Rainer Ganahl as the VoguePhotographer
	In November-December 1998, I did a tour in Europe and the United Kingdom with Not For Sale: Feminism and Art in the USA during the 1970s. The tour included an appearance in Vienna at the Depot, where I showed the tape and took questions one night and the next night was devoted to a panel discussion on feminism and art. There were about seven of us on the panel, women from Germany and Austria, excepting myself. I only know ten words of German, so I had a translator but for some reason the translator was instructed to repeat all the English aloud to the audience (usually they just scribble notes to me). I could tell the audience was really bored: there were two hundred people there, and they had to listen to everything twice: first in German, then English. The situation was made more farcical by the fact that everyone on the panel was English fluent: so they would correct the translator each time, providing an additional nuance or clarification to the way she had translated them aloud. I whispered to the translator, and then to the moderator, that they should stop translating the English aloud, that I could follow everything well enough with just some notes, but both of them insisted that this was the necessary procedure. After nearly thirty minutes of this, I felt embarrassed that the audience was forced to listen to the English just because I am so under-educated that I don't know German. So I leaned into the microphone and asked the audience if it was okay if we didn't do the English translations aloud, and they were really happy to hear this and applauded. But then one of the other women on the panel asked if there were any members of the audience who weren't German fluent and when one woman way in the back of the room raised her hand, my fellow panel member exclaimed, as if some kind of victory had been accomplished: "So, we continue with the English translation!" This was hilarious: a real re-enactment of seventies feminism in the nineties. And I felt privileged to be able to witness this in Vienna, to see the 'Austrian version' of this . One of the beautiful aspects of seventies feminism philosophy is an idealist attempt to orchestrate all structured situations according to true democracy and equality: which means that if one woman can't understand German, than all others must listen to the English too. In the American feminist art and women's liberation movements of the 1970s, this same mechanism of inclusion was consistent. It was taken to absurd and immaterial proportions: every time someone organized a political event or an art exhibition, the situation was expected to represent and include everyone and everything. The Depot event continued in the same vein. One woman said the table was too short and the panel too big. Another one pointed to some stuff on the windowsill and announced that this was an artwork - and she even had a plant in the audience who screamed out a request for the featured artist to be named! It was like a parody of the Communist Party according to a script by Fellini. Since the day before, in Munich, another German lesbian feminist had yelled at me for being "New York hegemonic,"I decided that this was my opportunity to just sit on a panel and do nothing. So I drank from a glass of red wine - I like the Depot Cafe a lot, and they were so nice to me there - and refrained myself from doubling over in hysterical laughter. Since a core aspect of my background is activist politics - I spent a few years in my twenties doing feminist and lesbian politics full time - I wanted to talk to the political activist women after the panel. But when I invited one to dinner with us, she righteously exclaimed that she did not believe in the separation between the personal and the political. Then she whispered conspiratorially into my ear that they have big problems with the Depot and I laughed and said: "Yes, I can see that." Then she wanted to know how much I had been paid as she suspected that the Depot had deliberately misinformed her regarding my fee. So I handed her the envelope with my fee inside, and when she saw that it was the same as hers she was shocked. It really made me question the depth of her political acumen: for she should know that New York lesbians don't get paid any more than any other lesbians. We are all in the same ghetto, even if we are "New York hegemonic." Experiencing this event was the highlight of my 1998 European Tour. I will remain ever thankful to the Austrian government for providing the funding that enabled my education at the Depot. The division between the lesbian feminist political subculture and the fine art establishment is real and ongoing: I have witnessed it in Paris, London, Los Angeles, Tokyo, Berlin and Chicago. And I live it every day in New York. Among the audience at the Depot panel, taking photographs, was the Austrian-born artist Rainer Ganahl. He approached me after the panel and asked for permission to use my image. He made a few interesting and wild comments about the panel and told me that he lived in New York and that he had photographed me before, most recently at the French Theory symposium in New York the previous month. He told me that photographing lectures and panel discussions was part of his art practice and that he was making an exhibition with the Max Protech Gallery, New York. I asked him to send me announcement of his exhibition, that I would like to see it. The night of his opening at Max Protech, Leslie and Nicole (see Keith Richards, above) were going out to art parties and openings. We started in Soho and then went to Chelsea, where Max Protech is. Nicole really wanted to go to Zoe Leonard's opening, at Paula Cooper's in Chelsea, but I didn't. So I said we would go some other places and then pick her up there. I wanted to go to Rainer's. I had already decided that it would be interesting to invite Rainer Ganahl to play a Vogue photographer, that the idea of having someone whose practice is photographing intellectuals play the role of someone photographing rock stars was hilarious. I though we could also invite him to make the production stills for The Anita Pallenberg Story, because someone had to do it. But I was afraid to tell Leslie about my idea because Leslie hates panel discussions. Sometimes she attends the panels I do in New York and then she complains for days about how evil and dishonest and manipulative the academics are and that I shouldn't ever sit next to them. So I was afraid to tell her that I wanted to give a part to an artist who photographs panels. And I didn't think she would want to go to Rainer's exhibition either. Because she would ask me what the work was and then I would have to tell her and then I knew she would say: "What! Not Panel Discussions!" And then she would start her rant again. But on that night in Chelsea it was easy - because Leslie didn't want to go see Zoe Leonard either. So we got out of the taxi in front of Paula Cooper to let Nicole go in and then I just said, very casually, to Leslie, something like: "You know, there's this Austrian artist who I met in Vienna last month and he's taken some photographs of me so do you want to see what's up at Max Protech?" And she just said "sure" so it was easy. Then the most amazing thing happened. We went into the gallery, with all these framed color photographs of Edward Said, Gayatri Spivak, a classroom of students falling asleep, Sylvere Lotringer, a dark auditorium with a blurry slide on the screen, and similar images and Leslie turned to me and said: "This work is great!" She said it was the best show of the season! So I introduced her to Rainer and then we invited him to play the Vogue photographer. And in addition to appearing in the film he also took more than three hundred photographs of the shooting of The Anita Pallenberg Story. And I want to exhibit those too.
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