A Night Of Vibes From Different Tribes : https://www.facebook.com/events/582707065160031/

DRINNEN UND DRAUßEN

Music

ADANA TWINS  - DOCTOR DRU – SHIR KHAN – FAY

Art

AXEL ANKLAM – EMESS – NOMAD – STOHEAD – SWAG – VARIOUS & GOULD

Words

BERLINERwALD

Lesebühne am frühen Abend mit

WOLF HOGEKAMP – GAUNER –  BAS BÖTTCHER – FELIX RÖMER – YANEQ

sowie den Extraspezial-Waldgewächsen

ANDY STRAUß  - SULAIMAN MASOMI

Garden

POP AMBIENT INSTALLATION

Sculptures & Light

Fingerfood & other Snacks

19.07.14 – 18.00 – 6.00 Uhr

ALT STRALAU 4, Berlin

Für eine Labelnight der Extraklasse hat sich EXPLOITED Boss Shir Khan mit seinem alten Kumpel, dem PARTY ARTY-Impressario Yaneq zusammengetan. Gemeinsam schmeißen sie am 19.7.2014 die EXPLOITED PARTY ARTY SUMMER JAM mit sehr viel guter Kunst, tollem Essen, Drinks und SpokenWord-Bühne sowie allen großen  EXPLOITED Acts in einer top Off-Location, die bisher so gut wie nie zum Feiern zur Verfügung stand.

Draußen der Garten mit Kunst von fine bis urban, Food von veggie bis meaty, Words von Poetry bis Shortstory, Drinks vor allem alky und Drinnen die den Schweiß von der Decke treibenden Deephouse-Smasher der  EXPLOITED-Stars. Besser geht es nicht in dieser Nacht. PARTY ARTY galore.

Wie das abläuft? Man kommt am frühen Abend, hängt gediegen mit einem Drink in bester Gesellschaft, die Sonne steht noch hoch, weil Hochsommer, man guckt den Künstlern bei Live-Painten zu, dann – die Sonne steht schon fast über der Spree – das SpokenWord für die lyrisch Interessierten, vielleicht ein Sandwich oder was vom Grill dazu, noch so’n Drink, Baby und ab zum Tanzen auf den EXPLOITED-Floor. Zu heiß? Komm raus und trink noch einen an der Draußen-Bar, hör die Grillen über Shir Khans exklusivem Ambient-Mix zirpen. Vielleicht sogar eine Rauchen. Oder auch nicht. Wieder tanzen. So oder ähnlich könnte’s gehen! Auf der 44sten PARTY ARTY. Holler, die Waldfee!

Music:

Videos, die ihr unbedingt checken solltet:

ADANA TWINS – DRIVE feat. KHAN: http://youtu.be/-UB8oYOI99c

ADANA TWINS – STRANGE: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g8ecLZtPssQ

DOCTOR DRU – FOOLISH: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ine8vR3i-l0

DOCTOR DRU – THE VOICE OF DRU:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A6UXoZ0_WTY

SHIR KHAN INTRODUCING EXPLOITED CREW: http://youtu.be/KBTer0nWWPw

Art:

AXEL ANKLAM: www.axelanklam.de

EMESS: www.atmberlin.de/de/artists/emess.php

NOMAD: https://www.flickr.com/groups/nomad_streetart/

STOHEAD: http://www.stohead.com/

SWAG: https://www.artdoxa.com/users/swag/profile

VARIOUS & GOULD: http://www.variousandgould.com/

Word:

WOLF HOGEKAMP: http://www.wolf-hogekamp.de/index.htm

GAUNER: www.gauner.de

BAS BÖTTCHER: www.basboettcher.de

YANEQ: www.yaneq.de

ANDY STRAUß: http://establishmensch.de/

SULAIMAN MASOMI: https://myspace.com/sulaiman79

Das Booklet findet ihr hier: Booklet_reKOLLEKT_klein

YANEQ live Culture Container

mit den größten Hits seiner ersten 12″ “Ein Lebn”, seines Albums “Widersprüche” und den Smashern des seit vier Jahren unveröffentlichten Über-Albums “Zusprüche”, intoniert und in Szene gesetzt von seinen sehr guten Freunden Chris Dietermann am Bass, Bruder and den Drums und Kronstädta an den Keys, kehrt der Party Arty Diktator mit Solo-Programm zurück auf die Bretter, die die Welt bedeuten.

