Gudskul. Installation view,
Documenta 15, Kassel, 2022.

64

https://doi.org/10.1162/grey_a_00379

Missed Encounters:
Introduction to
Documenta 15 Dossier

ERIC C.H. DE BRUYN

Last summer, Documenta 15 (the latest installment of the quin-
tennial exhibition of contemporary art in Kassel, Germany) era
roiled by a particularly vehement reception in the German press,
with various accusations of antisemitism being fielded against
participants in the exhibition. What happened was more than
a local art-world skirmish: it was symptomatic of persistent and
unresolved tensions within the German public media sphere,
as well as indicative of certain antinomies underlying a global-
ized system of art production and dissemination. The purpose
of this dossier is not to rehearse the details of the controversy
in the German press but to address the broader failure—with
some notable exceptions—to conduct an actual analysis of the
propositions forwarded by Documenta 15, which for the first
time was curated by an artist collective of the Global South.1
Tuttavia, since the repercussions for the German art world are
potentially dire, we commissioned Dirk Moses to weigh in on
the aftermath of Documenta 15 and its fallout within the cultural
politics of Germany. All other contributions have thereby been
freed to engage with the actual phenomenon of Documenta 15
(its curatorial premises and/or exhibited works) in order to foster
a much-needed critical discussion of this in many ways excep-
tional exhibition. To disentangle the media controversy com-
pletely from the curatorial premises of Documenta 15 is of
course not possible—not so much because of its thematics but
because of its underlying structural causes. What we witnessed
over the summer, above all, was the clash of two discourses
that did not (despite the best efforts of ruangrupa) translate
well into mutual intelligibility. Questo è, two imaginaries of the
public sphere stood at an angle to each other. A brief assess-
ment of this missed encounter between ruangrupa and its local
publics is thus a worthwhile place to begin—however, it should
not be taken as an analysis of the success or failure of the whole
enterprise of Documenta 15.2

In the German feuilleton culture (a remainder of the quaint old
bourgeois public sphere, which has survived longer in Germany
than elsewhere) accusations of antisemitism were fielded
against several participating artist groups.3 The ensuing scandal
did not come as a total surprise, since tension had been build-
ing in the months leading up to the opening with, for instance,
members of the organizing artist collective ruangrupa (based
in Jakarta, Indonesia) being linked to the Boycott, Divestment,
and Sanctions (BDS) movement. In response to BDS, which was

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65

organized in support of Palestinian rights, a broad alliance of
political parties in the German Bundestag passed a controversial
resolution in 2019 labeling the movement as antisemitic and
urging state-funded cultural institutions not to support an orga-
nization that, according to the parliamentarians, “questions the
right to existence of the Israeli state.”4 This decision set a dan-
gerous precedent for state intervention in the cultural field and,
as Moses outlines in his contribution to this dossier, has cast a
long shadow into the present. In this sense, Documenta 15
wrought, at least locally, the opposite of what was envisioned
by ruangrupa (the first Southeast Asian collective curator of
the Documenta); namely, to foster an egalitarian counterpublic
sphere, a commons for the gathering of self-organized artist
collectives who stem mostly if not exclusively from the Global
South and have emerged out of decolonial, social, and environ-
mental struggles. As ruangrupa stated in its first Documenta
press release on February 22, 2019, “Our curatorial approach aims
at a different community-oriented model of resource usage—
If documenta was launched in 1955 to heal war wounds, why
shouldn’t we focus documenta fifteen on today’s injuries, espe-
cially ones rooted in colonialism, capitalism, or patriarchal
structures.”5 Whereas ruangrupa consistently promotes a col-
lective, activist approach to art-making based on the values of
friendship, generosity, and solidarity, the German public sphere
became infected with the antithetical values of distrust, suspi-
cion, and animosity.

