“It’s just your fear…can you believed?
In our problems… faces of comforts…
and only time can forget you…
and next minutes hands opening shadows…
The same day… the same day… the same day…”
– Emerson, “Same Day,” in Songs Without Music, 1984. (Wording reproduced faithfully according to the original manuscript)
Every day we wake up to intimations of a script. A script that feels strangely familiar but is not entirely legible. Sunrise presents a variation on a theme that is violently pre-sanctioned. Joyful or sad, a day always invites revolt—an inclination to live a life unscripted. There are days of compliance and days of rebellion and there are days of truce. Most days culminate in a draw or a defeat. More rarely in a victory. Each day is its own wondrous struggle. It recycles and replenishes without reassurance. Some attempt to gain control over this cycle. They observe, study, memorize, and predict patterns, but each application of that knowledge is only inhaled, a brief expansion—exhalation is unavoidable. And yet sometimes, this intimate breathing widens time to such an extent that one forgets the arrangement between the earth and the sun. For others, the grid worn is so tightly fitted around the day that it becomes the day itself. Focused narrowly on the precise movements of light, extreme compliance begins to feel like an escape. The cycle of a day lends itself to whimsical interpretation, which reflects back the unruly nature of its feeling. One might be captivated by it or experience that captivation as a penultimate freedom. One might get lost in a frame they can so clearly see while never seeing themselves, while others may be resigned to accepting it as their very own outline. Again, one might train themself to feel the full force of days collecting, withstanding the mechanical amnesia of their resolved rotation. They might forcefully yet humbly, stubbornly even, relieve the days of their sufficiency. Elaborations on the day are born this way. Saturations that echo assured encounters with former happiness.
The exhibition takes its title from a poem of the same name, written by the Greek poet Emerson in New York City in 1984. The poem is part of Songs Without Music, a typewritten, and previously unpublished manuscript of poems and lyrics found in the archives of Greek photographer George Tourkovasilis.
Participating artists:
Rey Akdogan, Nick Bastis, Kazimierz Bendkowski, Geta Brătescu, Matt Browning, Tom Burr, Elene Chantladze, Josef Dabernig, Aria Dean & Laszlo Horvath, Gintaras Didžiapetris, Jason Dodge, Kevin Jerome Everson, Simone Forti, Michèle Graf & Selina Grüter, Villu Jõgeva, Tarik Kiswanson, Michael Kleine, Běla Kolářová, Jiří Kovanda, Kitty Kraus, Bradley Kronz, Kaarel Kurismaa, Simon Lässig, Ian Law, Klara Lidén, Jolanta Marcolla, Ugnė Nakaitė with Urtė Jarmuškaitė & Pranas Gustainis, Elena Narbutaitė, Ewa Partum, Matthew Langan-Peck, Julie Peeters & BILL, Cameron Rowland, Margaret Salmon, Stephen Sutcliffe, Tanya Syed, Jean-Marie Straub & Danièle Huillet, Raša Todosijević, Thanasis Totsikas, Maria Toumazou, Rosemarie Trockel, Christos Tzivelos, Mare Vint, Tanja Widmann, Marina Xenofontos, and Eiko Yamazawa. The exhibition is curated by Tom Engels and Maya Tounta.
Curated by:
Tom Engels and Maya Tounta
at Contemporary Art Centre (CAC), Vilnius
until January 12, 2025