jodi, eBay shopping bag (#exstrange edition), screenshot: ebay

#exstrange is an art project of, on, and about eBay. Curators conceived and launched #exstrange by inviting artists to create "artworks as auctions" that use "the entire listing (descriptive text, images, pricing, and categories) as material to build the artwork." Occasionally some of those artworks even involve objects.

Marialaura Ghidini and Rebekah Modrak began the #exstrange exploration, and they are involved in the website and book [forthcoming] documenting and discussing the project. But by its nature, #exstrange also exists-and eventually disappears-on eBay, as a hashtag/search term that is ultimately beyond the curators' control.

There is no shortage of art on eBay, nor of conceptual stunts, often designed for shock or novelty that, it is hoped, will generate interest and a sale. While there are immediately appealing objects, too, like a stamped eBay shopping bag edition by the net collective Jodi, some of #exstrange's most interesting works are designed to exploit the parameters of eBay's system and the expectations of its users.

Joana Moll, Google trackers in North Korea official webpage, 2017, image:

In her listing Joana Moll pitched "Google trackers in North Korea official webpage" as "living proof of US colonization over the Asian country." The opening bid was $30. But because the Barcelona-based artist used the US site, her sale was subject to US law, which prohibits trade of North Korean goods. And so the listing was canceled by an embargobot which couldn't discern the nuances of selling a screenshot of a txt file showing Google Analytics code embedded in the DPRK's (presumably homegrown) html. No problem, though, because the delisting is part of Moll's piece.

Lloyd Corporation, Bankrupt. Bulk Buy. Liquidation. Repossession #exstrange, 2017,

Lloyd Corporation, meanwhile, appropriated the texts and images from listings by a bankruptcy liquidation specialist, and sold inattentive bargain hunters boxes of junk that nevertheless literally met the listing's descriptions and caveats. Don't worry how it turned out, though: the angry correspondence unraveling the sale became part of the work.

As the project propagates, others are jumping in and glomming on. Whether the curator-controlled website follows the free-range hashtag or diverges from it remains to be seen. #exstrange could remain an esoteric label, or it could follow the arc of "eames era" as a genre-specific default search term that dilutes its specificity to homeopathic levels of uselessness. In the mean time, I will definitely be courting some of those conceptual art bidding' eyeballs by throwing it into my title description of my next eBay sale,. To paraphrase Rauschenberg, "this is an #exstrange if I say so."

#exstrange, co-curated by Marialaura Ghidini and Rebekah Modrak [ via someone one twitter, thanks! probably regine]
Previously, related: eBay Test Prints: DO NOT BID OR BUY

Brian Bress, Consonance and Dissonance in Four Parts for Times Square, in Times Square for Public Art Fund, image: hyperallergic

Recently Seph Rodney wrote for Hyperallergic about the Public Art Fund's Commercial Break series, which places "interruptions" by 23 artists within the advertising programming of large-scale public screens in NYC. The project ended last weekend, but from Rodney's account, you probably wouldn't have noticed either way:

the project's images are not so much a break as a pause -- in some cases, by my count, a four-second interlude in which I'm not even sure what I'm looking at and not sure it's all that different from what came before and what comes after.
It turns out to be difficult for an artist to create a successful art experience entirely within the visual context of a cacophonous commercial cityscape.

Rodney cites several historical antecedents, including Marilyn Minter and Chris Burden's TV commercials, Creative Time & MTV's artist spots in the 80s, and PAF's own Messages To The Public (1982-1990), which inserted artist messages on a billboard in Times Square. Oddly, there's no mention of Creative Time's 59th Minute (2000-07), which did the same thing on the same spot, but with the new screen sponsor, Panasonic.

Vik_Muniz_george_stinney_OVERRIDE_artnews.jpgVik Muniz, George Stinney, Jr. (2016), seen on a billboard for OVERRIDE, Expo Chicago, image: Meg Handler/Artnews

Context is hard anyway, but advertising is especially unforgiving. It all reminded me of the problematic billboard Vik Muniz made last year for Override, the public art program of Expo Chicago. Dushko Petrovich dug into it for Art News. Everyone who ever contemplates making or curating ad-related art for the public sphere needs to read about this mess.

Expo Chicago had invited several artists to submit images of works to be broadcast in rotation on electronic billboards around the city during the art fair. Muniz's George Stinney, Jr. was a still photo from a video piece he'd made in 2015 that told the story of the youngest person ever executed in the US. That moving backstory was lost, though, to passersby who just saw the mug shot of a 14-year-old African American boy flash across a billboard.

