‘Always​ ​First​ ​Demolition’

Dispersed​ ​Holdings
134​ ​Bowery
New​ ​York

IN​ ​THE​ ​FUTURE

OUR​ ​MODERN​ ​WORLD
IS​ ​IN​ ​RUINS
How​ ​concise​ ​it​ ​seems,​ ​to​ ​behold​ ​past,​ ​present,​ ​and​ ​an​ ​imagined​ ​future​ ​in​ ​a​ ​reflection,​ ​in​ ​a​ ​book,​ ​in​ ​an​ ​utterance,​ ​in
your​ ​hands​ ​and​ ​at​ ​your​ ​feet.​ ​Pregnant​ ​with​ ​a​ ​promise,​ ​in​ ​its​ ​most​ ​basic​ ​sense,​ ​that​ ​in​ ​the​ ​future​​ ​there​ ​is​ ​a​ ​future.​ ​But,
a​ ​future,​ ​the​ ​anti-immaculate​ ​conception,​ ​cannot​ ​be​ ​conceived​ ​of​ ​without​ ​its​ ​past,​ ​and​ ​for​ ​us​ ​to​ ​consider​ ​a​ ​future,​ ​we
dig​ ​our​ ​heels​ ​into​ ​the​ ​agitated​ ​muck​ ​of​ ​the​ ​present.

The​ ​New​ ​York​ ​City​ ​underground​ ​swelters​ ​with​ ​70,000​ ​delays​ ​a​ ​year,​ ​unfit​ ​to​ ​hold​ ​the​ ​sticky​ ​body​ ​count,​ ​riding​ ​rickety
‘round​ ​the​ ​the​ ​edges.​ ​Uptown,​ ​Downtown,​ ​grinding​ ​the​ ​metal​ ​piths​ ​until​ ​sparks​ ​fly​ ​and​ ​rats​ ​chase​ ​their​ ​own​ ​tails
aflame.​ ​City​ ​skyscrapers​ ​bully​ ​the​ ​brownstones,​ ​casting​ ​their​ ​sinister​ ​shadows,​ ​hoarding​ ​sunlight​ ​like​ ​a
non-renewable​ ​energy​ ​source.​ ​Can​ ​we​ ​raise​ ​the​ ​rooftops​ ​high​ ​enough​ ​so​ ​that​ ​they​ ​can​ ​touch​ ​the​ ​sun?

124​ ​miles​ ​of​ ​tunnels,​ ​passageways​ ​and​ ​shelters​ ​form​ ​a​ ​subterranean​ ​metropolis​ ​of​ ​shadows​ ​underneath​ ​the​ ​city​ ​of
Helsinki.​ ​ ​A​ ​swimming​ ​pool​ ​beneath​ ​a​ ​shopping​ ​center​ ​can​ ​be​ ​transformed​ ​into​ ​a​ ​defense​ ​shelter​ ​for​ ​3,800​ ​people​ ​in
the​ ​event​ ​of​ ​an​ ​attack.​ ​The​ ​capital​ ​keeps​ ​a​ ​secret​ ​so​ ​cavernous​ ​that​ ​we​ ​can​ ​all​ ​fit​ ​inside​ ​of​ ​it.

But,​ ​It​ ​is​ ​no​ ​secret,​ ​the​ ​role​ ​of​ ​architecture​ ​in​ ​our​ ​relationships,​ ​its​ ​governance​ ​of​ ​our​ ​bodies,​ ​our​ ​practices.​ ​These
shadows​ ​are​ ​but​ ​temporary​ ​shelters-​ ​their​ ​elongated​ ​penumbras​ ​will​ ​one​ ​day​ ​fade,​ ​be​ ​rekindled,​ ​fade,​ ​rekindle...​ ​Our
present​ ​crumbles​ ​from​ ​above​ ​and​ ​underneath​ ​us.​ ​Our​ ​modern​ ​world​ ​is​ ​built​ ​on​ ​buried​ ​ruins,​ ​and​ ​slowly​ ​rises​ ​only​ ​to
return​ ​to​ ​rubble.​ ​Architecture​ ​is​ ​the​ ​contemporary​ ​phoenix,​ ​emerging​ ​from​ ​the​ ​embers​ ​eternally​ ​and​ ​putting​ ​even
lovebirds​ ​to​ ​shame.

The​ ​time​ ​worn​ ​edifice​ ​of​ ​a​ ​Parisian​ ​corner​ ​is​ ​plastered​ ​with​ ​imaginatively​ ​printed​ ​vinyl,​ ​covering​ ​the​ ​antediluvian
brickwork​ ​with​ ​an​ ​ultra-modern​ ​vista​ ​of​ ​awnings,​ ​the​ ​windows​ ​reflecting​ ​the​ ​shimmer​ ​of​ ​a​ ​psuedo-sun​ ​in​ ​a​ ​photograph
made​ ​by​ ​a​ ​tourist.

The​ ​nearest​ ​Starbucks​ ​is​ ​located​ ​atop​ ​the​ ​submerged​ ​remains​ ​of​ ​a​ ​19th​ ​century​ ​ghost​ ​ship​ ​graveyard​ ​in​ ​San
Francisco’s​ ​port.​ ​Sink​ ​a​ ​ship​ ​and​ ​claim​ ​the​ ​terra​ ​firma​ ​in​ ​the​ ​name​ ​of​ ​“latte​ ​capitalism.”​ ​Sea​ ​silt​ ​settles​ ​at​ ​the​ ​bottom​ ​of
your​ ​to-go​ ​coffee​ ​cup.

