Woman Sitting at the Machine, Thinking and Censorship is a two-part collection of poems by typesetter, activist and poet Karen Brodine. First published posthumously in 1990 as a reflection on her life as a typesetter, union organiser and lesbian, this series of ‘work poems’ chronicles labour struggles, both personal and collective, and draws on her experience growing up surrounded by socialist feminists immediately following the wrath of McCarthyism.

It is the second title from Unbidden Tongues, a series edited by Isabelle Sully that focuses on previously produced yet relatively uncirculated work by cultural practitioners busy with questions surrounding civility and civic life—particularly so in relation to language.

This paperback serves as an extension of Adam Pendleton’s 2009 exhibition and performance series entitled EL T D K Amsterdam. It consists of excerpted texts and images integral to Pendleton’s practice at the time of the exhibition. Sources include Joan Retallack’s The Poethical Wager, Jena Osman, Edward Sapir, Ron Silliman, Tan Lin, Jean-Luc Godard, Leslie Scalapino, Amiri Baraka/Leroi Jones and Hugo Ball, and the artist’s own writings.

A score of performative gestures, drawn from the conceptual art and body art scenes from Central and Eastern Europe in the 1970s and 1980s.

Published on the occasion of the exhibition Exposition collective pour un corps individuel – La partition privée at gb agency, Paris, from the October 12 to November 5, 2019, and the Playground Festival, Leuven, from November 14–17, 2019.

With works by Milan Adamčiak, Geta Brătescu, Anna Daučíková, Valie Export, Stano Filko, Tomislav Gotovac, Sanja Iveković, Anna Jermolaewa, Július Koller, Jiří Kovanda, Katalin Ladik, Simon Leung, Karel Miler, Paul Neagu, Manuel Pelmuş, Petr Štembera, Mladen Stilinović, Sven Stilinović, Slaven Tolj, Goran Trbuljak.

More information on the project can be found here.

Designed by Vier5.

“Behind the standards put in place for the communication related to his exhibitions—the use of lowercase and Helvetica exclusively, the refusal to reproduce images of his work, to produce (or allow production of) written commentary on the subject of the same work, to appear in the context of a vernissage or even to answer an interview—the artist stanley brouwn builds his identity by way of ellipses. The invitation cards for his solo exhibitions provide a symptomatic example: set almost exclusively in Helvetica, the absence of uppercase, flying in the face of the graphic identity of the gallery or the host institution, they seem impossible to date, give or take twenty years”—Céline Chazalviel, Revue Faire –To look at things #4, 2017

“Behind the standards put in place for the communication related to his exhibitions—the use of lowercase and Helvetica exclusively, the refusal to reproduce images of his work, to produce (or allow production of) written commentary on the subject of the same work, to appear in the context of a vernissage or even to answer an interview—the artist stanley brouwn builds his identity by way of ellipses. The invitation cards for his solo exhibitions provide a symptomatic example: set almost exclusively in Helvetica, the absence of uppercase, flying in the face of the graphic identity of the gallery or the host institution, they seem impossible to date, give or take twenty years”—Céline Chazalviel, Revue Faire –To look at things #4, 2017

“Behind the standards put in place for the communication related to his exhibitions—the use of lowercase and Helvetica exclusively, the refusal to reproduce images of his work, to produce (or allow production of) written commentary on the subject of the same work, to appear in the context of a vernissage or even to answer an interview—the artist stanley brouwn builds his identity by way of ellipses. The invitation cards for his solo exhibitions provide a symptomatic example: set almost exclusively in Helvetica, the absence of uppercase, flying in the face of the graphic identity of the gallery or the host institution, they seem impossible to date, give or take twenty years”—Céline Chazalviel, Revue Faire –To look at things #4, 2017