Author: stsarrazin

Until I wasn’t.

A remarkable new installation by artists John Sanborn and Ionee Waterhouse opened on May 25 in Castelbuono, Sicily, and runs until August 30. While both artists have a long practice of collaborations, this is the first time they’ve worked together. It provides another opportunity for discussing the ways in which AI finds its way into the art world. Their installation,  Heaven + Earth, does not rely on generative AI but rather on existing elements prompted by the artists. More than two years in the making, the exhibition is curated by Laura Barreca, director of the Museo Civico di Castelbuono; the work was ‘designed on commission of the Museum  for the historical context of the medieval castle of the Ventimigli. Heaven+Earth brings into dialogue cultural heritage, digital technologies and human heritage.‘ Dialogue was very much a distinct feature of the project, between artists, members of the scientific committee assembled for the show and for the accompanying catalogue, between curators then curator, and lastly between the catalogue’s editors.  A sinuous undertaking that will see the volume published in September 2026. 

I am credited as co-editor of the latter. I contributed an essay and an interview with the artists; I read the shorter contributions by committee members, which arrived shortly before all needed to be sent to the publisher. A process that was more about clearing the way than risking interfering with the promise made: delivering a show and a book. A promise bound to the sacred, a theme John Sanborn has explored in a number of works. I will comment further on this singular experience once the catalogue is published. It introduced me to the work of Ionee Waterhouse, and confirmed that John Sanborn has yet again subverted the technology in order to have it reveal to itself what it had not dreamed capable of doing. A 21st century entreprise looking at the 18th century. Now comes the time to deal with the 21st.

Au cours de la semaine du 11 mai, autour de l’édition 2026 du festival de Cannes, je découvre en parcourant Le Monde et The Guardian deux articles qui ont produit dans le désordre de brèves réflexions. Le point commun entre les deux parutions souligne le rôle des influencers et la place qu’il-elle-s occupent dans la conversation contemporaine sur le cinéma. Le Monde nous montre d’ailleurs une photo en contre-plongée de quatre ou cinq représentant.e.s (j’oublie), reconnaissance Française, s’arrêtant sur leur rôle à Cannes. Meta y sera à nouveau omniprésent avec ses créateurs de contenus, pour un festival où les selfies sont interdits par son directeur. The Guardian nous parle de la revue Anglaise, sur papier, A Rabbit’s Foot, tournée vers le rêve des anciens Cahiers du Cinéma. Pas de photo de l’équipe mais une citation ou deux d’un des principaux rédacteurs, Chris Cotonou, qui énonce que pour sa génération, la présence, la sortie d’un film de Hamaguchi est plus excitante que celle d’un Coppola ou d’un Tarantino. Coppola a réalisé entre les âges de 32 et 40 ans The Godfather I & II, The Conversation, Apocalypse now.  Quoi qu’on en dise, Drive my Car est à la traîne. 

Et à propos de cinéma américain, ces deux articles citent les réactions à l’absence de ‘grands films de studios’ à Cannes cette année, ceci ne pouvant que signifier le retour de l’auteur. La preuve, les quatre auteurs japonais, Hirokazu Koreeda, Kiyoshi Kurosawa, Ryusuke Hamaguchi, et Koji Fukada sont tous à Cannes. À l’heure où Jane Fonda déclare sur la Croisette que le cinéma est un acte de résistance, Andy Garcia et John Travolta, qui signent respectivement leurs premiers films, apparaissent en sélection et je n’ai pas retenu laquelle.

La parole du critique est clivante dans ses analyses et ses regards. Son coeur balance lorsqu’un film à grand budget récolte l’unanimité du public, mais bat son plein quand un auteur rafle tout, de Venise aux Oscars. François Truffaut fut l’un de ces critiques particulièrement féroces. Il avait cependant eu cette phrase, ‘on n’a jamais érigé de statue à la mémoire d’un critique’. La visibilité des influencers sur les réseaux sociaux, des YouTube channels sur le cinéma, c’est la revanche du critique, du content creator.

