No one could think freely if his eyes could not take leave of different eyes which followed them. As soon as gazes meet, we are no longer wholly two, and it is hard to remain alone. This exchange (the term is exact) realizes in a very short time a transposition or metathesis—a chiasma of two “destinies,” two points of view. Thereby a sort of simultaneous reciprocal limitation occurs. You capture my image, my appearance; I capture yours. You are not me, since you see me and I do not see myself. What I lack is this me that you see. And what you lack is the you I see. And no matter how far we advance in our mutual understanding, as much as we reflect, so much will we be different.
Paul Valéry, Tel Quel

There are two possible ways in which to contemplate the project “Perform a Lecture!” and to embed its impetus in current artistic discourses. We could trace Lecture Performances – the format under examination – from their first appearances in the arts and precursors in other fields to different manifestations today, and thus locate and validate the project within a historic genealogy, or we can treat Lecture Performances with reference to the French philosopher Alain Badiou, as an “event” that interrupts the realm of the ordinary and the already established to reflect on their timeliness and relevance today.
If we recognize the latest occurrence of Lecture Performances as a challenge to some of the conventions of the art field that deserve closer examination, instead of devoting this introduction to an effort of art historic legitimization, we can concentrate on the “politics” of present Lecture Performances.

For this purpose, I will make use of Gilles Deleuze/Félix Guattari’s authorization to deliberately extract sections from other discourses – as laid out in their conception of the “rhizome” – to adapt those to the investigation. I will fructify their definition of art as a form of thought, as developed in What is Philosophy? (1991), and Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s notion of “vision” as a mode of thought reaching beyond rationale and being intrinsically connected to seeing and to corporeity , to extract hypotheses for this text.
Deleuze/Guattari’s classification of the three forms of thought – philosophy, science, and art – will assist in illustrating the particularity of Lecture Performances within the artistic genre, and to clarify its difference not only to science, but also to philosophy. With the help of Merleau-Ponty, then, we can detail the mode of the artistic experience in Lecture Performances in regard to its integration of subjectivity, and the body, into perception.
Equipped with these tools, the essay subsequently traces the issues raised and contested by the six particular Lecture Performances in this series to analyze the format’s singularities and components, its modus operandi, and its direction of impact. The opposition of knowledge versus truth in art will be examined, as will recent shifts in the artistic context and its mechanisms.
This case study, as well as the publication as a whole, is conceived as a starting point for an extended investigation on the subject and hopefully contributes to a better understanding of the fragile construct of “exhibiting” and its constitutive factors: the artist, the artwork, the curator, the space, and the viewer.

First, I would like to look into the differentiation between philosophy, art, and science, as introduced by Deleuze/Guattari. The important precondition for their comparison of the three fields is the understanding of each of them as a specific and direct form of thought which structures our possibilities of how to deal with and relate to the world – and within which frame. They write: “What defines thought in its three great forms – art, science, and philosophy – is always confronting chaos, laying out a plane, throwing a plane over chaos.” While philosophy invents concepts to circumscribe the universe, science lays out a system of references (coordinates), within which propositions (about reality) can be made. Art, then, (aesthetically) composes sensations through affects and percepts (not to be confounded with affections and perceptions).
The concern of all three fields is always directed towards the basic, perpetual questions of mankind, that is, to understand the world we live in and our relation to it. These issues are never pursued only subjectively or personally, as all thought is exceeding opinion and the perspective of the individual. Thought needs its decisive mode, and it needs a question or a concern which the philosopher, the scientist, or the artist seeks to explore. Philosophy’s desire is to invent the world, science’s is to understand and describe it, and art’s aim is to connect the world to sensation – that is to essentially integrate the relation between the subject and the world into thought. Each field defines for itself (and is defined by) a different realm towards which thought is dedicated. Philosophy deals with infinity and the aim to give consistency to chaos. Science operates within reality. It aims to understand the functioning of the world by deferring and decelerating phenomena and looking at them closely to pervade/comprehend them. A scientific function delivers the framework within which the problem can be examined, to then come to a proposition. The unique role of art, then, is to provide and ensure a realm that brings about thought not through logic (ratio, objectifying means) but through intentional subjectivisation (affect and percept).