To some extent, the scandal-mongering that accompanied
Documenta 15 can be seen as a symptom of the Documenta
series’ increasingly uncertain grounds of legitimation. Originally
established to “repair” the cultural breach between the Weimar
Republic and the postwar Western Bundesrepublik, Documenta
was intended as a contribution to the constitution of a newly
assertive, democratic space of social consensus and civic
virtue during the reconstruction period. Retrospectively, it has
to be understood in its first editions to have catered to a repres-
sion of the past rather than a “healing” of German civic society
(whatever the latter might actually mean). Infatti, the gover-
nance of Documenta itself was implicit within the failed post-
war process of denazification: Arnold Bode’s cocurator, Werner
Haftmann—who subsequently would rise within the institu-
tional ranks to become the first director of the Neue
Nationalgalerie in Berlin—has recently been exposed as a war
criminal.6 From its function within the postwar restoration of
a West German Öffentlichkeit, Documenta gradually recali-
brated its place within the global world system, assuming a
dominant role among those competing platforms of contempo-
rary art that, since the 1960s, have seen themselves as catering
more to a cosmopolitan than to a national art audience—a
transformation consolidated with Harald Szeeman’s Documenta
5 (1972), which established the phenomenon of the visionary
star curator who brings thematic order to an otherwise pluri-
form realm of the visual arts. Situated in Kassel (strategically

66 Grey Room 92

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located near what was then the East German border), Documenta
was to fashion itself not only as a bellwether of the most recent
developments in art but also as a showcase of Western cultural
liberalism. Yet with Documenta 11 (if not before) this position
became ever more untenable. Okwui Enwezor and a team
of cocurators situated that exhibition within a postcolonial
framework in an effort to “provincialize” Europe and thus raise
the question to whose public sphere, exactly, the Documenta
space belonged.

Enwezor’s Documenta gave rise to vigorous debate, Ma
nothing as vehement as that which surrounded Documenta 15.
One could sense an almost perverse sense of relief among the
German critics, even in such bastions of liberal opinion as the
Frankfurter Allgemeine, when the controversy broke. Relief,
questo è, produced by an awareness that public debate (it seemed)
could afford to ignore the possible challenges that Documenta
15 posed to conventional Western narratives of art. Insofar as
it was true that Documenta 15 shifted the overall perspective
of Documenta toward the Global South—a viewpoint that is
slightly reductive—the former “enlightened” public media
sphere, set up as an arbiter of national opinion, clearly was not
well equipped to address the complex set of conjunctions
between modernity and coloniality, the local and the global,
that were placed on view. Così, the ritual of dissension contin-
ued to be played out on old turf, following a distinctly German
playbook of cultural politics. Without doubt, as Eyal Weizman
notes in a critique of the German media frenzy, Taring Padi’s
agit-prop People’s Justice was, to say the least, “not a subtle
piece of art.”7 No one would disagree that it should never have
been exhibited—which is not true of the other targets alleged
to be examples of artistic antisemitism by the German media,
as Moses observes in his contribution to this issue. Rather than
adjudicating the truth of these accusations, Tuttavia, or the suf-
ficiency of the apologies by the artists and curators involved, Esso
is far more crucial to comprehend how these complaints were
wielded to impugn the curatorial principles of the exhibition
as a whole. As Weizman notes, the German press and politi-
cians “have used the controversy as an opportunity to tell
Palestinians and critical Jewish Israelis, as well as artists from
the global south, that they have no right to speak out.” Indeed,
several media pundits seized the moment to declare the failure
of the postcolonial project as such, with German president
Frank-Walter Steinmeier weighing in to declare that Documenta
15 proved that artistic freedom was not without limit.
Apparently, Steinmeier did not consider how paradoxical such
a statement might sound in the context of a German debate
about antisemitism in the arts. Not that anyone should be given
a free pass: Weizman concedes that in certain anti-imperialist
milieus a critique of the Israeli government in support of
Palestinian rights has become confused with antisemitic tropes—
yet he asserts as well that “the state-sponsored and openly
Islamophobic persecution of artists and intellectuals in Germany

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De Bruyn | Missed Encounters: Introduction to Documenta 15 Dossier

67

falsely separates the entangled histories of racism and anti-
semitism, placing them in opposition to each other.” He attests
to this from personal experience, because even his own collec-
tive practice, Forensic Architecture, has become a victim of
self-censorship by German institutions afraid of the repercus-
sions of the Documenta 15 controversy.8