Je pense beaucoup à Arthur Jafa depuis deux, trois ans, pour un essai dont la structure peine à contenir son intelligence et sa force. Dans un échange avec le rédacteur-en-chef de la revue Artforum, David Velasco, Jafa parle de l’arrivée de Basquiat dans le milieu de l’art. Pour illustrer ce que cela représenta pour lui et son ami Greg Tate, il évoque le film World War Z, qu’il dit aimer, avec Brad Pitt. Il décrit une scène du film qui se déroule en Israel, lorsqu’un zombie grimpe le mur du périmètre. Et derrière lui se trouve un tsunami de zombies. Jafa conclut que Basquiat était ce premier zombie dans le monde l’art et que tout allait changer par la suite. Pour ces immenses artistes américain.e.s des années 80, de Barbara Kruger à Jenny Holzer, Jeff Koons, Ross Bleckner, cela semblait normal de n’avoir que Basquiat? Keith Haring et Julian Schnabel avaient répondu à cette question. Enfin, cette analogie me ramène à la Croisette, ce mur à grimper, la déferlante en ligne, dévorante. Il fut un temps où nous aurions ajouter ‘en quête de légitimité’, mais être meta a depuis longtemps dépassé cette préoccupation.

Je regardais la conférence de presse présentant le jury de Cannes cette année, une fois de plus témoigner de l’élégance et raffinement de Park Chan-wook. À ses côtés, Demi Moore terminait sa réaction à l’invitation d’être membre du Jury en nous rappelant où le festival se trouve, la mer tout près . What a view! S’exclamait-elle. Que voit-elle venir?

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During the week of May 11, around the 2026 Cannes Film Festival, I came across two articles in Le Monde and The Guardian that produced, in no particular order, a few brief reflections. The common thread between the two publications underlines the role of influencers and the place they occupy in contemporary conversation about cinema. Le Monde shows us a low-angle photograph of four or five representatives (I forget how many), French recognition, pausing on their role at Cannes. Meta will once again be omnipresent with its content creators, at a festival where selfies are banned by its director. The Guardian tells us about the British print magazine A Rabbit’s Foot, oriented toward the dream of the old Cahiers du Cinéma. No photo of the team but a quote or two from one of its principal contributors, Chris Cotonou, who states that for his generation, the release of a Hamaguchi film is more exciting than one by Coppola or Tarantino. Coppola made, between the ages of 32 and 40, The Godfather I & II, The Conversation, Apocalypse Now.

Whatever one may say, Drive My Car lags behind. And on the subject of American cinema, both articles bring up reactions to the absence of major studio films at Cannes this year — which can only mean the return of the auteur. Proof: four Japanese auteurs, Hirokazu Koreeda, Kiyoshi Kurosawa, Ryusuke Hamaguchi, and Koji Fukada are all there. This when Jane Fonda declares on the Croisette that cinema is an act of resistance, Andy Garcia and John Travolta, each making their directorial debuts, appear in the selection — and I don’t remember which one.

The critic’s voice is divisive in its analyses and its gaze. The heart wavers when a big-budget film wins unanimous public acclaim, but beats fully when an auteur sweeps everything, from Venice to the Oscars. François Truffaut was one of those particularly ferocious critics. Yet he had this line: “On n’a jamais érigé de statue à la mémoire d’un critique.” The visibility of influencers on social media, of YouTube channels on cinema — it is the critic’s revenge, the content creator’s.

I have been thinking a great deal about Arthur Jafa for two or three years now, for an essay whose structure struggles to contain his intelligence and force. In a conversation with the editor-in-chief of Artforum, David Velasco, Jafa speaks of Basquiat’s arrival in the art world. To illustrate what this represented for him and his friend Greg Tate, he uses the film World War Z, which he says he loves, with Brad Pitt. He describes a scene set in Israel, when a zombie climbs the perimeter wall. And behind him is a tsunami of zombies. Jafa concludes that Basquiat was that first zombie in the art world, and that everything would change thereafter. For those immense American artists of the eighties — from Barbara Kruger to Jenny Holzer, Jeff Koons, Ross Bleckner — was it normal to have only Basquiat? Keith Haring and Julian Schnabel had responded to that question. Finally, this analogy brings me back to the Croisette — that wall to climb, the devouring online wave. There was a time when when we might have added something about a quest for legitimacy, but being meta has long since done away with this preoccupation.