None of the Override works were presented with any kind of introduction or identification to distinguish them as art. This lack of framing allowed the other works their surprise and titillation. But with the Stinney mugshot, mystery presented a problem: if viewers didn't know it was art, how were they supposed to know it was a critique? What did it mean to see this image without preparation or context?

Thousands of random people were seeing it all over Chicago, but there was no way to identify these unwitting viewers, much less talk to them.

Well, Facebook. Dushko spoke with Chicago residents who were baffled, disturbed, and angered by the Stinney image; it didn't help, but it's worth noting that this sounds very close to Muniz' own reaction when he first discovered Stinney's story.

In 2010 I said that Google's nascent AdWords-style market for buying TV commercials should be a boon for artists. "We're all Chris Burden Now," I said. Well, I was wrong, and it's probably for the best that we all didn't take my advice, because the blunders would have been off the hook. But if you're going to make ad-related public art, just give it some thought, mkay? It's tricky in the best of times, and these are not those times.

Aiming to Disrupt Ads in New York City, Artworks Instead Blend In [hyperallergic]
In the Context of No Context: A Digital Billboard in Chicago Raises Questions About Art in the Public Sphere [artnews]
Previously, related: We're All Chris Burden Now
Starting With Chris Burden's TV Ad, Through The Night Softly


I am not sure why, but I just remembered that I once wanted John Cage's table in a totally non-venerating way, or, barring that, that I wanted to make it, and had thus recorded the score [sic] for the table on a bar napkin at one point.

Previously: Scoring John Cage's Table

March 4, 2017

Why Not...

"@klausbiesenbach recommended dress code for #armoryartsweek comments please"

throw your bought-in Fredrik Vaerslev over your shoulders like a cape and shop it around the pier in the afternoon?

Untitled (Picture Light), 2017, picture light, gilt frame, Picasso, installation view, 1989. image: Chema Conesa via The Art Newspaper

In 1989 Baron and Baroness von Thyssen-Bornemisza brought a dining chair out to the terrace of Villa Favorita to sit for a portrait by photographer Chema Conesa. The Baroness sat. The Baron stood, with his right hand on his wife's shoulder. Someone seems to have had the idea to add Picasso's Harlequin with a Mirror to the composition.
It it not clear where the 1923 painting was hanging, but it was. A white-gloved manservant apparently took it off the wall and marched it outside. He holds it on the right corner as it rests on the bare brick ground. The Baron stabilizes the other corner by resting his left forearm on the frame. The brass picture light is still attached.

The Baron bought Harlequin with a Mirror in 1979. X-rays show that Picasso originally painted a self-portrait, possibly as a Cupid/Eros combo, before replacing his face with the mask-like stare of the harlequin. William Rubin and Pierre Daix linked the early state of the harlequin to Picasso's 1923 frustrated infatuation with Sara Murphy, of the Cap d'Antibes Murphys. The series marked the end of Picasso's so-called Classical phase. It is currently unclear when, where, or why the Baron bought it, though.

The Thyssen-Bornemiszas at home in Madrid with Harlequin with a Mirror and possible picture light detail, 1992, image via NYT

By 1992, the Thyssen-Bornemiszas had decamped to Madrid, anticipating the opening of the Museo Thyssen-Bornemizsa across the street from the Prado and Reina Sofia, to which they had loaned (or rather, rented) more than 800 works, not yet including Harlequin. From the opening of a NY Times Magazine profile:

Baron Hans Heinrich Thyssen-Bornemisza is pouring himself another drink in front of a Picasso on the living room wall of his Madrid mansion. He is making the point that he has always been a tough businessman, the kind who won't let anything get in the way of a good deal.
From the Baroness's posture to the Baron's hand, to the Harlequin photobomb, the Times' image lacks only an art handler to complete its homage. A tiny black spot at the edge of the page gives me hope that the Harlequin made the trip from Lugano to Madrid with his picture light intact. It did not, however, survive the trip into the Museo.

So whether it overlooks Lake Lugano or the Paseo del Prado, this sculptural situation of a picture light on a Picasso sitting nonchalantly and unmediated on a terrace is exceptional, and will likely never occur again. So this work probably exists only in retrorsum im memoriam. Still gives me chills, though.