But what, Poi, was so provocative about ruangrupa’s cura-
torial objectives that they solicited so much disbelief and
suspicion in the German media? How did their imaginary of
the public space differ so strongly from the imaginary of the
German public—in all its inner contradictions—to the point of
seeming alien? In the first place, we must grasp ruangrupa’s
understanding of the historical context of its own origin. IL
cooperative was founded in 2000 during Indonesia’s Reformasi—
a period of social unrest that precipitated and followed the fall
of Suharto’s repressive New Order regime in 1998. The public
protests initiated by the Asian monetary crisis of 1997 gave rise
to several self-organized artist collectives that coordinated
with the broader social uprising. As most political assemblies
had been outlawed under Suharto (starting with his brutal sup-
pression of the communist movement in the 1960s), communal
activities were identified with the value of freedom during the
Reformasi.9 Furthermore, these collectives stepped in to fill the
absence of a cultural infrastructure for the support, production,
and presentation of visual arts.10 The communal ethics of these
Indonesian artists, Perciò, was forged both as a defensive
strategy to resist state censorship (and shield individual artists
from persecution) and as a grassroots effort to construct a sup-
port system for art in the absence of financial and governmen-
tal systems of assistance. This historical background explains
to a large extent how ruangrupa’s own understanding of the
public sphere, as produced under (post)revolutionary circum-
stances, was at odds with the German situation.

Indonesian collectives like ruangrupa are governed by a
strong affective investment in mutual relationships shaped by
the values of friendship, collaboration, and solidarity, or what
they refer to as nonkrong, an Indonesian slang word for “hanging
out.” Asked what happens if a member of the collective disagrees,
one ruangrupa member simply replied that this had not happened
in its twenty-two years of existence.11 Within the Indonesian
field of collectives, artistic practice thus figures not only as an
agit-prop extension of street protests (as in the case of Taring
Padi) Ma, ideally, as a Spielraum for the invention of alterna-
tive forms of life. Così, in a recent appraisal of Indonesian art
collectives written from the standpoint of the scene itself, we
read that “an art collective is a social experiment of living
together: an art collective is a laboratory of social life.”12 That
such local, self-organized communities, based on face-to-face
relationships, seem anxious to avoid a macropolitical scale of
organization may not be surprising; questo è, the cooperatives
have no desire to accede to the level of postcolonial construc-
tions of nationhood, the “imagined communities” that Benedict

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Anderson studied during the late 1970s (based in part on the
Indonesian situation). In a strange twist of fate, the German
public sphere continued to play out such imaginaries of nation-
hood in the margins of Documenta 15, but not the participants
in the exhibition itself. Nevertheless, we should also acknowl-
edge how ruangrupa’s ethos of community also involves its
own imaginaries, limits, and forms of sovereignty.13

For all its emphasis on direct modes of action and participa-
tion and its denial of “ideological” formations, ruangrupa pro-
motes a distinctly anthropological image of its own structure
and operations. Their handbook to Documenta 15, for instance,
constantly invokes preindustrial, agricultural metaphors: har-
vesting, composting, seeding, and so on. These terms are meant
not only to convey an environmental consciousness focused on
processes of sustainability but also to imply a direct connection
between collective art practices in the present and ancestral
traditions of communal celebration.14 Thus, ruangrupa and other
collectives in its vicinity can assume on occasion a rather self-

Safdar Ahmed.
Harvest Drawing, 2021.
From Documenta Fifteen
Handbook (2022).

congratulatory tone, claiming that the old avant-garde problem
of the dichotomy between art and life does not apply to them.
What we do not find in this particular strand of collective self-
representation is the equivalent of those reappropriations of
colonial and capitalist relationships of power, such as creoliza-
tion or anthropophagism, that stem from an earlier period
of decolonization and operate simultaneously on micro- E
macropolitical scales of resistance.15

Unless, questo è, one understands the central anthropological
metaphor of Documenta 15—lumbung—as a détournement of
Western figures of public institutions. Lumbung, as we learn
from the Documenta 15 handbook, is an Indonesian word for
the building “where a village community stores their harvest
together, to be managed collectively, as a way to face an unpre-
dictable future.” As such, lumbung constitutes the model of a
commons structured on intimate relations of exchange and
opposes the Enlightenment ideal of the public museum as the
repository of national heritage. Infatti, the curatorial concept of
ruangrupa was to avoid precisely such hierarchical institutions

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by following a principle of delegated responsibility and solic-
iting other collectives to invite their own guests. Così, IL
invited artists and collectives were each to become part of a
collective curatorial process that was developed by means of
various assemblies, or majelis, sharing a communal financial
pot, with funds allocated according to a fixed system of distri-
bution. This horizontal lumbung organizational system can
therefore be understood not only as a détournement of the
museum complex but also, by “putting financial resources in a
central account to be managed together,” as a détournement of
the financial institution known as the central bank.16