Tanz in den Mai mit der Clique im kleinsten Klub Berlins, dem Culture Container.

70 Peoples und die Hütte ist voll. Die Stimmung kocht.

Abgerundet wird das Ganze mit einem DJ Programm, dass keine anderen als Basti Zett und Rob La bestreiten werden.

START ist 21.00 Uhr (Stagetime vor 22.00 Uhr)

Culture Container

Holzmarktstraße 25, 10243 Berlin, Germany

Alle Einnahmen werden entweder sofort versoffen oder in die Pressung des Albums “Zusprüche” gesteckt, das sehr sehr viele weitere Freunde featuret und von denen der Eine oder die Andere eventuell persönlich auf der Bühne vorbeischauen werden.

Rockt mit!

Facebook Event: https://www.facebook.com/events/274089039429408/

www.yaneq.de

XXX LIVE XXX
MC MELODEE (NETHERLANDS)
YARAH BRAVO (London, U.K.)

XXX DJANES XXX

THAT FUCKIN SARA
SHUMI
SCHMITZKATZE
ENA LIND (MINT)

XXX ART XXX

ANNIKA HIPPLER (Videoprojektion)
CHULA UND KHAR (Installation)
CAPRICE CRAWFORD (Installation “Selfie Booth”)

+ TANZPERFORMANCE

FACEBOOK-EVENT: https://www.facebook.com/events/1394887884108884/

Kunst & Musik – Berlin & Köln in einer Nacht

LIVE

JAMMIN UNIT (air liquide, berlin) & YANEQ (mutfak drt)

DJS

JAN SCHULTE aka WOLF MÜLLER (salon des amateurs, themes for great cities)
CAMP INC. (low hanging fruit, camp magnetics)
SHUMI (kompakt, low hanging fruit)
MARC LANSLEY (low hanging fruit)

ART

STOHEAD
LENA KLEIN & FREDA MEIER (Kleinodkollektiv)

Jan Schulte:
http://soundcloud.com/themes-for-great-cities/sets/tfgc008-wolf-m-ller-balztanz
http://soundcloud.com/jan-schulte

Camp Inc.:
http://www.kompakt.fm/releases/national_geographic_ep
http://soundcloud.com/camp-inc

Shumi:
http://www.kompakt.fm/artists/shumi

Marc Lansley:
http://soundcloud.com/crazytape

Stohead:
http://www.stohead.com/

Lena Klein & Freda Meier:
https://www.facebook.com/kleinodkollektiv

www.subway-der-club.de
www.party-arty.de

For Berlin Insider Jan Kage, art is a kind of religion. So he founded his own church, rooted in ancient traditions, to celebrate the spiritual power of art. But not every part of the mass appealed to the Berlin police.

“Is there somebody named Jan Kage in here,” a middle-aged guy in a brown leather jacket asked, leaning into our backstage room.

We had just finished our first performance of the blessing of the Art Village, which is an art space I curate every year at the Berlin Festival for music. Of course every village has a church. So after the blessing we had a ceremony in the holy Church of Phonk. It’s the church of joy I’ve founded for agnostics and atheists. Of course I got to be the high priest of it all, since it was my idea, but with me were about a dozen artists and helpers, each wearing robes and relics.

“It’s the Berlin police. Can we have a word, please?”

I stepped outside and the over-joyous feelings I had after our first uplifting mass were replaced with the question of what problems the police might have with my church.

Religion is no criminal offense in Germany, as far as I know. Sure, religious people have a lot of feelings these days and are easily hurt, but we have the freedom of religion as a constitutional right – and that includes the freedom from religion. I happen to have my own church, now, so I have feelings, too!

Celebrating spirituality without gods

A local tabloid had run a story in the morning asking, “May he bless with a golden toilet brush?” showing a photo of me blessing Conny Opper, the head of the Berlin Festival. The journalist even called the Protestant and Catholic bishops in town to get their opinion. Apparently, they just smiled.

“We just witnessed this performance over there,” the older of the two cops said, gesturing over to where our beautiful church stood. It was a flashy, colorful installation that measured 12 meters long, seven meters high and six meters wide. A group of 10 artists had worked on the sculpture meant to celebrate spirituality and transcendence without worshipping any gods we don’t believe in.

That is the serious motivation behind the project: When we stop believing in gods, art become the last remaining field of spirituality and transcendence.

