I read Reena Spaulings by Bernadette Corporation in 2022. Who—or what—is Reena Spaulings? Since 2004 the name has stood for various collective artistic activities. Published in 2004, Reena Spaulings was the title of a novel written by an undisclosed number of anonymous authors from the circle of the artist collective Bernadette Corporation. Around the same time, a commercial gallery with an exhibition space in New York was founded. Also in 2004, an artist collective was formed that operates under the name of the fictional artist Reena Spaulings, creating collective artworks. In 2023 I met an artist who supposedly wrote a part of the novel. They wrote this part of the novel:

"One time we went down by the freight tracks, found a black tire and we burned it to a smoldering mess, and got in trouble afterwards with the train yards... Like, what were you all thinking, what the HELL were you thinking, oh, well, you know we didn't mean anything serious, sorry, we didn't know it couldn't be put out..."

The dark screens of the TV monitors seemed to accompany me constantly as I moved about the room. They followed me. There was one in the bed and one on a chair. When I stood still, I could just about see both screens at once. The one in bed was sturdy, probably quite chunky and heavy. The screen on the chair was plasma and smooth. It did not seem to be set or attached. It had a light plastic base so it could be swiveled up and down and left to right. The bed screen was squat and square. The chair screen had some kind of new technology and was getting my attention. Although the room was comfortable and luxurious, I was a bit nervous and distracted in there. In order to prevent my heart from racing uncomfortably, I had to concentrate and keep calm. Both screens flickered on to blue and filled me with an oppressive sense of hope. I only took maintenance drugs once in my life. It was a period of extreme anxiety.

One evening, after a relaxing bath and a nice meal, I watched a video clip countdown from 1000 to 1. A moderator appeared between each music video to present interesting facts around what was being shown, to keep the flow going as harmlessly and carelessly as tap water. A pop singer wearing a black turtleneck played guitar for the camera. Her black eyelashes batted up and down, slicing her grey green eyes open. Her black black pupils darted shyly and with deep reproach. This is very, very exciting. I wanted to call somebody, a friend, to let them know what was happening. My mind was racing. I had to walk around a little. In doing so, I passed the other screen on the chair and impulsively switched that on too. A famous artist appeared immediately, introducing his newest art works. These were huge towers balanced on enormous lead books that would fall down one day but he did not care, he said. Now both screens were on. I could watch them at the same time. I wanted to go out and see people and talk about everything I saw.

Later on, once it was dark outside, and the wind was blowing gustily around the city rooftops, and there was nothing but the night approaching, I again broke into the silence of the screens. They had porn films for me. One was about someone who was very unhappy and wanted to have sex and love at the same time, whereas friends and acquaintances were getting lots of sex everywhere and seemed very happy. The other was about a boy who masturbated in the attic quite a lot. There was also a girl in a neighboring building who lifted up her skirt. All stars fell in a bowl of mud that night. I responded with receptiveness and openness, and began to smile. In a mood of gentle sadness, I turned myself off.

They became a friend since we frequented the same galleries. In 2024 we thought about making a show with Reena. It finally happened in 2025. Reena was there, the show is called Know-it-all, I can't divulge more. Reena refused to document the show.

Gritli Brüll, 2025