Graduation Show

A Festival of Choices by the Sandberg Instituut Fine Arts department
Hosted by Looiersgracht 60, Amsterdam



Preview opening:
Thu 14 June 2018, 6–8 pm

Exhibition opening:
Fri 15 June, 5–8 pm

On view:
Wed 13 June – Sun 17 June, 12–8 pm

Sunday Tour:
Sun 17 June, 3 pm

It’s been two years now
and you were right, sunlight is overrated.
But even so
I don’t know this sun, the sun we’re talking about.
Truth be told, there’s this weird linguistic skip to Graduation Show,
graduados, calibrated, arranged in ascending order.
It’s only fitting we would have a mass noun for a group show,
and so it skips from one of our foreheads to the next.
Now you are singing: And as we go onnn
We remembeeeer all the tiiiimes we. Had togeeether.
As our lives chaaaange come whateeeever
We will still be. Friends foreeeever.

We’re happy to be back in town
for endless supply of sunlight stored in fruits and vegetables,
grown in faraway countries, which we don’t deserve.
Because, we must say, we’ve feared el diablo.
Almost as much as plywood
plywood, plywood, plywood, plywood. Send me a port,
humble brush…
What was the Francesca joke again?
Francesca, Francesca, Francesca, Francisco José de Goya y Lucientes.
Why can’t I hold all these names in Napoli?
As we could not go through the park to reach the coast,
we stayed at the Café. And we walked all the way.
You came with the metropolitana.
My love for you will never die,
even though I will die.

Also, could I borrow your hammer?
To slam the door, slam the dunk… Dear,
we really enjoyed the fikas. I can see you know:
yellow sweater under a denim overall
lying down on the floor. Change is not always so decisive.
The lamp goes from purple to green,
to yellow, to blue, back to green again.
Our schools are
in a sense
factories. Even when there will only ever be raw materials,
materials, materials, materials, materials. To meet the various
demands of life. I’m drained. But I still have something for you:
What’s inside the first drawer? Passports.
What’s inside the second drawer? The minutes, the hours. One word:
You were right, baby. Sunless, weird, gastric animal noises at a dinner table.
Crispy roasted nuts crisp the soil’s sand in your salad.

Now we’re all sitting in a field, the grass has grown up to our chins.
No one spoke in a while, but that’s a good thing. This silence
does not betray a discord, instead it instantiates the means,
by which we do what we have been doing,
as the thing that we do.
It decorates our house.
Wild basil cuts the green green
with a little purple.
And now there is fire,
We’re all sitting within the purples, the browns, the greys and the reds,
In here, so close.

One body of text by 9 individuals.

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