#palaisortolan

[momaeder]

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[momaeder]

CONCLUSION

CONCLUSION

Having considered all the information I gathered Having laid everything on the table I have to come to the conclusion: All the ingredients, the temperatures, the origins The talks infront of the veil, the experience of the guest Lenny’s daily life. Everything is there Yet something remains missing For I do not know what causes the color to leave the guests face. And what causes a new guest to arrive each night. But perhaps it is exactly my own unknowingness that binds the myth Thus this book is really only an album. [1]

 - Palais Ortolan

[1] Philosophical Investigations

[momaeder]

CITY

CITY

I turn the corner of Kundmanngasse and it appears infront of me A dark place, and the veil in front. [2] a pale colored screen appears to stretch tightly across the surface from one edge of the building to the other like a thin veil. [4] at the back of which a three dimensional space is projected onto a two dimensional screen. [5] this screen that converts the nothing into being. [6] As If the lights coming from the house wanted to reveal to the world its inner workings shadows moving diversely as if it was caused by the varying illumination by the Sun. [7] The shadows of what I assume to be cooks in the red light dancing on the veil and I sense that Something works behind the veil of fantastic images, whether we give this something a good name or a bad. [3] Next to the tremendous flurry calling of slaves and butlers, and pandemonium among the cooks. [34] I hear the murmur of honey bees, burrowing into flowers, fussily seeking somethin, the deep droning of the bumble bee, the chirping of many insects, the croaking of crows, as in a flock so black, they flew heavily by, and the varied songs of many birds; riotously shaping, all, on one great tune with bees, insects, flowers and trees. [36] But I can still only guess what is going on behind this screen draped over the house We know virtually nothing about this place, a lot has been said, nothing has ever been confirmed. We base our assumptions on the Trucks with foreign license plates entering the site and the single blank faces of the guest being spilled out at the end of each dinner. We know only a singlular constant that is suggested in the name of the restaurant, stitched into the veil at the entrance in large letters like the embroidery on a napkin; The Palais Ortolan What morbid curiosity! The whole world is dying of curiosity.And it is absolutely to be expected it’s normal, we all want to see that which is hidden we all want to stare the forbidden in the face. [1] But with a veil between the subject and nothingness everything is possible.One can play with the veil, imagine things, a little bit of simulacra can also help.Where there was nothing before the veil there is, perhaps, something and at least there is the beyond of the veil and in this way, through this “perhaps,” the veil creates something ex nihilo.The veil is a God. [8]

[2] Serres, Rome [3] Jung, Two Essays in Analytical Psychology [4] Leatherbarrow Eisenschmidt, Twentieth Century Architecture [5] Ockmann, Architecture Culture 1943 1968 [6] Zizek, Less Than Nothing [7] Galilei, Sidereus Nuncius [8] Zizek, Less Than Nothing [36] Sullivan, The Autobiography of an Idea

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LETTER

LETTER

My dear friend Gutiérrez Please forgive me for having left the vatican without a word to you. I just could not bear the thought anymore of remaining in this situation I felt constrained. constrained by this system the ubiquitous logics and regulations of the economy, the legal system, the political system, the mass media, the church [1] Bound to a mortal body, by bonds as strange as they are powerful, my care for the preservation of this body tempts the soul to think only of self, and gives it an interest opposed to the general order of things, which it is still capable of knowing and loving [2] The only place where I was at peace was in my garden. Where I would watch the songbirds on their travel to africa. So free and close to the sky. Moving freely not because they had to but because they wanted to. I watched in silence over our mortal agonies, guide of messengers, bonds and cords, angel flying in limpid air, nimble as a rocket, leading us toward the other world. [6] it was on one of those afternoons when I heard a bird chirping, singled out and trapped between the branches of a bush the heaven had sent an ortolan So sweet that bird, and dear to me, May it sing on ever sweetly sang, among the blossoms free, Singing with such mastery. [4] I felt a youthful, holy, vital bliss In every vein and fibre newly glowing. [19] But not in holy reverence to our Lord, but in lust. [20] I could not let go of the images that arose in me and that came along with the thought of consuming the bird with all its feathers and freedom. The memory of an angel, or rather the becoming of a cosmos. [5] With this thought it dawned on me If moral precepts seem laughable, if the person preaching is irritating, for no one lives like an absolute angel, then vital experience matters eminently.The foolish life doesn’ t expose itself; the good one puts himself in danger, like intelligence when it wants to invent.It dives into this experience, into this adventure, exceptional and everyday, in which destitution, suffering, failure, frustration, mistakes and sin itself teach us more than every other thing in the world. [7] Religion connects the disconnected. But I will unbind the connected, unbind the priest more than he unbinds himself; unfasten the shackles, knots and connections.It is in this way that in space and the world atomism is profoundly irreligious : principles separated by the void. but if I disconnect the connected, then physics comes back down to religion.Then the atom is indeed the same word as templum, the temple, the distinction of local variety within the global space. [3] The restaurant I opened up. The palais ortolan. For my getaway I found a perfect site, bringing with it it’s own luggage like I am, yet willing to turn things around. The house that used to be an absolute identity, [...] in a determined guise, that is, as identical absolute