Pablo Picasso, Harlequin with a Mirror, 1923 []
Playing The Art Game For High Stakes [nyt mag, 04 Oct 1992]

Superflex, Hospital Equipment, 2014- , von Bartha S-chanf installation shot via ig/superflexjakob

"Sometimes context is everything," SUPERFLEX's Jakob Fenger wrote, as he Instagrammed a photo of the latest installation of Hospital Equipment in von Bartha's hyper-rustic gallery in the Swiss skiing village of S-chanf. [pronounced as it's spelled, it turns out.]

The Danish collaborative calls Hospital Equipment a "readymade upside down," because it pulls objects into an art context, only to send them on their way to a new context, as functional objects. The objects are surgical tables and operating room equipment, and their post-readymade destination is a hospital in a Middle East conflict zone. The first iteration of Hospital Equipment in 2014-16 was realized at a hospital in Gaza. This time, the work will be realized in Syria.

Collectors of the $90,000 work--Superflex calls their things tools rather than artworks or projects--receive a photo and a certificate for the privilege [sic, which] of funding the object's purchase, travel, and installation in a place where it's actually, not just symbolically useful.

ceci n'est pas un readymade non plus: Hospital Equipment's equipment installed at al Sharif Hospital, Gaza, Palestine, 2015-16. image: superflex

von Bartha's exhibition announcement identifies a lot of issues:

The work questions not only our divergent reaction to the heavy stream of media and humanitarian fundraising campaigns involving the Syrian conflict, it also challenges the concept of contemporary art practice, collections and ownership. SUPERFLEX refers to the work as a 'readymade upside down'. Transitioning from a Duchampian 'readymade' to a potentially lifesaving medical instrument, the equipment oscillates between artwork and functional object, highlighting the role of context in the definition of artistic practice - and the will of the individual mind to make direct change in the world we are living. The equipment consists of a state-of-the-art surgeon's table, a mobile surgery lamp and a surgical instrument table, that has been carefully selected for the Salamieh hospital. Hospital Equipment is an act of exchange.
"We want to challenge collecting itself. Do you have to have the object, or can it be just as valuable to you that it be activated somewhere else?" said Bjørnstjerne Christiansen last year.

Superflex Hospital Equipment, 2014- , installation shot of the photo of the installation at den Frie, Copenhagen. image: superflex

For some objects like operating tables, and some places like much-covered conflict zones in which your own society is somewhat implicated, there is value in knowing that your effort or expenditure helped activate something somewhere else. But a photo is an object. A COA is a marker of value. The art world is a context that confers that value. Engagement with art as a maker, seller, and collector also confers social value. Let's acknowledge that but continue to consider the questions Superflex is raising. But, "Is the money spent on an art object better spent somewhere else?" ends the exercise too quickly.

Given Superflex's constellation of privilege, money, access, attention, prestige, moral authority, relationships, aesthetics, entrepreneurialism and relationships, and the particulars of the platform and situation they faced in 2014, what is an appropriate response?

Because in 2014 Superflex was awarded the Carl Nielsen og Anne Marie Carl-Nielsens Legat, a biennial prize for Danish sculptors which includes an exhibition at Den Frie Centre in Copenhagen, and a prize of 600,000 kronor (then $US105,000.)

Superflex realized Hospital Equipment in collaboration with PalMed, a EU-based NGO for Middle Eastern doctors, who helped pick the equipment and identify and coordinate with the hospital; the WHO, who helped with logistics; and a Danish training tech firm called Area9, whose founder was the only collector of three to be publicly identified. Thus through the jiu jutsu of the readymade, the transformation of an operating table into an art object and back again is incidental to the leveraging of art capital and its trappings for international humanitarian philanthropy.

And now it is happening again, this time with Syria. And a private gallery on the road to Gstaad. Will the media streams and aesthetic impulses and capital flows align again so that Superflex can make some more direct change in the world? I guess we all hope so.

But the financial and logistical convolutions involved in Hospital Equipment strike me as an inefficient and ultimately unsustainable way to meet real medical needs. They're the geopolitical conflict equivalent of Americans trying to stave off medical bankruptcy via a GoFundMe campaign. Faced with a real, looming crisis, I can't say these efforts shouldn't happen; they're imperative, though they often fail, and leave the systemic contextual problems intact. Superflex's Hospital Equipment may succeed again; it has certainly achieved a high level of awareness, or publicity. Is that the extent of its conceptual reach, though? Does the readymade transubstantiation really only need to occur in the mediated image of the project? Or even only in our minds? Maybe its greater impact should be exposing the tenuity of the art world's own self-reinforcing system, whose currency, increasingly, can only be exchanged for the occasional self-congratulatory gestures of a handful of aesthetically inclined multi-millionaires seeking the approbation of an even smaller coterie of hedging billionaires.

