Week 164 – Oct 24 to Oct 31, 2023

Liza Dimbleby

**Rolls of drawings, thirty years old, from an attic**, boxed and photographed on my 55th birthday, September 2023

Letter from Glasgow: The Forgotten Music

I think about it inside me, biding its time, resisting my call for it — this song that so delighted me, that returned to me twice, unbidden, yesterday, and then went on its way, went back inside me, perhaps never to return. When it was there I wanted to carry it, be carried by it. I did not think of recording the notes, making a digital imprint by which to catch and hold it. I thought that it was a part of me, that it would last forever. Now I’m waiting, wondering where within me it is hiding.

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Kyung-hwa Choi-ahoi

**Diary Drawing No. 8606**, December 8th, 2022. Size: 21 x 29,7 cm, oil and lacquer on paper.

Sudha Padmaja Francis

**My niece Neelanjana and her freshly coloured hair**, June 2023

Just a few days ago I scribbled:

I had to put my hands,

into so many unknown tree-holes all through

this journey.

Tree-holes may be filled with a variety of things:

sticky toffee,

used hair band,

ants dividing sugar dutifully amongst themselves,

note that never reached its destination,

squirrel hiding from its companion

to savour the mango on her own,

a single slipper,

a single earring..

…

This sense of loss keeps happening like waves of the sea. There are some days when I wake up that I do not want to wake up and would rather remain in the dream that I was dreaming. More than the dream, I wake up with a Malayalam film song in my head which occupies and populates my inner being for a week; I never want to lose that loop.

Natacha Nisic

ET N’ÊTRE QUE BRUME
Met en place les conditions d’une expérimentation
Nous sommes plongés dans la brume.
Nos corps, nos affects se délivrent.

AND BE NOTHING BUT MIST
Sets the conditions for experimentation
We are immersed in mist.
Our bodies, our affects are released.

Kasia Ozga

**Wear Out: Manual Labor**, Digital Photograph, Art in Odd Places, New York City, 2023.

Flags blowing in the wind sewn out of used textiles. Bright and faded and worn and starched work wear, a ubiquitous identifier of blue collar histoire ouvrière en France. Blue collar clad hipsters rocking the moral authority of manual labor in Brooklyn. The sound of street level flags rustling in the the wind and billowed out towards pedestrians on creaking temporary flagpoles. Foisted up near current and former headquarters of labor unions on 14th street (the Italian Labor Center, DC 9, and the International Brotherhood of Teamsters), we ask what is the place of labor in the contemporary metropolis? Who decides what we make and how?