, it was posited as such by reflection over against opposition and manifoldness; [...] the negative of reflection and determination in general. [8] but it has grown tired of the Absolute anonymity of the representer and absolute loss of the selfsame [9] it wants more. It wants to understand me and my doings and moreso it wants to unveil to the world what I try to do secretly. Reversing the processes of becoming in my restaurant as to present it to the world. It has become a tracing element; it reveals the network of unobservable relations in the box. Because it’s not their sum that produces the cooks and ingredients. It’s the trace of blood on their shirts. It traces routes in the black box. [10] On the line that it is tracing, there is only  matter and movement, movement which is more or less complicated, more or less delayed. [12] Yet The moment of the exclusion of madness in the subject who seeks the truth is necessarily hidden from the point of view of the architectonic ordering of the system [11] it does not completely get what I am doing, unveiling the goods and guests that enter my place, tracing the fumes and scents through the building projecting the red light of my pandemonic kitchen onto the veil I put up. But yet it cannot fully grasp my intentions, my way of dissolution. But somehow even if we do not work together, we work between the two. [14] It’s better to find a symbiotic equilibrium, even fairly primitive, than to reopen a war that is always lost because we and the enemy find renewed force in the relationship. [13] Even if it is a bit unconfortable for me that all the traces of my workings are reveald to the city it provides me with the spaces to hide in plain sight behind the veil of my apparent workings, to cultivate as much of my land as I require to grow the figs I need for [16] the birds to gorge on. To collect Locked in frozen layers, a universe of ancient creatures that awaits another chance at life. [15] To Transform substances into a dissolution of forms, a passage to the limit or flight from contours in favor of fluid forces, flows, air, light, and matter, such that a body or a word does not end at a precise point. [17] To move freely between earth, water, fire and air. Growing, cultivating, conserving, dissolving and cooking the artefacts I collect on my way. To create something that has never been sensed before. To witness the veil of maya being torn apart [21] as all the symbolic faculties of man are stimulated to the highest pitch of intensity; something never before experienced struggles towards expression, the annihilation of the veil of Maya, unity as the spirit of the species, even of nature. [22] To stare my guest in the eye as his whole world unravels and witness the revelation that. Dreams and madness then reveal themselves to be made of the same substance. [18]

on another note As my actions have drawn attention, the media, members of the public, and politicians have begun to pay attention. [23] Recently I have gotten a reservation from a name familiar to me from the Michelin Guide. I will report to you how it went as soon as possible. My dearest regards go out to you LENNY

[1] Schumacher, The Autopoiesis of Architecture Vol 2 [2] Rousseau, Collected Works of Jean-Jacques Rousseau [3] Serres, The Birth of Physics [4] von Strassburg, Tristan and Isolde [5] Deleuze Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus [6] Serres, The Natural Contract [7] Serres, The Incandescent [8] Hegel, The Science of Logic [9] Derrida, Of Grammatology [10] Serres, Rome [11] Foucault, History of Madness [12] Deleuze, Bergsonism [13] Serres, History of Scientific Thought [14] Deleuze, Dialogues [15] Braidotti Hlavajova, Posthuman Glossary [16] Montesquieu, Persian Letters [17] Deleuze Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus [18] Foucault, History of Madness [19] Hovestadt Buehlmann, Quantum City [20] Zizek, Less Than Nothing [21] Costelloe, The Sublime [22] Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy [23] Zimring, Encyclopedia of Consumption and Waste