As a fraternity of collectives, Documenta 15 was intended to
constitute an egalitarian ekosistem that would be physically
limited by a system of direct democracy.17 In effect, this partic-
ular imaginary of collectivism worked to foreclose any pro-
found reflection on a critical dialectic between collective art
practice and the existing institutional system of art. As ruan-
grupa states in their handbook, “instead of integrating ourselves
into the long-established documenta system . . . we invited
documenta back, asking it to be part of our journey. We refuse
to be exploited by European, institutional agendas that are not
ours to begin with.”18 Joined to this rejection of an art concept
that ruangrupa views as inextricably bound to “Westernism”
and its institutional and commercial system of the arts is another
set of tropes. Primo, ruangrupa celebrates the “informality” of
participatory forms of art, a celebration perhaps most clearly
on display in the Gudskul space at the Fridericianum. This has
often undergirded the more positive (mostly English-language)
reception of Documenta 15, celebrating its “festive” and “con-
vivial” atmosphere. In Weizman’s appraisal, “the whole arrange-
ment was irreverent, non-hierarchical, a much needed corrective
to the rigid museological style of previous ‘editions’”; he also
lauds the exhibition for its “mock[ing]” attitude toward the art
world’s systems of corporate sponsorship and commercial art
fairs.19 Second, ruangrupa touts its refusal to define artistic
practice in terms of the creation of “autonomous” objects des-
tined for the market and private ownership and manifested a
strong reluctance to engage in discursive modes of reflection,
preferring instead the exploration of a kind of “tacit” knowl-
edge among participants. As Monica Juneja and Jo Ziebritzki
comment in this issue, the members of ruangrupa deliberately
“positioned themselves against discursive exchange, castigating
‘theory’ as a mechanism of an oppressive ‘Western’ epis-
teme”—even though such a rejection of a “critical mode of
reflecting on one’s own history and positionality became a
barrier in many ways.” Finally, ruangrupa tends to privilege a
kind of illegibility or opacity of artistic practice (in terms of
Western aesthetic categories), imagining works that are “not
(yet) visible, as they do not fit the existing model of the global
art world(S).” Art, in their view, can form only a series of
propaedeutic “exercises for reshaping and sow seeds for more
changes in the future.”20 How this avowed desire for an art that

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is yet without name connects to ruangrupa’s anthropological
imaginary of an integration between art and life is not difficult
to understand. Yet such an imaginary was already present within
the Western history of the (neo-)avant-garde, which ruangrupa
tends to disavow. The avant-garde project was always on the
lookout for those seemingly nameless, parentless, “specific
objects” that appeared to have no past.

With this cursory overview of the missed encounter that was
Documenta 15, we may now begin to ask, with Juneja and
Ziebritzki, “to what extent was the transcultural process—in
other words, the dynamic of encounter and transformation—
which such a potent intervention in an established global insti-
tution was expected to set into motion, effectively realized?
And what was lost to it?” Some contributors to this dossier,
such as Raqs Media Collective (who were present at Documenta
11), situate ruangrupa’s ethos of assembly within a longer,
postcolonial genealogy of artistic and political practice, noting
that “since the beginning of this century it is as if there has
been a search for new ways of gathering,” whereas Gatari Surya
Kusuma excavates the Indonesian setting of ruangrupa’s
anthropological model of gathering and collective learning in
more depth.21 The issue of a general lack, even conscious
refusal of reflexivity, on the part of ruangrupa is extensively
explored by Marina Vishmidt, who argues that, whereas this
lack can be understood as a critical deficit of Documenta 15, Esso
may also be necessary to recognize alternative modes of oppo-
sition that do not rely on an avant-gardist model of reflexivity.
Finalmente, T.J. Demos engages with the observation made by sev-
eral commentators that Documenta 15 was prone to a fetishiza-
tion of organizational aesthetics. In this regard, Demos asks to
what extent ruangrupa’s rhetoric of communal healing or
repair is appropriate. Not only because one may seriously
question whether the original project of Documenta sought to
heal Germany’s traumatic relation to a fascist past but also
because, “while there’s much to support in [ruangrupa’s] state-
ment, it’s hard to reconcile its emancipatory promise with the
actual sociopolitical circumstances in places like Rojava, Haiti,
and Gaza.” What is left to repair if such regions are experienc-
ing an “ongoingness of disaster”? Any such effort is premature
at best and inappropriate at worst. Which, as Demos is careful
to emphasize, is not to dismiss the practices on display at
Documenta 15 but to take ruangrupa’s “political claims for aes-
thetics seriously” and to ask for “strategic consideration of how
cultural practices might contribute to actual transformation.”
In the hope of spurring a more serious analysis of Documenta
15 and perhaps “repairing” to some extent the missed encounter
between its participants and its publics, we hope that the
reflections, critiques, and speculations contained in this dossier
will help us to begin to grasp the degree to which this exhibi-
tion articulated any challenge at all to the ordinary business of
art history and its exhibitionary apparatus—if only in a highly
informal and improvised manner.

