Do You Read Me?

Do You Read Me?


My friend's Texte zur Kunst collection

It’s a well kept secret in the art world that nobody reads Texte zur Kunst except for art students at the university, who are still in the illusion that something has to be boring to be good. Well, I never read Texte zur Kunst so I'm just going on the rumours. I must admit I even have this silly proud of having not read it (I feel the same about Hans Ulrich Obrist’s books, hehe). But once I did go to a party of Texte zur Kunst at HAU, because it seemed to be a German art event one had to go to (oh sure, I also want to be "in"). I remember that Isabelle Graw was saying that art critics are more free because they earn so little (everybody in the audience held their breath, so painful), and that Jutta Koether did a horrible performance in which she beat with a stick at her text. It had the air of being exciting, but I couldn’t help feeling booooored. Talking air, maybe that's the most annoying thing about Texte zur Kunst, the “We’re special!” air. Besides that art party (where, I suppose, everybody had read Texte zur Kunst, except for me), I’ve never met a reader of Texte zur Kunst. But then I did so this week - at least, sort of. A friend of mine, who wants to stay anonymous, revealed she has a subscription and this already for years. At her apartment there’re heaps of Texte zur Kunst issues, which she never opened. She did take them out of their plastic foil (wouldn't it be more fun if she hadn’t?). "Why do you keep the subscription?" I asked her. “It feels safe,” she said, “and that for only 45 euros a year.” She keeps thinking she will read it. A few days later we met again and she showed me the insides of her bag: it contained the latest issue of Texte Zur Kunst talking about “polarity.” "Alrighty!" I said, wondering how heavy Texte zur Kunst is, if it’s a light or a heavy weight, and how it will look like after being in the bag for a while. 

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