[momaeder]

REVIEW

REVIEW

The day has come, I had gotten a reservation at the restaurant that is most mysterious to the world. It is for that mystery that we decided to make an exception in the michelin policy of reviewing the restaurant with two inspectors, as the cook Lenny Bellardo only allows one single diner per night to enter his premises We know virtually nothing about this place, a lot has been said, nothing has ever been confirmed. We base our assumptions on the Trucks with foreign license plates entering the site and the single blank faces of the guest being spilled out at the end of each dinner. What morbid curiosity! The whole world is dying of curiosity.And it is absolutely to be expected it’s normal, we all want to see that which is hidden we all want to stare the forbidden in the face. [1] I turn the corner of Kundmanngasse and it appears infront of me. A dark place, and the veil in front. [2] at the back of which a three dimensional space is projected onto a two dimensional screen. [5] As If the lights coming from the house wanted to reveal to the world its inner workings. I hear the murmur of honey bees, the varied songs of many birds; riotously [36] tremendous flurry calling of slaves and butlers, and pandemonium among the cooks. [34] shaping, all, on one great tune with bees, insects, flowers and trees. [36] A man of stained white clothes welcomes me at the gate ushering me in. I feel a jet of warm air cascading over myself. [10] the smells are simple : roasting beef, some wine, presumably some scent of baking bread [11] and above my head, the birds chattering and singing in the elm trees. [18] There are truffles, tubers, and sponges; minerals, gems, and fossil woods; flowers, animals, fruits, grasses, and vegetables of the Old World and New; an aviary, so to speak, of magnificently depicted birds.[13] Along the retaining wall, a ramp sinks down into the earth..The space widens and the concrete wall becomes an opening. [15] Above the entrance to the open hall I see an array  of slow turning axial flow fans [17] whispering the scents of the kitchen into the atmosphere of the garden The hall is large, cold, and all but empty. [19] The merchants dealing with cooks with imports and sales settled over here. [20] The ingredients are sorted into 150 specific coded categories. [23] The most bizarre thing I see? That would have to be a frozen lizard. [17] freezing in a closed container, with water clocks and with air withdrawn or evacuated from a container [26] As we walk through the large gate. I feel a special sense of power, of entitlement as I walked through this gate and into the intestines, the inner working of this building. As if I was some kind of mobster in the movies walking through the dark and twisted hallways of the establishment he owns. I can’t help but picture myself walking through the kitchen experiencing all the scents and maybe even hear an ortolan squeal as it is drowned in armagnac. Open the wall, open the hymen, open the veil: death. [9] cold. Silence. a Catalogue of 10, 000 stars. [29] White light is broken [through the ice] into the spectrum of the rainbow and absorbs it, just as the tail of the peacock folds back after it spreads.If you want to become everything, accept being nothing.Yes.The transparent void. [31] 

