Renée Turner

Magpie, a bird that often sits outside my window. One is for sorrow, two for mirth, Three for a wedding, four for a birth.  Silver wrappers, shiney plastic, twigs and string, you’re an opportunist and true alchemist. Thanks for extoling the virtues of relentless scavenging and believing that there are treasures to be found amongst the detritus.

The Nettime mailing list was always a bit of a thorn in my side due to the prevalence if not dominance of male voices. That said, I’ve met people through the list that I would have never encountered otherwise. In the mid-nineties, Nettime was my primer to net(worked)-culture, a school of hard knocks. Through it,…

Soft, air, stone, hands embrace that space in between.  Thanks for highlighting the intensity of the senses, and all that’s beyond words.

Spalding Gray, humorist, actor, ragingly manic troubadour.  Your critical wit is sorely missed in these glib-tongued times of endless fear mongering.  Although they found you in the East River, I will always imagine you’re still swimming to Cambodia. Thanks for endlessly monologuing. 

Merzbau: The Cathedral of Erotic Misery, a domestic viral construction, first built in Hanover, later re-invented in Norway and then in Britain. None of the originals exist today, it’s now a project of old blurry images and hearsay. It’s an interior skin filled with public and private obsessions.  Thanks for bringing together the epic and provisional.