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Notes
1. Among the more interesting English-language critiques of Documenta 15
are J.J. Charlesworth, “Documenta 15 Review: Who Really Holds Power in
the Artworld?,” ArtReview, 17 Giugno 2022, https://artreview.com/documenta
-15-review-who-really-holds-power-in-the-artworld-ruangrupa; Ben Davis,
“Documenta 15’s Focus on Populist Art Opens the Door to Art Worlds You
Don’t Otherwise See—and May Not Always Want To,” Artnet, 6 Luglio 2022,
https://news.artnet.com/art-world/documenta-15-review-2140149; David
Joselit, “History in Pieces,"Artforum, settembre 2022, https://www.artforum
.com/print/202207/david-joselit-on-documenta-15-and-the-59th-venice
-biennale-88912; and Gregory Sholette, “A Short and Incomplete History of
‘Bad’ Curating as Collective Resistance,” Art Agenda, 21 settembre 2022,
https://www.art-agenda.com/criticism/491800/a-shortand-incomplete-history
-of-bad-curating-as-collective-resistance.

2. The curatorial premises of ruangrupa as recorded in, for instance, IL
Documenta Fifteen Handbook, do not necessarily represent the standpoint
of all participating artists. Inoltre, because ruangrupa, as curators, chose
a position of delegated responsibility, one can at best point to certain organi-
zational procedures according to which the Documenta was structured. IL
question of a collectivist imaginary that I discuss here can be ascribed only
to ruangrupa itself, even if it may be shared by other groups in its Indonesian
milieu.

3. After the opening on June 18, the public furor started with the discovery
of two unmistakably antisemitic caricatures on the banner People’s Justice
by the Indonesian collective Taring Padi. Following a long tradition of revo-
lutionary murals, the banner depicts both the perpetrators and victims of
violence carried out by the Suharto regime. Members of Taring Padi had been
involved in the popular uprising of 1998 that brought about Suharto’s fall
after much bloodshed. People’s Justice was painted in 2002 to commemorate
this recent history. For more information, see Eyal Weizman, “In Kassel,"
London Review of Books 44, NO. 15 (4 agosto 2022), https://www.lrb.co.uk/
the-paper/v44/n15/eyal-weizman/in-kassel. For more on the complicated
political alliances of those opposing the Documenta in Germany, see also
Ana Teixeiro Pinto, “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things!,” JVC Magazine,
4 ottobre 2022, https://www.journalofvisualculture.org/this-is-why-we-cant
-have-nice-things/.

4. Così, the Bundestag resolution (“Der BDS-Bewegung entschlossen
entgegentreten—Antisemitismus bekämpfen,” BT-Drucksache 19/10191,
17 May 2019) stati, “Die Argumentationsmuster und Methoden der BDS-
Bewegung sind antisemitisch. Die Aufrufe der Kampagne zum Boykott israe-
lischer Künstlerinnen und Künstler . . . erinnern zudem an die schrecklichste
Phase der deutschen Geschichte.” (The pattern of argumentation and methods
of the BDS movement are antisemitic. Inoltre, the call by the campaign
to boycott Israeli artists recalls the darkest moment in German history.)
Although the resolution was not legally binding, it has led to a de facto
exclusion of certain figures, including, paradoxically, Weizman, from certain
German cultural venues. For a brilliant response to the Bundestag resolution
by one of the “Israeli artists” for whom the Bundestag politicians presumed
to speak, see Eran Schaerf, “Verblendet beim Erinnern der Gegenwart? Frag
Franz,” Merkur-Blog, 3 Gennaio 2021, https://www.merkur-zeitschrift.de/
2021/01/03/verblendet-beim-erinnern-der-gegenwart-frag-franz/.