At this point, Merleau-Ponty comes into play. In his essay “Eye and Mind” (1961), he too reflects on the way in which thought is processed within the realm of the visual arts and takes painting/the painter as a case study for his investigation. For him, science limits itself to mere descriptions of the phenomena that it endeavors to explain, whereas art facilitates “vision” as a unique form of thought which is necessarily based on a corporeal experience of the surrounding space and thus starts from the subject but surpasses individuality. The eye is the central organ through which what we perceive enters our body, that is the site of any thought. Space isn’t a neutral net of relations between objects, but it is dependent on the subject who constitutes it and acquires it by relating to it and mirroring itself in it (be it objects or other individuals). Vision, then, is double, it is both what enters our body through the eye from outside, and what happens inside of us and which we don’t institute or even have control over: “The thinking that belongs to vision functions according to a program and a law which it has not given itself. It does not possess its own premises; it is not a thought altogether present and actual; there is in its center a mystery of passivity.” To expose oneself to this kind of thought is the necessary precondition to reach beyond the surfaces of things and enable a profound understanding of the world that surrounds us – and also of ourselves. Merleau-Ponty concludes that “Vision is not a certain mode of thought or presence to self; it is the means given me for being absent from myself, for being present from the inside at the fission of Being only at the end of which do I close up into myself.”

Both Deleuze/Guattari and Merleau-Ponty insist on the “rumination on the world” as a fundamental category of thought and the pursuit of truth as its eternal task; and they declare art to be a unique sphere whose particular consistence enables thought and experience to join. Art differs fundamentally from philosophy and science insofar as it needs to be experienced and to be perceived by an audience – its thought only unfolds somewhere in the space between the things and us. On that note, the particular setup of Lecture Performances is always grounded in a spatial situation in which the artistic experience consists in the estrangement from our common conception of knowledge; it (more or less explicitly) rejects the fashionable notion of knowledge production or acquisition as some kind of possibly objective and self-sufficient truth within science’s own formats, to use knowledge (and the format of the lecture) as material that doesn’t yet contain value but needs to be subjectively applied to gain significance.

The collaborative project of Dan Graham and Nicolas Guagnini, Tourguide – A Platonic Dialogue Through the City, took as a starting point a guided architectural walk through Bruno Taut ́s famous Hufeisensiedlung (Horseshoe Estate, 1925) in Berlin’s district of Britz. Together with around 30 participants, Graham and Guagnini spent a couple of hours strolling around the estate, and spontaneously visited one of the apartments, which a resident made accessible for the group. As Graham is especially well known for his interest in, and connoisseurship of modern and postmodern architecture, the audience anticipated a Graham-style (that is an associative but well informed and innovative) lecture on the architecture, the context of its conception, its socio-cultural and political implications, as well as its relevance in the architectural discourse of today. Graham and Guagnini fed these expectations, only to break them systematically. Apart from a short introduction by Guagnini, the two refused their ascribed roles of the “initiated” which would convey knowledge to the rest, but rather triggered communication on the very same issues – by asking questions or erecting provocative theses to the others. Of course, the frustration was immediate. After the first distress, however, most people gave in to the unexpected situation and decided on his/her own way in which to cope with it. The event became a fragmented, decentralized experience which depended on one ́s own authority but was specific to the staged arrangement.
What was interesting about this experiment was not the insight into Taut’s universe, his mode of construction, form, or aesthetics, but the artists’ delicate strategy to confront their audience (us) with a supposed situation of knowledge acquisition and to lay open its structures and misconceptions. The event wasn’t aiming at broadening anyone’s comprehension of architecture and social city planning, but to pose the question of the relation between this knowledge and art, and the position of the subject within it. Merleau-Ponty writes about the connection between artist-painting-viewer, “It is by lending his body to the world that the artist changes the world into paintings.” He suggests here that through the “intertwining of vision and movement” the painter appropriates space, brings together the active thought of the mind, and opens up to an understanding of the world which cannot be acquired consciously. This “knowledge” cannot be passed on by information or ratio, but it can be perceived in a painting. Merleau-Ponty doesn’t say so explicitly, but it is inherent in his concept that by ‘lending his body to the world,’ meaning perceiving the world in the heightened state of awareness of mind and body and transferring that into another form, the artist doesn’t only conceive artworks. He also establishes a connection to others who confront themselves with his art, an encounter which enables them to see/think the same things in the same way that he does; the artwork then becomes an intermediary between the two.