Steaming​ ​gum​ ​off​ ​of​ ​the​ ​sidewalks​ ​of​ ​Copenhagen​ ​to​ ​put​ ​them​ ​in​ ​a​ ​museum​ ​vitrine.​ ​To​ ​whom​ ​does​ ​this​ ​mouthful​ ​of
sugar​ ​belong?

Susceptible​ ​to​ ​the​ ​seismology​ ​of​ ​gentrification,​ ​a​ ​bridge​ ​in​ ​Los​ ​Angeles​ ​sags​ ​under​ ​the​ ​weight​ ​of​ ​trespassing​ ​bodies.
The​ ​concrete​ ​of​ ​the​ ​St.​ ​Francis​ ​Dam​ ​cracked​ ​in​ ​1928​ ​and​ ​has​ ​been​ ​leaking​ ​ever​ ​since.​ ​The​ ​contemporary​ ​gold​ ​rush
is​ ​styled​ ​and​ ​photographed​ ​wearing​ ​a​ ​Rolex,​ ​high​ ​heels​ ​and​ ​SPF​ ​50​ ​on​ ​Sunset​ ​Blvd.

The​ ​bodice​ ​of​ ​suburbia,​ ​girdled​ ​by​ ​chain​ ​link​ ​fences,​ ​wrung​ ​out,​ ​now​ ​hangs​ ​itself​ ​out​ ​to​ ​dry.​ ​We​ ​need​ ​more​ ​room​ ​to
make​ ​more​ ​room!​ ​Sunrooms​ ​offer​ ​a​ ​budget-friendly​ ​alternative​ ​to​ ​the​ ​traditional​ ​home​ ​addition.​ ​The​ ​recipe​ ​for​ ​cement
calls​ ​for​ ​3​ ​atomized​ ​iPhones,​ ​the​ ​peak​ ​of​ ​a​ ​coal​ ​topping​ ​mountain,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​wings​ ​of​ ​a​ ​shipped​ ​Passenger​ ​Pigeon
(dead​ ​as​ ​a​ ​Dodo).

Texas​ ​has​ ​the​ ​largest​ ​solar​ ​energy​ ​potential​ ​in​ ​the​ ​United​ ​States,​ ​but​ ​that​ ​luminous​ ​bulb​ ​in​ ​the​ ​sky​ ​is​ ​eclipsed​ ​by
geysers​ ​spurting​ ​black​ ​oil​ ​moons​ ​across​ ​cotton​ ​and​ ​cattle.

Athens​ ​recycles​ ​itself​ ​in​ ​the​ ​moonlight​ ​like​ ​a​ ​slow​ ​tide.​ ​When​ ​there​ ​are​ ​no​ ​walls​ ​left​ ​to​ ​write​ ​on,​ ​bring​ ​your​ ​paints,
pigments,​ ​and​ ​brushes​ ​atop​ ​the​ ​Acropolis​ ​easel,​ ​revel​ ​and​ ​look​ ​down​ ​upon​ ​your​ ​masterpiece.​ ​We​ ​have​ ​been​ ​taught
never​ ​to​ ​stare​ ​directly​ ​into​ ​the​ ​sun;​ ​but,​ ​from​ ​the​ ​window​ ​on​ ​the​ ​top​ ​floor​ ​of​ ​the​ ​museum,​ ​you​ ​turn​ ​your​ ​back​ ​to​ ​the
collection,​ ​squint​ ​to​ ​peer​ ​through​ ​cracks​ ​in​ ​your​ ​fingers,​ ​and​ ​read​ ​the​ ​words​ ​“​WELCOME​ ​AND​ ​ENJOY​ ​THE​ ​RUINS.​”

The​ ​structure​ ​was​ ​always​ ​going​ ​to​ ​fail,​ ​but​ ​the​ ​future​ ​is​ ​immortal.​ ​In​ ​all​ ​things​ ​we​ ​build,​ ​by​ ​ourselves​ ​and​ ​with​ ​others,
therein​ ​lies​ ​the​ ​impossibility​ ​of​ ​permanence,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​promise​ ​of​ ​violence.​ ​We​ ​sift​ ​through​ ​the​ ​fragmented​ ​material​ ​of
wreckage​ ​with​ ​a​ ​need​ ​to​ ​break,​ ​build,​ ​repeat​ ​-​ ​often​ ​without​ ​first​ ​clearing​ ​or​ ​repurposing​ ​the​ ​debris​ ​of​ ​individuality.
Collaboration​ ​is​ ​thus​ ​a​ ​proposed​ ​utopian​ ​marriage​ ​of​ ​irreconcilable​ ​actors-​ ​whether​ ​we​ ​speak​ ​of​ ​the​ ​relationships
between​ ​humans,​ ​materials,​ ​environments,​ ​and​ ​now,​ ​this​ ​exhibition-​ ​and​ ​yet​ ​we​ ​continue​ ​to​ ​persist​ ​in​ ​its​ ​pursuit.
Here,​ ​we​ ​develop​ ​ourselves​ ​against​ ​the​ ​pursuit​ ​of​ ​development​ ​itself.​ ​What​ ​then​ ​remains​ ​when​ ​we​ ​come​ ​to​ ​embrace
the​ ​ephemeral​ ​distance​ ​between​ ​us?​ ​You​ ​hold​ ​the​ ​result​ ​of​ ​the​ ​attempt​ ​in​ ​your​ ​hands​ ​but,​ ​like​ ​rubble,​ ​these
dispersed​ ​withholdings​ ​are​ ​just​ ​a​ ​blueprint​ ​for​ ​breaking.

Under​ ​Construction​ ​Until...