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Robert Assaye
Robert Assaye is a writer and critic living in London.

Articles Available Online


Issy Wood, When You I Feel

Art Review

December 2017

Robert Assaye

Art Review

December 2017

At the centre of Issy Wood’s solo exhibition at Carlos/Ishikawa is a room-within-a room. The division of the gallery into two viewing spaces –...

Art

April 2017

'Learning from Athens'

Robert Assaye

Art

April 2017

The history of Documenta, a quinquennial contemporary art exhibition founded in the German city of Kassel in 1955, is...

Ode to Venice Before the Sea of Theaters (from Arde el mar, 1966)   The false cups, the poison, and the skull Of the theaters García Lorca   The sea has its mechanics as love has its symbols With what racket the red curtain rises Or in this proscenium above an empty stage Sounds a rumor of statues, iris fronds, cutlasses, Doves that descend and softly alight A chessboard of verdure, composed of cravats The blight on my cheek recollects time past And in my heart seethes a droplet of lead My hand was to my breast, the clock corroborates The reason for the clouds and the stiffening of their sails A rising tide, roses on tightropes Over the voltaic arc of Venice’s night That year of my lost youth, Marble on the Dogana, as Pound has remarked And the table of a casket in the density of the canals Go on, much further, deep inside the night, Over the ducal tapestry, shadows interwoven, Princes or nereids laid waste by time What purity, a nude or an ephebe deceased In the boundless halls of clouded reminiscence Was I there? Must I believe I was he, And he the suffering impaling my flesh? How fragile I was then, and why                                                             Is it true You differ, snowflakes, in the snowcapped park, The one that today harbors your love on its face Or the one that died there in Venice of beauty? The live stones speak of a memory present As the vein impels its conduits of blood, It comes, leaves, returns to the planet, And life thus expands in the silence of tenters, The past is affirmed at this uncertain hour So much have I written, so much I wrote then I don’t know If it was worth it or is You, for whom My life is more certain, and you others, Who hear in my verse a discrepant sphere, will know its signet or art Speak it, you, or speak it, you others, and sweetly, perchance, Beguile my sorrow Night, night in Venice Five years now, how so long? I am Who I was then, I know how

Contributor

August 2014

Robert Assaye

Contributor

August 2014

Robert Assaye is a writer and critic living in London.

New Communities

Art

January 2017

Robert Assaye

Art

January 2017

DeviantArt is the world’s ‘largest online community of artists and art-lovers’ and its thirteenth largest social network. Its forty million members contribute to a...
The Land Art of Julie Brook

Art

Issue No. 4

Robert Assaye

Art

Issue No. 4

Julie Brook works with the land. Over the past twenty years she has lived and worked in a succession of inhospitable locations, creating sculptures...

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Art

Issue No. 5

A New Idea of Art: Christoph Schlingensief and the Opera Village Africa

Sarah Hegenbart

Art

Issue No. 5

I think the Opera Village. . . will lead to a new idea of art, and what will emerge...

Interview

Issue No. 10

Interview with Jacques Rancière

Rye Dag Holmboe

Interview

Issue No. 10

Jacques Rancière came into prominence in 1968 when, under the auspices of his teacher Louis Althusser, he contributed to the...

fiction

January 2016

The Bees

Wioletta Greg

TR. Eliza Marciniak

fiction

January 2016

On Sunday right after lunch, my father began preparing muskrat skins and cut his finger on a dirty penknife....

 

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