SUPERFLEX Hospital Equipment, Feb 16 - Mar 18, von Bartha, S-CHANF, Basel [vonbartha via artnet]
Hospital Equipment, 2014 []
Carl Nielsen og Anne Marie Carl-Nielsens Legat 2014 []


Reading a Dan Graham interview transcript about magazine articles as artworks, and contemplating the [so far] failed campaign for Giant Meteor '16, I thought of Mel Bochner's and Robert Smithson's In The Domain Of The Great Bear, published in the Fall 1966 issue of Art Voices. This edition of Better Read is two excerpts from that work, which I imagined as a diptych.

PDF scans of In The Domain Of The Great Bear can be found in various places online [pdf]. The version I like is on Mel Bochner's own website [pdf], because it preserves the appearance of the work as originally published. Bochner spoke about Domain at a 2005 Smithson symposium at the Whitney Museum. I was at that symposium, but the New York-centric historian who said visiting the Spiral Jetty site doesn't matter, the film is enough, and Nancy Holt's nonchalant comments about adding more rocks to the Jetty have obliterated all other memories of that day. Fortunately the talk was later adapted as "Secrets of the Domes" and published in the September 2006 issue of Artforum.

serendipitous update: I happened across the John Wilmdering Symposium at the NGA from last Fall, where art historian Justin Wolff talked about Rockwell Kent's End of the World lithographs, which were made for Life Magazine. For a story, though, about a very popular program at the then-new Hayden Planetarium, where scientists would speculate on the many ways the earth could be destroyed. So this was not just Smithson; it was a Hayden thing. Great [End] Times. [oh, spoiler alert?]

Download Better_Read_012_Bochner_Smithson_Domain.mp3 [9:36, mp3, 13.8mb, via dropbox]


I do not know how this slipped by me all this time, but Cucula is a Berlin organization that works refugees to make furniture. It started in 2013 by making Enzo Mari's Autoprogettazione designs out of the wood from refugee shipwrecks on the Italian island Lampedusa.

Lampedusa, of course, became synonymous with the first widely publicized tragedies of massive refugee deaths in perilous transit. Cucula, a West African word meaning, basically, colabo, was started by designers Corinna Sy and Sebastian Daeschle, first to help Nigerian and Malian refugees fleeing war in Libya to stabilize their situation in Germany. Actually, their first idea was to help the refugees build furniture for their rooms; the refugees said they'd rather have jobs, danke.


The first products were Mari's Sedia I, and were apparently called Lampedusa Stuehle. On the webshop now, though, they're called the Ambassador. Whatever the nuance of the shift, it makes me think of how time, geographic shifts, and the exponentially worsened plight of refugees has kind of swamped the Lampedusa brand.

Actually, what it really does is make me uncomfortable by aestheticizing and productizing the deaths of so many people. I fully support the mission of Cucula. I will not be shaken in my support of efforts to help refugees, especially those who have been through so much and have traveled so far at such great danger. I am a longtime admirer of Enzo Mari, and applaud his support for Cucula's use of his designs beyond their original, DIY-only context.


But the transformation of wrecked ships into premium, virtue-signaling, small batch designer furniture gets rightupthisclose to Ai Weiwei levels of disaster pornsploitation for me. The only thing that makes it work, imho, is that it's actually refugees learning the skills, doing the work, and reaping the benefits. I hope. [Curbed reports that Mari's license stipulates that only refugees can make the furniture, which in this case adds to the layers of complication, partly because the refugees cannot officially be classified as employees who earn wages.]


How many kinds of complicated are there again? Because it feels like a couple of designers stepping in to fulfill a moral obligation we all [should] feel, and doing it in an impossibly, obviously, unscalable way. And the rest of us, our role is to shop.

No. I don't mean no, don't shop. I mean, no, the rest of it. Why not take Cucula as an imperative, an example of the value of individual and collective care and involvement in building communities with and for refugees? If a designer can organize a workshop that supports a team of refugee craftsmen by building esoteric furniture, there is something you can do, too.


Meanwhile, maybe the Cucula solution is two-fold: first, get some stock-standard Autoprogettazione furniture made from regular pine. None of it is particularly expensive, considering, and the Bambinooo extended mini-chair with built-in storage bin is especially nice. Also go full Lampedusa-meets-Piet Hein Eek, and get a custom chair made entirely out of wreckwood. Then start inviting some refugees to dinner.