I would like to suggest that Graham/Guagnini instituted such a setup here and showed that it isn’t only the objet d’art (in the exhibition space) which can take the function of the intermediary; the architectural site took on this role, initiated by the artists. The Horseshoe Estate was estranged from its everyday existence to become the stage on which (or, medium through which) Deleuze/Guattari’s idea of sensation based on affect and percept was instigated.

The setting for Pedro Neves Marques’ Lecture Performance On the Invisibility of Performance and the Resonance of Lives - 3 Proposals Explored was a scholarly workshop. The audience read and discussed the issues raised by and through the performance of three of his texts allotted to three successive days at Salon Populaire. The Escape Route’s Design: Assessment of the Impact of Current Aesthetics on History and a Comparative Reading Based on an Example Close to the City of Berlin (in collaboration with Mariana Silva) brought together Ilya Kabakov’s art installation Palace of Projects, and documented real life border crossings from East to West Berlin between the erection of the Berlin Wall in 1961 and its fall in 1989, while the other two works/texts, The Wandering Chief (1880-1891) and The Tigris Expedition (1978) focused on two historic figures, respectively Arthur Rimbaud and Thor Heyerdahl. The common denominator in the three essays is an examination of a possible stretto between art and life and respective readings against the grain of art as life – and vice versa.
The discrepancy to a ‘egular’ close reading was that the artist chose to take the impossible double position of author and critic at the same time. The irritation of the audience was predictable and came about right from the start. This irritation alienates the viewer from his accustomed passivity, respectively his preconceived approval of the artist’s expertise and stimulates a fresh negotiation of the relation between the players of the “artistic” game. It is not the human sciences (art history, literary sciences, sociology, anthropology, to name only a few of the disciplines Neves Marques is touching here), nor is it philosophy which is the ground on which this project settles. In the realm of science, a comparison of Kabakov’s art installation and Berlin border crossings from real life would, for example, either set out to construct an arrangement within which the two can be compared in regards to imagery and aesthetic qualities, or to create a sociological framework to then analyze and understand the human social interaction in the respective situation. If it was philosophy, the fundamental question of the relation between art and life would have to be dealt with by inventing entirely new concepts. Pedro Neves Marques, however, touched upon the sensational experiences connected to these disciplines and to the events they relate to. His undertaking wasn’t effective on the level of an evaluation of the historic significance either of Thor Heyerdahl’s anthropologic research, for example, or in discussing the possible aesthetic qualities of that symbolic political protest by burning his boat, the Tigris. But that wasn’t what Neves Marques was aiming at anyway, I suppose. The artist claimed a connection between at first sight unrelated events, and a relevance of these events for today. He succeeded in triggering responsiveness for their possible impact, but he didn’t seem to trust in the artist-work-audience relation mentioned earlier. This setup is delicate as it only functions if the cognitive plane is left and each “party” surrenders to the unpredictability of the occurrences. As Neves Marques refused to give away control over the situation he had created and didn’t acknowledge his codependence on the audience for the event to “work,” the potential of the project was unfortunately not fully exhausted.
Ellie Ga’s growing project The Fortunetellers takes the form of an anthropologic slide show. As the only artist among a group of scientists, Ga spent six months on board the sailboat Tara to carry out scientific research in the pack ice of the Arctic Ocean. The Fortunetellers comprises autobiographical life storytelling, sound files from the boat, slides, and digital video excerpts that convey “the terms and rituals of daily life in the Arctic night.” The artist combines personal memory, research on specific topics like the Yo-Yo or the metaphoric power of plankton, and analyses of the group dynamics and social interaction (including her own position in the team), to draw a picture of “the rhythm of human time.” Equipped with a headset, and handling the technical devices – filmic footage, a slide and an overhead projector, on which she creates collages from images on foil – she performs her presentation like a professional actor. Her narration is learned by heart and perfectly voiced; each movement is exact and rehearsed. An irritating moment, though: She is seated with her back to the audience. At first sight, her presentation resembles a regular anthropologic slide show like those advertised on posters illegally placarded on exterior walls or empty shop windows. There is data on the setup of the trip, private photographs of the presenter and her mates in their travel surrounding, and explanations about particularities of the endeavor and the site.