“What was that you guys had behind your ears?” the older officer asked. The younger one kept quiet pretty much all the time. To remain undercover, both of them were wearing the masks our sponsor had passed out – pieces of cardboard which you could paint and then pull over your face.

“Oh, you mean the joints?” I said frankly. “Ah, don’t you worry,” I waved him off with a smile. “They were pure dummies. Just tobacco in ‘em,” I laughed.

But the cop was not laughing. “Show them to us!”

I opened the door to let the two officers in their undercover attire back into our dressing room. When we came in, all of my artist friends stopped their conversations immediately. Nobody knew what was happening.

Props like Bob Marley’s

I handed the cops the tobacco joints we had prepared for the mass. They sniffed them, mumbling, “Tobacco.”

“It’s just theater,” I explained. “They’re props.”

The older cop had just finished sniffing on his third joint which he also passed on to his subordinate, who gave it the same kind of thorough treatment he had used on the first two. All my altar boys and girls watched in a mixture of disbelief, amusement and caution concerning the outcome of this investigation.

“Why did you need marijuana joints as props?”

“Short form? It’s about spirituality. Every religion has that. The Jews and the Christians use wine. We bless the church-goers with schnapps instead. And marijuana is a spiritual drug, too. You don’t want to see Bob Marley performing without weed, do ya?!” I said, figuring even the police would like Bob, even though he did shoot the sheriff.

The older cop had this big question mark hanging over his head, and I had the feeling that it had nothing to do with the fact that Bob Marley is not alive anymore.

“See, when the first sister drew a bull on some cave wall down in southern Africa some 70,000 years ago, she had to name it to explain to her brother what it was: ‘Bull.’ Both the drawing and the naming were rooted in the same moment, as French sociologists pointed out in the 1960s. I bet that in the exact same moment another brother or sister beat some bones together, rhythmically humming while dancing around a fire. These are exactly the elements that make up us all: music, art and poetry.

“That gives a higher meaning to life when the sun sets, when it gets dark, and there’s no science that can assure you it will rise again the next morning. Which is why these brothers and sisters made the sun their first god, you know.”

The cop looked bewildered. I continued.

In touch with the ancient past

“After that came the gods of wind and other natural phenomenon, and personalized gods came much later. So priests became the successors of the nomadic shamans, which had been the ones to call up the spirits and gods in ancient times. And for their rites, the new priests used alcohol instead of the shamans’ nature drugs like weed and mushrooms, you see.”

The cop showed no emotion. Various and Gould had big smiles on their faces, though. They had helped me as altar boy and girl during the ceremony and painted my church windows with their modern day saints: Saint Gentrifizian for the urban, Santa Diversita for the transgender, St. Redundous for the old and poor, and Santa Pharma for everlasting life through pharmaceutical drugs.

“After Nietzsche declared that god is dead, none of us kept believing in gods, but we are still human, aren’t we? That means we are still spiritual beings and are able to transcend our own limited physical existence. That’s is why my artist friends and I built the holy Church of Phonk. As symbols for spirituality, we had the flask of schnapps and the joints.

“The best thing about it is that we promise that everybody who enters the church leaves a better dancer, no matter how good he was before. And that is for you, too, brother!”

The others tried not to laugh. The officer mumbled something I could not make out as he headed for the door, followed by his young colleague.

I don’t know whether he’s a better dancer now, but I sure hope so. May the phonk be with him!

Check also: http://www.dw.de/berlins-holy-church-of-phonk-breaks-all-taboos/a-17412357

Yaneq erzählt von Reue, einen einstigen Ausspruch betreffend und davon wie er schon immer ein Hauptstädter war und so gerne nun auch noch ein Berliner werden möchte, Hipster-Bashing hin oder her.

Wer Wind säht, wird Sturm ernten, heißt es in einem alten Buch, dessen Titel mir gerade bewusst entfällt. Und wie es mit so alten, weisen Sprüchen ist: Sie stimmen oft.
In einer früheren Yaneqdote (»Learn the rules, kid!«) beschimpfe ich zum Beispiel einen jungen Franzosen als »Touristen«. Nicht weil ich wirklich etwas gegen Touristen hätte, schließlich sind wir ja alle immer wieder irgendwo Touristen, sondern um das Wortgefecht über wilde Plakatierung zu gewinnen, in das ich mich mit ihm befand. Und in diesem Gefecht kam mir halt das Touri-Argument gerade so in die Flinte. Puff. Geschossen. Ein kleiner Wind. Jetzt, etliche Jahre später schlägt mir eine Sturmfront ins Gesicht.