In this closed cell, this temporary sepulchre, the myths of resurrection arise easily enough. [15] Locked in frozen layers, a universe of ancient creatures awaits another chance at life. [16] as we move to the kitchen. I witness a transformation of substances and a dissolution of forms, a passage to the limit or flight from contours in favor of fluid forces, flows, air, light, and matter, such that a body or a word does not end at a precise point. [27] there is nothing but the immense noise of the ocean. Chaos, noise, disorder. The base of existence. [...] Behind power, behind the ultimate power, behind the universal appetite, in their vicinity, on their edge, noise spills out into space. [24] And through the blazing mist of the shining red atmosphere of noise I see him for the first time. Through the noise produced by excited molecules. [...] Lenny Bellardo the mixer of meanings or voices, the dissolution of signals in the fog of noise, is thus this very same excitation, or the one who gets it.[...] It is not uninteresting to have a single operator. he warms the room, gives a fever, increases agitation and thermal disorder. [22] his arms raised if he were making a sign to someone I could not see, or like the conductor of an orchestra [...] violent rhythms succeed a graceful andante. As we move from the kitchen to the dining room a curtain is opened for me to move into the vast white space that is behind it. Defined by purely white walls and covered by a glass roof whose grid seems to structure the nothingnness and define the place for the sole table standing in the middle of the room. As I move forth under the glass cupola , I understand that it is not the environment that is unknown but rathermy, my own body, that becomes the point of interest of the room: the cover of white rhomboidal glass on the outside, and of hundreds of polished and colored crystals on the inside, that tinges with dozens of colors and marks of light any object and person that is within its interior. [34] The white space itself is in turn circumscribed, redoubled by a veil or a net which is superimposed, and gives it a volume, or rather what one calls in oceanography a shallow depth. [35] I take a seat on the rudimentary, singular chair and wait. Reflecting on the turbulence of the frozen ingredients, the frozen histories dissolved and ready to be reassembled. I remain alone in anticipation. Ataraxy is the material background of being, the permanent murmur against which the flying words stand out, birth and death. [...] The eternal silence of these infinite spaces soothes me  The circle, beginning in the hollow of the swell and passing through two neighbouring crests, includes the same space as those which delimit the high and low waves. [35] Then a sound of the soft fabric being pulled apart. Out of the passage I had just walked through arise two waiters, carrying together on their shoulders one single Platter. I try not to turn my head as to reveal my juvenile excitemennt. I wait patiently as the plate is slowly lowered on the table and the abundance of food on it is revealed.

Arranged like a still life, I see the finest of all delicacies. The plate contains the many coloured multiplicities as its object. [...]  garnished with every type of vegetable and fruit, macedoine, jardiniere, pudding, stuffing  farce, pate, stew, pot pourri or hodgepodge, not forgetting the meats. [39] Carrying colours, gestures and scents, this route traverses the basement window of their eyes, the orifices of their sense of smell or of their heat sensitive organs, and passes through the light of these narrow skylights; a few calls, sounds, certain words also cross their hearing. [36] Our movements through time and space seem somehow trivial compared to a heap of boiled meat in broth, the smell of saffron, garlic, fishbones, and Pernod. [38] The abundance emodied. Each delicacy slightly altered from what I’ve known and would have expected, arranged in uncommon constellations. through the fusion or confusion of vicinities, erasing its swirls of colour while preserving its effectiveness. [40] And in the center of all: The holy grail. The ortolan. Appearing miniscule among all those indulgences but bearing in itself the absolution of pleasure. Its force so strong that everything else seems to be rotating just around this tiny songbird. But as it is custom the ortolan will remain on the plate until everything else is eaten, being the pinnacle of all culinary sensation. The waiters leave and I am left alone with the indulgences. I take in the first bite. liquids dissolve into fluids, or solids, as poorly cohesive as flesh, into thin or thick sauces, thereby obtaining subtle liaisons.Where does meat end and stew begin? Sometimes even our sense of taste cannot distinguish. Our body has difficulty knowing where one sense, place or part begins, and where another sense, a second place or nearby patch ends. [41] it is the whole of things, between their birth and their collapse [...] An irreversible, irrevocable time, pointing like the endless flow of atoms, flowing, rushing, crashing towards fall and death. Things are heavy: they sink down, seeking their peaceful rest. [42] I gorge through the delicacies which for what seems like an eternity. I am not sure if that is so because it is the best meal I have ever had or because of my longing for the precious ortolan. But then, the moment has come, as I take the last bite I hear the curtain being pulled open again. Out of the darkness arises the figure I had seen last through the hazy red noise of the kitchen. But now he appears crystal clear. without the word, he walks up to the table. In awe I bow my head and look down at the ortolan a tiny, roasted bird. head, beak, and feet still attached, guts intact inside its plump little belly. I lean forward as the host high pours from a bottle of Armagnac, dousing the bird then ignites it [43] Eager to indulge upon the bird I look around the table for the napkin that is traditionally used to cover the faces of and allows diners to savor the aromas and enjoy some privacy while devouring the bird or hide their indulgence from the eyes of God.  But it is missing, instead Lenny looks me straight in the eye affirmatively as to tell me to go ahead. 