I was watching the press conference presenting this year’s Cannes jury, once again witnessing the elegance and refinement of Park Chan-wook. Beside him, Demi Moore finished her response to the invitation to serve on the jury by reminding us where the festival is located — the sea close by. “What a view!” she exclaimed. What does she see coming?

RON MUECK

The Mori Art Museum and the Fondation Cartier pour l’art contemporain: Ron Mueck from Wednesday, April 29, to Wednesday, September 23, 2026.

Organized in collaboration with the Fondation Cartier pour l’art contemporain in Paris, this exhibition arrives in Tokyo via Milan and Seoul. It is his first in Japan in 18 years, with many pieces making their Japanese debut.

2026 is the year of YBA in Tokyo. This important exhibition held at the Mori Museum opens as another major show currently at The National Art Center  devoted the Young British Artists Movement, with which Ron Mueck is associated , is about to close (on May 11). Both shows provide a generational panorama of mediums and preoccupations in 90s UK, more tellingly it could be argued by artists such as Tracy Emin, Steve McQueen, or Gillian Wearing. In the case of Mueck, all institutions are keen to remind us that his output consists of about fifty works. The Mori has eleven of them, a significant selection that includes both allegorical themes and capturess of the quotidian. But still not large enough to occupy all of the museum’s galleries, two of which display a selection of photographs and two films created by French photographer Gautier Deblonde who has documented Mueck’s work for over twenty-five years, including Mass (2005-2017), made up of one hundred giant skulls, tightly packed, catacombs-like though ‘messier’, which aptly closes the show.

The shifts in scale, subjects, and formal materials have quickly placed him in the company of peers who had arrived before, notably Stephan Balkenhol and Charles Ray. Mueck, who emerged in 1996, saw his work received with a newer set of analytical criteria developed in publications ranging from I-D to Frieze. His sculptures were interpreted through a narrative framing in a post-Thatcher Britain; it embraced figuration and theatricality along with a muted, sombre palette of tones and mysteries. These sculptures are without movement, static with the weight of time, of where to go next. Yet it runs for five months in Roppongi.

Man in a Boat, 2002, Mixed media,159 x 138 x 425.5 cm, Private collection, National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Seoul, 2025, Photo: Nam Kiyong , Photo courtesy: Fondation Cartier pour l’art contemporain, National, Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea

Je reviens chaque année à Quadrophenia, de Pete Townshend et The Who. Je me souviens d’un camarade de lycée dans les années 70, après avoir écouté Tommy, nous dire que Townshend n’avait plus rien à apprendre de la guitare. Il le désignait comme le plus grand. Cela ne m’a jamais quitté tant c’était désespérant d’absurdité. Cette remarque gardait pourtant une résonance. Après avoir visité le Townshend Studio à l’Université de West London (https://www.uwl.ac.uk/study/study-facilities/the-townshend-studio), je mesurais mieux son tournant vers l’électronique, les consoles d’enregistrement et sa passion des synthétiseurs. Comment il avait tiré d’un instrument ce qu’il lui fallait pour passer à autre chose.

Parmi les textes rassemblés sur ce site, on n’en trouvera aucun ayant fait le trajet de ce que l’on nomme peer reviewed. La pratique me semblait moins fréquente en France, du moins chez mes mentors, qui eux étaient trop occupés à produire les concepts qu’on retrouverait plus tard dans le milieu universitaire anglo-américain. Cela dit, je peux concevoir que certains professeurs dont je fus l’étudiant rencontrèrent cette condition dans le cadre de traductions. Il existait cependant une quantité considérable de revues internationales portant sur l’art, le cinéma, accueillant de nouvelles théories, de nouveaux penseurs.

Certaines furent de courte durée, d’autres sont toujours là, ayant connu une suite de propriétaires. Elles permettaient d’être présent dans la culture en temps réel tout en ouvrant les portes des universités à une époque à laquelle se trouvaient des professeurs titulaires sans doctorats ; ils et elles fondèrent un champ d’activité transversal et pluridisciplinaire, de la fin des années 60 aux années 90, lorsque les universités révisèrent cette pratique.