Es ist Legende: Berlin ist oberangesagt. Unzahlen an internationalen Touristen und neu-Berlinern mit Fuß-Pils in der Hand bevölkern die Trottoirs der Szene-Kieze. In der Neuköllner Weser Straße sollen sich sogar die neuseeländischen Hipster mit den kanadischen Neubewohnern um die Eigentümerschaft der Straße streiten. Die Fun- und Lifestyle-Refugees der zwei langweiligsten Commonwealth-Nationen im Battle um Territorium quasi. Eine schöne Fortsetzung der eigenen kolonialen Landnahme-Tradition könnte man spotten. Aber dann: Sind wir nicht alle Fun- und Lifestyle-Refugees von irgendwo? Und ist das nicht einfach »auch gut so«, wie ein »echter« Berliner einst formulierte? Die Stadt ist doch für alle da. Und alle sind für das Recht auf Freizügigkeit. Was ist die Arroganz der Zuerst-Gekommenen oder Wo-Geborenen? Provinziell, im besten Fall.
Mich regt schon die Frage »Bist du Berliner?« auf, die einem bezeichnender Weise aber auch immer nur von Gerade-Hierher-Gezogenen gestellt wird. Was soll das denn heißen, bitte? Klar, ich bin hier seit sechzehn Jahren als Bürger gemeldet. »Nee, richtiger Berliner?!«, kommt es ungeniert aus dem frechen Maul. Du meinst, ob ich hier geboren wurde? Nee, ich bin in der Hauptstadt geboren. Und das habe ich mit den Ost-Berlinern, aber nicht mit den West-Berlinern gemeinsam. Wer jetzt innerhalb von zwei Sekunden die alte Hauptstadt der BRD nennen kann, ist zur ihm eigenen Pronvinzialität zumindest nicht auch noch strunzdumm. Viele brauchen aber länger als fünf Sekunden, sodass ich die Stadt auch noch selber beim Namen nennen muss. »Wiiie, Bonn?!«, rufen sie dann und haben unfreiwillig den halb stolzen, halb bespöttelten Gesichtsausdruck, den Kleinkinder kriegen, wenn sie etwas raffen, aber nicht wissen, was sie davon halten sollen. Ja, Bonn, Bitch! Ich wohne ausschließlich in Capitals. I’m a capitalist! Und jetzt schwirr ab! Ich will mit interessanten Menschen über interessante Dinge reden.
Im Ernst: Nach sieben Jahren Residenz kann man Deutscher werden. Aber Berliner nie? Blut und Boden-Scheiße ist das, ihr Provinz-Nazis. Geht mal nach New York oder in andere richtige Metropolen und lasst euch den Kopf waschen. Da sind auch alle von irgendwo her.