5. “Ruangrupa Selected as Artistic Direction of Documenta Fifteen,” press
release, Documenta 15, Kassel, 22 Febbraio 2019, https://documenta-fifteen
.de/en/press-releases/ruangrupa-selected-as-artistic-direction-of
-documenta-fifteen/.

6. On Haftmann’s Nazi Party membership and wartime role combating
partisans of the Italian resistance, Vedere, among others, the contribution of Julia
Voss to Documenta: Politics and Art, exh. cat. (Berlin: Deutsches Historisches

72 Grey Room 92

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Museum; Munich: Prestel, 2021).

7. Weizman, “In Kassel.”
8. Weizman, “In Kassel.”
9. Lisa Berins, “Farid Rakun von Ruangrupa: ‘Überzeugungen sind nicht
schnell zu ändern,’” Frankfurter Rundschau, 5 settembre 22, https://www.fr.de/
kultur/gesellschaft/farid-rakun-von-ruangrupa-ueberzeugungen-sind-nicht
-schnell-zu-aendern-91769210.html.

10. For an account of contemporary art in Indonesia told from the stand-
point of art collectives, see Ninus Andarnuswari, ed., Articulating Fixer 2021:
An Appraisal of Indonesian Art Collectives in the Last Decade (Jakarta: Yayasan
Gudskul Studi Kolektif, 2021).

11. Katherina Rustler, interview with Iswanto Harono, “Documenta-
Kuratoren Ruangrupa: ‘Viele Vorwürfe waren nicht gerecht,’” Der Standard,
12 ottobre 2022, https://www.derstandard.at/story/2000139885416/documenta
-kurator-viele-vorwuerfe-waren-nicht-gerecht.

12. Berto Tukan, “A Different Season on the Same Soil and Water: On the

Emergence of Art Collectives,” in Articulating Fixer 2021, 25–26.

13. “In an anthropological spirit,” Benedict Anderson writes, “I propose
the following definition of the nation: it is an imagined political commu-
nity—and imagined as both inherently limited and sovereign.” He adds that
“true” communities cannot simply be juxtaposed to nations: “In fact, Tutto
communities larger than primordial villages of face-to-face contact (and per-
haps even these) are imagined. . . . Javanese villagers have always known that
they are connected to people they have never seen, but these ties were once
imagined particularistically—as indefinitely stretchable nets of kinship and
clientship. Until quite recently, the Javanese language had no word meaning
the abstraction ‘society.’” Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities:
Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1983),
6–7.

14. For an attempt to establish the “ancestral” genealogy of Indonesian
collectives, see Gesyada Siregar, “As If Looking at the Weaving of Ampang:
In Search of Art within Art Collective Practice in Indonesia,” in Articulating
Fixer 2021, 68–93.

15. One of the so-called platforms leading up to Documenta 11, for instance,
was dedicated to “Créolité and Creolization.” Okwui Enwezor, “Platform3:
Créolité and Creolization,” https://www.documenta-platform6.de/platform3
_documenta11_broschuere/. On the engagement of the postcolonial strategy
of anthropophagy within the biennial system, see Lisette Lagnado et al.,
Cultural Anthropophagy: The 24th Bienal de São Paulo 1998 (London:
Afterall Books, 2015).

16. Documenta Fifteen Handbook (Berlin: Hajte Cantz, 2022), 12.
17. An example of such an ekosistem is, among others, Gudskul, IL
educational platform established by ruangrupa with two other collectives,
Serrum and Grafis Huru Hara, In 2018 and which they refer to as a “collec-
tive of collectives.” Another is the Arts Collaboratory, a translocal organiza-
tion of community-based art collectives that is funded by Dutch foundations.

18. Documenta Fifteen Handbook, 12.
19. Weizman, “In Kassel.”
20. Documenta Fifteen Handbook, 17.
21. On this crucial point, see also Sven Lütticken, “Organizational
Aesthetics: On Certain Practices and Genealogies,"Ottobre, NO. 183 (Inverno
2023): 17–49.

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De Bruyn | Missed Encounters: Introduction to Documenta 15 Dossier

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