Here I am in turn, the last, at the pinnacle of power, at the very instant of committing the sin. [44] An internal law rules up to a threshold, after which the law is changed. [...] The five senses stop at these thresholds which it is now a question of going beyond. the Gates of Hell or Paradise. The horror, rather, of those who detest experience, or the ecstasy of those who bathe in it. Let’s go beyond these childish [...] The mouths of bodies and things open. [45] I take the ortolan, I close my eyes, and open my mouth. I accept my dissolution in the burning plasma of matter. [46] First comes the skin and the fat. It’s hot. So hot that I’m drawing short, panicky, circular breaths in and out like a high-speed trumpet player, breathing around the ortolan, shifting it gingerly around my mouth with my tongue so I don’t burn myself. [...]  There’s a vestigial flavor of Armagnac, low-hanging fumes of airborne fat particles, an intoxicating, delicious miasma. Time goes by. Seconds? Moments? I don’t know. [...] I bring my molars slowly down and through the bird’s rib cage with a wet crunch and am rewarded with a scalding hot rush of burning fat and guts down my throat. Rarely have pain and delight combined so well. I’m giddily uncomfortable, breathing in short, controlled gasps as I continue, slowly ever so slowly to chew. With every bite, as the thin bones and layers of fat, meat, skin, and organs compact in on themselves, there are sublime dribbles of varied and wondrous ancient flavors: figs, Armagnac, dark flesh slightly infused with the salty taste of my own blood as my mouth is pricked by the sharp bones. As I swallow, I draw in the head and beak, which, until now, had been hanging from my lips, and blithely crush the skull. What is left is the fat. A coating of nearly imperceptible yet unforgettable-tasting abdominal fat. [43] I witness a transformation of substances and a dissolution of forms, a passage to the limit or flight from contours in favor of fluid forces, flows, air, light, and matter, such that a body or a word does not end at a precise point. [27] Language or sounds, breezes, scents, shadows and songs, shapes, ecstasy? [47] They touch on the obscure sources of human pain and desire and can thus unleash very powerful emotions. [48] Dreams and madness then reveal themselves to be made of the same substance. [49] I take a second to let the last aromas dissolve on my tongue As I open my eyes again, I am blinded by the light of the room and as my eyes slowly get used to the light again I see Lenny. Not looking at me anymore but at the window in the ceiling. Where just moments ago the cloth of the veil covered the glass, now stands tall and judgingly the reflection of the moon mirrored in the façade of the neighbouring building.  Bright, distorted and fragmented by the still lit windows. My face is frozen in terror. [55] All the force goes from the inside to the outside, from the black box to its lit up threshold, from the hidden to the publicly posted, from veil to unveiling, from the entangled to taking apart thread by thread.  [50] Madness surges upon me. The justice of this form of madness lies precisely in its capacity to unveil the truth.Its truthfulness lies in the fact that in the vain delirium of my hallucinations [...] Truthfulness also lies in the fact that the crime that was hidden from all becomes apparent in the night of this strange punishment. [51]

I have no option but to consider myself guilty. My torture had been my glory: my deliverance was my humiliation. [52] I sit here in disbelief as the two waiters who had brought the food, come to escort me out of the building. We leave the white room through a door, I had not noticed until now. We enter an elevator. as the elevator moves downward crushing silence reigns. The doors open and I am placed out in the city again. Lost. I stop frozen with ecstasy on the sidewalk. [53] how can the resurrection of the body occur when the dead body has disintegrated so far as to be nearly impossible to re assemble? [54] Gluttony, laziness, lust, and anger pass from the confessional to the laboratory, from spiritual and subjective intention to rational evidence and obligation, both final and causal. [65] But the madman unveiled the terminal truth of man : he showed how far he could be pushed by the passions, life in society and everything that distanced him from a primitive nature that knew no madness. [57 he has only found a new way of judging life, of universalizing the condemnation of life, by internalizing sin” [58] The bringer of sin and death necessarily also brought healing and life. [59] I see that it has not changed; and yet I see it differently. [60] Why write about an object that is disappearing, in a language that is dying? [...]The five senses, still on the verge of departure towards another adventure, a ghost of the real timidly described in a ghost of language. this is my verdict. [61]