Ja, ich habe selber diesen Wind gesäht. Der Sturm den ich ernte? An das Schaufenster meines Kunstraums Schau Fenster, den ich seit drei Jahren in Kreuzberg betreibe, hat mir neulich irgend ein schwäbischer Gentrifizierungsgegner »Touris raus!« gesprüht. In extrem toy-iger Schrift. Wenn er das hier lieat, kann er gerne mal auf ein schwäbisches Bier vorbeikommen und ein interessantes Thema mitbringen. Zum Beispiel, wo er so in Urlaub hinfährt. Oder wie er Berliner Türken findet; sind ja auch hierher gezogen. Ja, die Stadt wird voller. Ja, es wird anstrengender. Ja, das produziert Aggressionen auf allen Seiten. Aber will man wirklich so leben? Ich nicht. Deswegen habe ich auch darauf verzichtet, einen Kommentar wie »Deutsche, kauft nicht bei Juden!« ins Fenster zu kleben.
Ein befreundeter Fotograf und Street-Artist, der hier lieber anonym bleiben will, hat letztes Jahr eine Facebook-Gruppe namens »Hipster Antifa« ins Leben gerufen und postet auf der Seite Fotos von Billo-Taggs gegen Schwaben, Hipster und Neu-Berliner, weil er diese strukturell antisemitisch findet. Die Reaktionen auf die Seite fielen harsch aus. Weitgehend aggressive Ablehnung. Er hat also einen Nerv getroffen.
Außerdem: Was soll das Hipster-Bashing überhaupt? Ich liebe William S. Burroughs und Jack Kerouac. Und Thelonious Monk ist Gott. Das sind die true-school Hipster der ersten Stunde. Style, Witz, Wut, Intelligenz, Hedonismus, gelebte Philosophie und Reflektion: Welcher verkniffene Spießer kann etwas dagegen haben?
Alle oder zumindest alle nicht vollkommen faschistoiden Vollpfosten können sich darauf einigen, dass Patriotismus Unsinn ist. Unsinn der nur Abgrenzung, Krieg und Leid produziert. Warum glauben dann immer noch so viele Reflex-Denker, dass Lokal-Patriotismus eine lässliche Sünde sei? Fuck that! Lokal-Patriotismus ist die Grundschule des Patriotismus. Und nur weil die Vertreter der Grundschule quasi per definitionem Kinder sind, spare ich nicht mit meiner Kritik. Ich glaube sowieso nicht an das Konzept kindlicher Unschuld. Warum sollen Kinder unschuldiger sein? Und warum Erwachsene schuldig? Das leuchtet mir genauso wenig ein. Führt aber vom Thema ab.
Ich empfehle allen Berliner Lokal-Patrioten zwecks Schock-Schulungszwecken einen Ausflug zu den echten Patrioten im Brandenburger Umland. Nehmt am besten einen türkischen Homie mit und verteidigt ihn gegen die rassistischen Dumpf-Bauern, während ihr euch in ihnen spiegeln könnt. Und dann ab, Kinderarbeit bei mir am Schaufenster leisten und die Toy-Taggs abwischen. Das hilft. Denn hinterher seid ihr komplettere Menschen. Versprochen!
Und ich werde nie wieder französische Hippies beschimpfen, die in Berlin Jam-Session machen wollen. Auch versprochen!
Peace out,
ein Hauptstädter.

A Campaign For Peace In Congo

Come and meet us for a night of inspiration.
Join the celebration and be a whistle blower for peace.

10. Dezember 2013
Human Rights Day
19.00 – 22.00 Uhr

Live: Ange da Costa
DJ: Stimulus (NYC)
Art: Family Bothor

Sponsor: Corona

SCHAU FENSTER – Schauraum für Kunst
Lobeckstr. 30-35, 10969 Berlin
U8-Moritzplatz, M29

Follow us on: https://www.facebook.com/FallingWhistlesBerlin

Facebook-Event: https://www.facebook.com/events/545209972236751/

When a Berlin artist ‘vandalizes’ his own painting or steals his own sculpture, does it cause a scandal? DW’s Berlin insider Jan Kage explores the recipe for artistic provocation in a city known for rebellion.

“Can you please come for Jim’s performance tomorrow morning,” a journalist from television broadcaster Arte asked me after we finished an interview about Berlin artist Jim Avignon, who’d curated a show in my art space and who’s been a friend of mine for many years now. “I need another picture of you in a different setting. It won’t take long.”
“I don’t think so,” I answered honestly. “We have an opening tonight and tomorrow morning I have to take care of my baby.”
“Oh, bring her, too! That’d be an awesome picture.”
“Never! I can’t have my little girl on TV. She can decide on that herself later,” I replied.
“Well, we don’t have to show her face. Or we’ll just shoot you and have her waiting on the side.”
Sometimes honest answers only prolong things, so I shifted to making vague promises: “Sure, I’ll try my best!”

Repainting the Berlin Wall
Jim had planned a scandalous performance for that Saturday morning. He wanted to repaint the piece of the East Side Gallery that he had painted in 1990.
The East Side Gallery is the last remaining part of the Berlin Wall. Right after it came down in 1989, a lot of artists painted the two kilometers of Wall between the Ostbahnhof train station and the bridge, Oberbaumbrücke. Although most of the results were pretty kitschy, they all carried the spirit of those days marking the end of the Cold War.
A couple of nice ones are to be found as well of course – like Jim’s and Thierry Noire’s, for example. They both come from West Berlin’s 80s scene and made a name for themselves as new pop artists in the 90s.
Back then, Jim decorated a whole lot of techno parties in their illegally squatted venues. Posters and cardboard installations were quickly drawn and cheaply installed. It was art for the here-and-now that you could dance within, and in the morning when the party was over you could take it home with you.
Jim had this philosophy of “better a thousand pictures for one dollar than one for a thousand.” This popularized his art to the degree that most people in the scene had a piece of his at home. But also to the degree that the market is so flooded with his work that the price will probably never go up.