On pouvait bien sûr avoir les diplômes et garder un pied fermement à l’extérieur. Plusieurs modèles traversent ces textes. Je pense souvent à un créateur qui marqua les années 80 et 90, Stefaan Decostere, qui fut réalisateur à la BRT, une chaîne qui lui donna une liberté admirable dans le choix des sujets documentaires sur lesquels il se penchait, mais aussi dans la possibilité d’invention de dispositif d’un projet à l’autre. Tant de collaborateurs vinrent le rejoindre, de Chris Dercon à Klaus Vom Bruch, Julia Kristeva, Paul Virilio, Jean Baudrillard, la liste émerveille. Un autre nom m’est apparu, Arthur Kroker, disciple vertueux autrefois de Baudrillard, et dont les concepts tels que hacking the future et celui qui devait beaucoup à son maître, excremental culture, rêvaient de dessiner l’avenir.

Il y a là pourtant quelque chose de désuet en vue d’enjeux théoriques contemporains et de complicités qui n’auraient plus lieu d’être, qui seraient moins admises. Pascal Bonitzer avait soulevé cette question dans ses textes critiques, d’où parles-tu ? Qui annonçait la parole située et dont le reflet pourrait bien être comment tu me parles là ?

Pair·e·s et mentors de Montréal, de New York, de Paris, et de Tokyo,  qui avaient vu pire, me montrèrent où poser les premiers pas. Les erreurs de trajets sur plus d’un sujet restent les miennes. Elles parsèment ce site.

Inside/Outside

I return every year to Quadrophenia, by Pete Townshend and The Who. I remember a school friend in the seventies who, after listening to Tommy, told us that Townshend had nothing left to learn about the guitar. He called him the greatest. I never forgot it — it was so desperately absurd. And yet something in it resonated. After visiting the Townshend Studio at the University of West London (https://www.uwl.ac.uk/study/study-facilities/the-townshend-studio), I better understood his turn toward electronics, recording consoles, and his passion for synthesizers. How he had drawn from an instrument what he needed in order to move on to something else.

Among the texts gathered on this site, none have made the journey known as peer review. The practice seemed less common in France, at least among my mentors, who were too busy producing the concepts that would later be taken up by Anglo-American academia. That said, I can imagine that some of the professors I studied under encountered this condition in the context of translations. There was, however, a considerable number of international journals devoted to art and cinema, open to new fresh theories and new thinkers.

Some were short-lived; others are still here, having gone through a succession of owners. They made it possible to be present in culture in real time, while opening the doors of universities at a moment when tenured professors without PhDs roamed departments. They founded a transversal and multidisciplinary field of activity, from the late sixties through the nineties, when universities revised this practice.

One could of course hold the degrees and keep a foot firmly on the outside. Several models run through these texts. I often think of a filmmaker who left his mark on the eighties and nineties — Stefaan Decostere — who worked as a director at BRT, a channel that gave him admirable freedom in his choice of documentary subjects, and also in the possibility of reinventing his approach from one project to the next. So many collaborators came to join him: from Chris Dercon to Klaus vom Bruch, Julia Kristeva, Paul Virilio, Jean Baudrillard — the list is astonishing. Another name comes to mind: Arthur Kroker, once a devoted disciple of Baudrillard, whose concepts — hacking the future and, one that owed much to his mentor, excremental culture — dreamed of mapping what was to come.

And yet there is something dated in all this, in light of contemporary theoretical stakes and complicit arrangements that would no longer hold, that would be less readily admitted. Pascal Bonitzer had raised this question in his critical writing: d’où parles-tu? — from where do you speak? — which announced situated speech  and whose contemporary echo might well be: how do you think you get to speak to me like that?

Peers and mentors from Montreal, New York, Paris, and Tokyo — those who had seen worse — showed me where to trace my first steps. The errors of trajectory, on more than one subject, remain my own. They are scattered throughout this site.