[1] The Young Pope [2] Serres, Rome [5] Ockmann, Architecture Culture 1943 1968 [36] Serres, Hominescence [34] Seneca, Complete Works [10] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology [11] Bradley, Smell and the Ancient Senses [18] Hugo, Les Miserables [13] Braidotti Hlavajova, Posthuman Glossary [15] Leatherbarrow Eisenschmidt, Twentieth Century Architecture [17] Banham, The Architecture of the Well Tempered Enviroment [19] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology [20] Saunders, The Art and Architecture of London [23] Zimring, Encyclopedia of Consumption and Waste [17] Zimring, Encyclopedia of Consumption and Waste [26] Schmitt, The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy [9] Serres, Rome [29] Serres, History of Scientific Thought [31] Serres, Troubadour of Knowledge [15] Foucault, Discipline and Punish [16] Braidotti Hlavajova, Posthuman Glossary [27] Deleuze Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus [24] Serres, The Parasite [22] Serres, The Parasite [34] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968 [35] Serres, The Birth of Physics [36] Serres, Hominescence [38] Bourdain [39] Serres, Rome [40] Serres, The Five Senses [41] Serres, The Five Senses [42] Serres, The Birth of Physics [43] Bourdain, Medium Raw [44] Serres, Troubadour of Knowledge [45] Serres, Statues [46] Serres, The Birth of Physics [47] Serres, The Five Senses [48] Armstrong, Jerusalem One City Three Faiths [49] Foucault, History of Madness [50] Serres, Rome [51] Foucault, History of Madness [52] Foucault, History of Madness [53] Kerouac, On The Road [54] Powers, The Overstory [55] Negarestani Mackay, Collapse Volume VII [56] Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations [57] Foucault, History of Madness [58] Deleuze, Pure Immanence [59] Foucault, History of Madness [60] Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations [61] Buehlmann, Mathematics and Information in the Philosophy of Michel Serres [62] Saunders, The Art and Architecture of London [63] Marzano, The Roman Villa in the Mediterranean Basin [64] Burros, New York Times [65] Serres Latour, Conversations on Science Culture and Time

[momaeder]

CITY

CITY

I turn the corner of Kundmanngasse and it appears infront of me A dark place, and the veil in front. [2] a pale colored screen appears to stretch tightly across the surface from one edge of the building to the other like a thin veil. [4] at the back of which a three dimensional space is projected onto a two dimensional screen. [5] this screen that converts the nothing into being. [6] As If the lights coming from the house wanted to reveal to the world its inner workings shadows moving diversely as if it was caused by the varying illumination by the Sun. [7] The shadows of what I assume to be cooks in the red light dancing on the veil and I sense that Something works behind the veil of fantastic images, whether we give this something a good name or a bad. [3] Next to the tremendous flurry calling of slaves and butlers, and pandemonium among the cooks. [34] I hear the murmur of honey bees, burrowing into flowers, fussily seeking somethin, the deep droning of the bumble bee, the chirping of many insects, the croaking of crows, as in a flock so black, they flew heavily by, and the varied songs of many birds; riotously shaping, all, on one great tune with bees, insects, flowers and trees. [36] But I can still only guess what is going on behind this screen draped over the house We know virtually nothing about this place, a lot has been said, nothing has ever been confirmed. We base our assumptions on the Trucks with foreign license plates entering the site and the single blank faces of the guest being spilled out at the end of each dinner. We know only a singlular constant that is suggested in the name of the restaurant, stitched into the veil at the entrance in large letters like the embroidery on a napkin; The Palais Ortolan What morbid curiosity! The whole world is dying of curiosity.And it is absolutely to be expected it’s normal, we all want to see that which is hidden we all want to stare the forbidden in the face. [1] But with a veil between the subject and nothingness everything is possible.One can play with the veil, imagine things, a little bit of simulacra can also help.Where there was nothing before the veil there is, perhaps, something and at least there is the beyond of the veil and in this way, through this “perhaps,” the veil creates something ex nihilo.The veil is a God. [8]

[2] Serres, Rome [3] Jung, Two Essays in Analytical Psychology [4] Leatherbarrow Eisenschmidt, Twentieth Century Architecture [5] Ockmann, Architecture Culture 1943 1968 [6] Zizek, Less Than Nothing [7] Galilei, Sidereus Nuncius [8] Zizek, Less Than Nothing [36] Sullivan, The Autobiography of an Idea

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