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‘I don’t remember’

I am interested in a terse relationship with the authors of a collective nostalgia. I don’t remember the half time club, but I do remember the first time I saw fashion designer Manfred Thierry Mugler; the self-styled sex minotaur built of muscle, nipples and tattoos whose mid 90s catwalk performances extended into hour long tributes to their time. Nothing has eclipsed them since. Nothing.
On your left are images of the Russian artist Oleg Kulik, who amusingly performs as a dog. In one performance he was chained naked to a wall in an art gallery with signs warning of the ‘dogs’ proclivities for violence. He attacked and harmed several people who ignored the signs and got too close, and destroyed works by other artists which were in reach of his territory.
If this studio has one absurd architectural ambition, then it is to put a dog at the front of this minotaur’s maze; a chain extending through the maze from one creatures nipple to the throat of the other.

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