Unlike the previous projects, here the format of the Lecture Performance is subverted only indirectly. The audience doesn’t take an active part in the execution of the piece, but the situation isn’t the same as in an anthropologic slide show either. The presentation is not only more complex and accomplished than its reference model, but the issue raised by it differs profoundly from its sibling. Ellie Ga takes the extreme situation of the expedition, which is dominated by darkness, isolation, and an entire uncontrollability of the ship’s movements and exit from the ice, as an occasion to examine the human condition under which the scientific results are achieved, and she does so by not only referencing them but by opening up a space of imagination for the audience to project into.
If we consider the situation on board as a testing ground for human cohabitation in general, it is interesting to observe that Ellie Ga particularly focuses on her own role within the group. She confesses her aggressions, rivalries, and jealousies towards and with the other companions, she admits her boredom, and doesn’t even spare the spectator details about the crew’s physical necessities. She wonders about her “uselessness” as an artist in an environment which is aligned to the production of hard “scientific” data (to justify the money that is spent on them) to which she can’t contribute. Consequently, she reports to have found herself at the bottom of the social hierarchy and both describes and gives a taste of her strategies to improve her standing: for example, she illuminates a crack in the ice during an Arctic night and takes a series of pictures from that scene; in her lecture, she uses both the photographs and an account of the preparation process and reactions to the event. This activity is entirely senseless in terms of the production of measurable output, but it had an aesthetic (sensual) impact on the others on board. For the audience at the ICI Institute for Cultural Inquiry where the event took place, the sensual impact of her presentation and its tactile stimulus was countering the reflection of such an experience; both happened at the same time, and fused into an experience that addressed neither intellect nor emotion only, but both at the same time.
Erik Bünger’s project The Third Man is the second part of a trilogy of Performance Lectures, which he started with A Lecture on Schizophonia (2007-2009); the third piece is yet to come. Trained as a classical composer, but working as a visual artist, Bünger’s works often deal with the relation between music and art, and he combines visual and musical elements to explore that correlation further within musical and/or video arrangements. The setup of The Third Man contains a theatre like space with a stage at Radialsystem V, on which Bünger stands like a televangelist, equipped with a headset and illuminated by a spotlight, which throws his shadow monstrously against the wall behind him. Next to him is a huge projection screen on which a video collage is presented in which Bünger comments on life. Although he sometimes displays the two lectures as a video installation with a voice-over, for our cause, it is of crucial importance that the artist is physically present in the space, as he embodies both the little imp that is warning of the seductive power of music and another one that actively seduces us.
To examine the impact of music on the human body and psyche, Bünger uses the leitmotif of the “Third Man,” which is the title song by Harry Lime for the movie of the same name by Carol Reed from 1949. Bünger traces the figure of the shadow as a representative of the present-absent (as undead, demon, or guardian angel), which invades the human body and mind through catchy melodies. His argument is as simple as it is radical: He ascribes to music a particular power which is both used by institutions to control people (such as with teenagers who are kept away from public places and shopping malls through a device called “mosquito,” which plays music they’d hate on a frequency that is so high that no one over 20 can hear it), and by individuals who deliberately want to get lost in music, and therefore, should the situation arise, willingly subordinate to the intrusion of ideological content carried by it. Examples in the piece are Abba’s song “Thank You for the Music,” and Kylie Minogue’s “Can’t Get You Out of My Head,” and an early Austrian fascist heimatfilm which depicts singing as an emotional hygiene which releases and conveys fascist thought amongst the children. The “third man” is described as being the device echoing our own fear, love, and hate back to us, as a blank position, which doesn’t produce and transport its own contents, but merely serves a mirroring function, namely to echo one’s own feelings back to oneself. Music, for Bünger, is preceding consciousness and thought, it is something that was “always already there,” like the child is exposed to the mother’s singing in her womb – even before birth.
The mechanism around which the whole piece is structured is the double bind of the artist’s and the audience’s joint reflection on the dangers of music and its parallel execution – the helpless seduction by the very same musical samples Bünger uses to warn us of. He is the prophet and demon in one; he lays out the controlling system in front of us, only to give us no chance but to submit to its power.