Commenting on the present
Back at the East Side Gallery, Jim and his helpers were planning to repaint the strip within just a couple of hours so they wouldn’t get caught by the cops. The Gallery is not only a protected monument – a status which is taken very seriously in Germany – but also was renovated four years ago for a million euros so that tourists can forever enjoy the pictures that were painted on it 24 years ago.
Jim Avignon didn’t like the “forever” part of this concept.

He had depicted the celebration of East Germany’s self-liberation in 1989 as a picture of its time, with nitty-gritty politicians showing their teeth and tanks, and opposed to those happy people joyously running towards each other and hugging. Now he wanted to address the state of the city as he finds it today: failed investments and speculations on the house market, gentrification, and the like.
But Jim’s blatant repainting proved to be a true scandal, especially with the other artists. They felt provoked and feared that everybody could now paint on the Wall whenever they wanted.
Another outcry concerning the East Side Gallery happened earlier this year when an investor had pieces of the Wall temporarily removed so trucks could enter his construction site, where he’s building a fancy apartment complex. People didn’t like both the expensive apartment and the removal of parts of the Wall.
French street artist JR was in town at the time, working on the Berlin edition of his “Wrinkles of the City” project and responded by putting up wooden boards into the hole in the Wall, gluing posters with his photography onto it. The newspapers reported intensively on this – especially since one of the security guards got attacked that same night. But that must have been other people – not JR and his crew.
“What do you think about Jim repainting the Wall?” the Arte journalist asked me.
“Why not? I don’t see why the paintings that were once drawn should be preserved forever.” I said. “Art in the streets is bound to vanish. Also, most of the painters were not the best – or best-known – artists in the first place. They were just people who took the chance to paint it right after the Wall came down, which is great. But nobody promotes the idea of preserving the graffiti that was on the west side of the Wall either. So, I guess things change.”

‘Stolen’ art
Repainting his work was not Jim’s first illegal action when it comes to presenting his art in public. Twelve years ago, a local tabloid asked Jim to paint one of the Buddy Bears – a rather kitschy series of hundreds of bear sculptures positioned in public spaces all over town. A bear is part of the city’s coat of arms and it’s a kind of local mascot.
Jim hesitated because he didn’t love the sculpture, but since it was for charity reasons and the paper promised to take it off Kurfürstendamm (one of Berlin’s most famous boulevards) after six months to auction it off for a good cause, he agreed to paint one.
Six months and three weeks later, however, the bear was still standing in the street, so Jim called the paper. The editor he spoke to was kind of ambiguous. He told Jim the same thing the TV journalist told me when I was not sure I’d make it to the performance: “But that’s good promotion for you!”
Jim didn’t buy that answer. Instead, he rented a van and drove to the bear at night with a couple of friends and some screwdrivers. They unscrewed the sculpture, heaved it into the van, and took the bear to a place where he could “hibernate” for the winter.
Suddenly, the tabloid was alarmed. “Jim Avignon’s Bear Stolen,” the headlines read. They went looking around for it, but the bear was nowhere to be found. And it stayed in hiding for a whole decade.

Rebirth of a non-scandalous bear
Jim’s bear was finally resurrected for last year’s Art Village, which is the art space I curate during the annual Berlin Festival music event. We rented a van and brought the bear back to the city. Then we put him on top of the five containers that served as the entrance to the Art Village at old, historic Tempelhof Airport.
That was around the same time that the three members of the Russian band Pussy Riot were on trial in Moscow for their political dissidence. The case was a shock to all of us who grew up with punk rock and egalitarian ideals – but also stimulating to learn that one can still provoke the powers that be with a punky performance.
So as a sign of solidarity and deference, we had an old lady crochet a bright yellow Pussy Riot ski mask for the bear’s head. Unfortunately neither the bringing back of the bear nor the ski mask produced any kind of tabloid scandal. But it sure was loved by everybody who saw it.
And that proves one point: You can’t really plan a scandal. They just happen, depending on how relevant the topic is at the moment and how spot-on the timing is. And there may be two or three other parameters involved that I’m still investigating so that maybe I can plan the next one myself after all.