within strict issues and the often essentialist readings of video art. Television is above all a tool, which applies different ways of working and acting on reality.” In fact, the fast production line and the immediacy of the live event are akin to the working situations of performance and the television programme. Further still, the collective and Jack-of-all-trades organization implied by this latter, a fortiori in the case of an artist’s medium, is, according to Benjamin Valenza, similar to the management of a project-space, which also involves “writing theoretical texts as much as sweeping things clean” (he himself being one of the founders of the 1m3 space in Lausanne).
Dennis Rudolph, The Saturday Night Live, view of the exhibition «JUMP», CAC Brétigny, 2016. Courtesy Dennis Rudolph ; galerie Lily Robert.
With Dennis Rudolph, invited by Céline Poulin as part of “JUMP”, we find the three terms of the equation. He also comes to the television exercise by way of performance, and is also the founder of the State of the Art space in Berlin. At the CAC Brétigny, he is presenting the installation Saturday Night Live, showing the décor and wings of the American talk-show of the same name. After an initial episode in California, his early intention was to invite onto the set Middle Eastern artists and activists. But the whole episode would deal with the implosion of the very talk-show concept: the artist finds himself alone on the set, condemned to himself play the parts of interviewer and interviewee. An at once bitter-sweet, and farcical, way of staging the contradictions of the mass media, where the potential audience is six billion people, but where everyone is often content to soliloquize in his own corner.
Globality, attention and interactivity: what do artists’ media dream of? 

Nevertheless, raising the television issue must beware of not disqualifying the utopias of its golden age in the guise of them stemming from nostalgia. In the age of dispersal, the fantasy of the great global medium precisely has all its reasons for being: not for returning to a past situation, but for trying to reconcile the advantages of both horizons. It is not solely at the level of the production circuit exceeding the individual that this ideal of the collective intervenes, or, to echo Henry Jenkins’s words, “the culture of convergence”:8“Now that the Internet has settled the matter of access, the very contemporary problem of attention 

arises. But this new situation of address does not seem to me to be necessarily more democratic, because it is still necessary to sort things out among the infinite choice. Bertolt Brecht made radio into a revolutionary medium because, potentially, everyone can become a transmitter. With the Internet, the material possibility is indeed there, but in terms of relation, the post-Trump age has above all materialized the informational bubbles in which we confine ourselves”, Benjamin Thorel suggests.
The great difference with present-day media layering is the possibility of re-coding situations of monopolistic declaration, in a quasi-immediate way and with a potentially similar public.
This is precisely the starting point of Pragmatic Chaos, Virgile Fraisse’s fiction broadcast on Labor Zero Labor. The name comes from the same-name algorithm developed after a competition held in 2009 by the giant of video content distribution, Netflix, to improve its existing system of film suggestions. Each of the co-written episodes brings in a specialist to examine the impact of the data classification systems on everyone’s choice. In Prédiction/Production, likewise, the Netflix war machine formed the heart of the matter, because the video, made during a residency at Triangle that same year, tried to make up for the mysteries preceding the announcement of the release of the series Marseille, produced by the American company. The characters re-interpreted and re-contextualized passages borrowed from Hillary Clinton’s speeches and those of Netflix’s CEO as part of this anticipatory fiction.
The Big Conversation Space (Niki Korth + Clémence de Montgol er), BCC Channel, in collaboration with Alexander Rhobs. Episode 3 : Rêves, fantasmes et désirs, 2016

Choosing television as a point of reference is thus not just like creating a work situation, but also positioning yourself with a more prescriptive view of what an ideal medium might be. It is in this sense that we can read the research of the BCC Channel, one of whose systems is currently being presented by the CAC Brétigny. The BCC Channel, standing for The Big Culture Conversation Channel, is a project developed by the two artists Niki Korth and Clémence de Montgolfier. Since 2010, they have been working together under the name The Big Conversation Space, “an organization for research, art and consulting, dedicated to all forms, sizes, orientations and formats of conversation”. Each one of the episodes that they put online as streaming, in a space accompanied by a chat room, hybridizes documentary and fictional sources, audio-visual archives, and sequences received during paying calls. This is probably one of the ways in which we must read the persistence, and even the comeback, of television: as a dream, or rather the operative utopia, of re-introducing the situation of global address of television within the interactivity of the Internet, a way of avoiding both the passiveness of the TV viewer and the segmentation of Internet users. And over and above this duality, creating an “analogico-digital”9 conglomerate which adjoins to the layering of technologies the respective advantages of multiple and self-generated situations of declarations.
1 Douglas Coupland, Marshall McLuhan: You Know Nothing of My Work!, 2009, Penguin Canada.
2We are here borrowing the distinction made by Rosalind Krauss between “medium” and “media” in Voyage on the North Sea: Art in the Age of the Post-Medium Condition, 2000, Thames & Hudson.
3 Friedrich Kittler, Médias optiques. Cours berlinois 1999, 2015, Editions L’Harmattan.

4 Marshall McLuhan, Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man, 1964: “A cold medium, be it word, manuscript or television, makes more room for the participation of the reader or listener than a hot medium”. And more specifically in relation to television: “Young people who have suffered ten years of television have naturally contracted an imperious habit of in-depth participation, which makes the distant and imaginary objectives of the current culture seem unreal, meaningless and anaemic”.

5 Text from the exhibition: “The importance of presenting this material in a museum of contemporary art is that they were, or are, outside of their time. The common trait of the work is that they cannot be deducted from their era: on the contrary, these ways of recreating the world were at their outset imagined to be different from their era”.

6 Marc Augé, Non-lieux, introduction à une anthropologie de la surmodernité, 1992, Editions Seuil.
7 Where he talked with Maeve Connolly, Adeena Mey, Deborah Birch and Joachim Hamou.
8 Henry Jenkins is one of those who have most acutely thought about the collective in the age of transmedia, especially in Convergence Culture, Where Old and New Media Collide, NYU Press, 2006.
9 Jacques Derrida was already using this term in the transcript of his filmed interviews with Bernard Stiegler, in Echographies de la télévision, 1996, p. 174.
“Labor Zero Labor” from 27 August to 27 November at La Friche la Belle de Mai in Marseille http://l-0-l.tv/
“JUMP” from 19 November to 22 January at the CAC Brétigny
(image on top: The Big Conversation Space (Niki Korth + Clémence de Montgolfier), BCC Channel, in collaboration with Alexander Rhobs. Episode 1 : Amour, magie et diversion, 2015.)


2 - BienCritiqueNovember 29, 2016 — By Guillaume 
[...]Dennis Rudolph, lui, poursuit un échec programmé en produisant un show qui s’auto-réalise en direct, entre l’imposture infantile de jouer « faire comme à la télé » et une critique satirique et postmoderne d’un spectateur acteur, centre d’un monde qu’il s’invente lui-même avec les codes d’une culture globale. Le dispositif est un spectacle de la médiatisation perclus de ses contradictions et par conséquent inexorablement voué à la déception. « Vous savez, toutes vos attentes seront une déception » nous dit-il tandis qu’il ouvre son émission émise à rebours sous les vivats artificiels d’un public préenregistré. À travers ce « show », cet étalage visuel d’un soi qui s’invente, c’est la question de l’identité et des moyens de la conquérir qui émerge. [...]