HOW WE LOST SOHRAB'S CONFIDENCE WITH
Sohrab, the curator, is a stand up, wonderful guy—just a prince among humans. So kind and intelligent, but the idea is to pursue and this cannot be pursued directly with the curator's consent. If you do that then it becomes too second-order, too representational. You can't announce this or parade it around. is fragile and needs to be guarded like an infant. It can't be explained and it can't be framed, nor can it be presented, or even really "done." It has to be by not being. This requires us to play phone and text tag and email tag with Sohrab until he gets frustrated and just tosses us out of the show entirely (though very nicely!). So, all through the show itself we do nothing. Not a thing. Zero. Then—whammo—we envision unleashing like 21st century art gold. We send Sohrab a text on the 100th anniversary of the debut of Kazimir Malevich's Black Square. This seems like it will be a delivery of pure unadulterated cash art money. The text to Sohrab reads as follows: ""On the 100th anniversary of the unveiling of The Black Square, Our Literal Speed reports its ongoing presence in hotel theory with a work called ." To us, this is a major breakthrough, like on the level of Cage and Robert Barry. Here is something so totally beyond anything and everything, so tight, crystalline and subtle that when Sohrab gets this text poolside at the Bel-Air, he'll probably collapse to the ground, pounding the damp concrete like Ray Liotta in the shower scene from Goodfellas, screaming our name, dazzled by the mojo of our super-conceptual gesture. He'll say to himself, "They WERE in my show this whole time but with a nevermade called . I'll never be the same. Heck, art will never be the same. This text belongs in the art history textbooks...etc."
In reality, our text goes unacknowledged and we never hear from Sohrab again.