The most experimental project in format was Olivia Plender and Romeo Gongora’s role-play Family to Nation. While the event was announced as a performance, it was actually the audience members who, together with the artists and the organizers, became the performers. In a hybrid between a psychological family drama and an exercise of group behavior techniques of the Brazilian reformist pedagogue Paulo Freire, the participants were to “examine with a group of participants existing power relations, forms of authority and what they undermine, in both the ‘family’ and the ‘nation.’” The setup at the multifunctional theater space at .HBC involved the curator Kim Einarsson, who took the role of the mediator of the evening, and a sociologist and psychologist who intervened into the dynamics and conflicts within the group. Right from the beginning, the participants were split up into five “families” and assigned their roles as respective family members. The evening evolved out of a script of four successive scenes, the laid out problems mostly revolving around traditional family models and exploitative support structures (like hiring an au pair for child care). What was intended as a side topic of the inquiry, namely to explore “the role of the audience in performance, the activation of the viewer, and the possible social function of art,” became much more of an issue than the forthright political themes – although this happened after the performance rather than during its course. Surprisingly, the transformation of the viewer into a participant didn’t activate any resistance amongst the group at first; everybody (including us, the organizers) happily gave in to a soap opera style role-play. Even more startling was the ex post observation that the alleged “experts,” the sociologist and psychologist, were accepted as authorities without question, and more often than not, their opinions were happily heard and no one contested their interventions. Still, or maybe exactly for that reason, in terms of “Perform a Lecture’s” ongoing investigation of the relationship between the artist, the work of art, the spectator, and the context in which they come together, this project was the most straightforward of the series, because it had gotten out of balance and everyone noticed. When we all surfaced again from our immersion after the game was over, most became aware at once that we had given away the art world’s treasured criticality right in the moment we entered the play, and that something was wrong with that. The question of why and how this had happened turned out to be the question of the night and kept many at the bar in discussion for several hours.
In my eyes, the problem in the layout of the project was that the artists took too much of a lead, controlled the course of action too heavily (as happened with Marques), and their apparent preconceived expectations of the outcome left no space for the audience and for the situation to unfold on its own. Plender/Gongora, respectively their stand-in sociologist/psychologist, filled the role of the “authority” or “expert,” while the “mediator” or curator turned into a mere conférencier where she would more appropriately have been a presenter or host; even us, the organizers had exactly ascribed tasks to fulfill. No balancing of the various forces at play was possible, and the project’s potential to negotiate the site of the actual aesthetic experience when it is not a separate thing apart from us, but which we together (the artist, the curator, the audience) form ourselves, was unfortunately given away too easily. The chance of becoming aware of ourselves via experiencing the “fission of Being” that Merleau-Ponty postulates (as quoted above) was missed, as we were too busy immersing ourselves in the denial of it.
Inviting Will Holder to develop a Lecture Performance meant counting on a complex setup of people. Originally coming from graphic design, Holder’s artistic practice focuses on subverting well established and mostly traditional distributions of roles, responsibilities, and, subsequently, power within the art context. He still designs catalogues, as he did recently for artist duo The Otolith Group, but the book, then, is a collaboration, or a piece in its own right. But who is the author, and respectively, the artist in this case? For “Perform a Lecture!,” Holder invited another artist, Cally Spooner, to present her ongoing project Indirect Language, on which the two had a dialogue for a couple of years already. The project is an evolving dramatization in eight acts of Maurice Merleau-Ponty’s essay “Indirect Language and the Voices of Silence” from 1952. Holder participates in the staging and plays the “narrator,” representing Merleau-Ponty. Again, roles are mixed up here: As the commissioner of the piece, Holder could well occupy the place of the curator, as he passes on the position of the artist to Spooner – but then, he participates in her play, so she becomes his “director,” although he remains the invited artist in the announcement of the piece...
