The Journey of a Button to the West

A thousand Plateaus Art Space, Chengdu, Chine.

The journey of a button to the West

I imagine being a button in a country of houndstooth material. I could have two or four eyes. As buttons we all fit the same purpose: to hold things together. Only our appearance is different one from to the other. Sometimes, when a human being loses a button, he looks for the same one but one hardly ever finds exactly the same. It is often a little different, the colour, the shape, the texture or the size, so one trys to find the one who looks the most alike.

Sometimes I build costumes to hide in them, but I never hide well enough, I try to be the same but it does not work something happens. My skills of mimetism are not perfect. My body does fully not translate.

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I dream of a world where Art would be in ruins and then the birds and other small animals would use the remains to build nests and homes like architects. A sparrow could rest on the black square of Malevitch, as it would perch on a branch. an ant would use an Annah Arendt book on totalitarianism as a double bed.

In my country where houndstooth rules, women are slaves in the kitchen. They are like buttons stored in my mothers tin box that she kept with her sewing furniture, in the darkness.

If I was blind , I would like to be Karl Marx or Helen Keller.

Houndstooth material is a class apart, they are not the same, they need buttons to hold together, but there are no buttons.

If I would have a vagina, it would be a passport. If I would be a passport I would be a vagina. A vagina is like a cul-de-sac (dead end), whether you like it or not you have to return.

Somehow I am happy to be a button, the houndstooth material kings and queens believe we all serve the same purpose: to hold things together. But I do feel different in a way, being the same and not being the same at the same time makes a lot of difference to me.