A similar deliberate confusion is going on within the play itself. Composed of a group of a curator, a writer, another artist, Spooner and Holder themselves, and only two professional actors, the piece is performed as a play reading in a movie theater (Arsenal – Institut für Film und Videokunst) and constantly switches its plane of reference. They take on the characters from the script – Merleau-Ponty, Ferdinand De Saussure, Jean Paul Sartre, André Malraux, the “ghost of a painter” – that Spooner had extracted as impersonations of the confronting positions presented in the original text. Her dramatization adds an additional level to this complex arrangement by introducing the appearance of a “footnote” and “stage directions” as characters that comment on the historic figures and their behavior and thus implicitly give account of the embeddedness in their context. Her approach intersects the different times and places from which the argument of the text becomes effective and actualizes it for present-day questions. While in the 1950s, Merleau-Ponty referred to a then prevailing dispute with the former cultural minister in France, André Malraux, who famously responded to the gaining importance of photography as an (easily reproduced and distributed) artistic genre by introducing the idea of the “imaginary museum” in his book The Voices of Silence (1951), Spooner/Holder contemplate the role of the artist and the function of the artwork today – a time in which not only the art object has lost its primacy but also the site of aesthetic/artistic experience has become uncertain. Merleau-Ponty then objected to Malraux’s idea of an all-encompassing imaginary archive of all art of all times, available in people’s minds by insisting on the specificity of experiencing a situation. Whereas Merleau-Ponty had to defend the situation of exhibiting as a setup in a public (or at least semi-public) place against the proposal to “privatize” the rendezvous with the artwork, so to say, today the artists need rather to protect the particular form of the encounter with and through art against the spectacular public art event and an under-complex aestheticization of surfaces, that reaffirms instituted securities instead of asking questions. Indirect Voices focalized a historic dispute in an entertaining way and carved out its essential arguments by addressing the audience’s minds and their sight. In parallel, the presence of the artists in their own argument and the confrontation with the “real” bodies commented elegantly on the problem of representation of the artist, his voice, and his “intentions.” Indeed, the artists are intrinsically attached to the presented topic, but their subjectivity is conceptualized and opens up a space for distanced reflection. The existential reality of the corpus is always already containing the recognition of or response from the other (his gaze).
How can we come to a preliminary conclusion in regard to our question at this point? In which ways do Lecture Performances function as an event which has interrupted the realm of established rules in the art context? We have come to see that all Lecture Performances in this project infiltrate and mostly subvert existing formats (from other fields); so we cannot speak of the one set of specific features of the format. Still, other than traditional lectures (in the art world and elsewhere), and also more consequently than other forms of performances, it can be said that Lecture Performances always involve a reflection of their setup and the relation between the performing artist, the performance as an art piece and the viewer within a given space. This can happen explicitly or indirectly, but it seems to be an integral part of its direction of inquiry. This investigation, though, remains, if it functions, never on the level of a mere intellectual argument, but essentially integrates the sensual experience of both the artist and the audience into its array. Knowledge is in each case used as a tool to trace further reaching questions. These issues are particular in each case but persistently come back to the possibility of thought itself. If there is something to be learnt from the insistence of Lecture Performances today, it is the necessary recognition that the question after the specificity of artistic experience and the conditions of exhibiting is persisting, and one of the most pressing ones today; and that none of us can pursue it alone.

*1 See for example: Alain Badiou, Being and Event (New York 2007).
*2 Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (Minneapolis 1987).
*3 Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, What is Philosophy? (New York/Chichester 1994).
*4 Maurice Merleau-Ponty, “Eye and Mind”, in: Ted Toadvine and Leonard Lawlor (eds.), The Merleau-Ponty Reader (Evanston, Illinois 2007), pp. 351-379.
*5 Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari, What is Philosophy? (New York/Chichester 1994), p. 197.
*6 Ibid.
*7 See Deleuze, Guattari, pp. 15-116.
*8 See Deleuze, Guattari, pp. 117-200.
*9 Ibid.
*10 See Merleau-Ponty, “Eye and Mind”
*11 Ibid., p. 374.
*12 Ibid., p. 353.
*13 See Deleuze, Guattari, p. 183.
*14 Merleau-Ponty, p. 353.
*15 Ibid.
*16 See Deleuze/Guattari ́s comparison between art and philosophy: “Sensory becoming is the action by which something or someone is ceaselessly becoming-other (while continuing to be what they are), (...) whereas conceptual becoming is the action by which the common event itself eludes what is.” P. 177
*17 See, last accessed March 8, 2011.
*18 Ibid.
*19 From The Third Man, a video by Erik Bünger, courtesy of the artist.
*20 See, last accessed on March 8, 2011.
*21 Ibid.
*22 Maurice Merleau-Ponty, “Indirect Language or the Voices of Silence”, pp. 241-283, in: Ted Toadvine and Leonard Lawlor (eds.), The Merleau-Ponty Reader (Evanston, Illinois 2007).
*23 André Malraux, The Voices of Silence (New Jersey 1978).
*24 Cf. Christine Regus, “Christine Regus über Keren Cytter im HAU, Berlin”, Texte zur Kunst, 05.03.2010. Last accessed March 8, 2011.