CUCULA [, h/t monique]
Meet CUCULA, the Berlin Furniture Company Seeking to Empower Refugees [curbed]
Previously, related: Enzo Mari X Ikea Mashup, Chaper: The Last [or not, obv]

Untitled, 1993, 70 x 190 cm, image:

Olafur Eliasson painted this in 1993. It's apparently one of six roughly door-sized paintings in a series or group. I've seen a couple of early Olafur paintings, and I am puzzled by them.


This is another painting from 1993, which apparently did not sell at B-R in 2011. It also has atmospheric and landscape-ish fields of color behind traced elements of domestic architecture.

Beauty, 1993, installed at the Long Museum Shanghai in 2016, image:

1993 was also the year he made Beauty, which he first showed in a garage, I believe. I'd say he was exploring a lot of different directions in 1993 and chose one.

Frakkastigur, 1996, from a suite of five photogravures produced by Niels Borch Jensen

But then, that painting also reminds me of a couple of collaged image photogravures Olafur made with Niels Borch Jensen, which have always puzzled me, too, and those are from 1996.

the rest, image via nbj

Other prints from the suite have probably gotten more attention for how they seem to map out Eliasson's project going forward, but I keep wondering about the collagey ones.

Vestmannaeyjer street covered with ash with lava fountains behind, 1973, image: usgs

A few years ago I found some stunning and very similar-looking photos of a January 1973 volcanic eruption on Heimaey, an Icelandic island where a third of the fishing village Vestmannaeyjer was buried in lava and ash.

image via heybehappy

The USGS published a booklet about how the destruction was minimized by fire fighters hosing down the face of the wall of lava with seawater as it advanced through the town, slowing it down. Olafur would have been 6, and I imagined the incident would have been formative. And I started re-considering his work through an unexpectedly autobiographical lens. When I proposed this to him, though, he didn't buy it.

completely unrelated: Riverbed, 2014-15, installed at Louisiana Museum, DK, image: Anders Sune Berg via

I still wonder, though. And I do wonder about Olafur's early work, including those paintings. If no one's gonna look into it, maybe I will.

Mar 7, 2017, 870/​752
Olafur Eliasson: Untitled, 1993, est. 200-300,000 kr

David Hammons, Rock Head, 1998, image via: hairisforpulling

In 1992 David Hammons took clippings from the floor of a barber shop in Harlem and affixed them to the crown of a melon-sized stone from Harlem. He brought the stone back to the barber shop for a haircut alongside his friend and muse, the Lower East Side poet John Farris. The performance is known as Haircut. Hammons has made several similar sculptures of black hair attached to stone, then trimmed and cut with tramlines, which have been titled Rock Head or Stone Head. They are inspired by history and their surroundings. Black living is at their core. They honor uniqueness and celebrate the individuality of each piece Hammons creates.


"Made Solid is a collection of leather products designed and handmade in Los Angeles by Peter Maxwell and Mia.
Our design is inspired by our history and our surroundings. Western living is at our core.
We honor uniqueness and celebrate the individuality of each piece we create.

"The name Made Solid references the connection we create through our creative process and the end result of our labor. Making a solid connection between the raw leather our hands touch and the well used pieces our friends love is our constant goal.


"We are connected to our surroundings, bringing natural elements to our work. Ocean, sand, stone and sky are referenced.

"We bring our lifestyle to our work."


In 2013, Maxwell and Mia conceived "one of their most popular and recognizable pieces" in collaboration with "one of their oldest friends," Los Angeles designer Cristy Pitoc. Their Leather Wrapped Stones are sourced locally, "selected for shape and color," and vegetable tanned leather is stretched around each stone with the wet molding technique used in saddle making. The edge is stitched, beveled and burnished by hand. "The leather is bound to the stone for life."

"Use as a paper weight, worry stone, doorstop, art object - whatever it is to you."


Wrapped Leather Stones have been featured in design-appreciative blogstores, literarily themed artisanal and locally sourced menswear emporia, and well curated home and lifestyle shops to, I'm sure, appropriately contemplative acclaim.

For the Holiday 2016 season Made Solid Leather Wrapped Stones were also curated into the Love, Pop-In Stores at select Nordstrom locations and at

A paperweight? A conversation piece? A work of art? It's up to you, but this smooth Los Angeles-area stone--wrapped in rich, vegetable-tanned American leather secured by sturdy contrast backstitching--is sure to draw attention wherever it rests. A traditional hardening process gives the leather a beautiful ombré effect. Like all Made Solid leather pieces, this one is cut, shaped, sewn and finished by hand in artist Peter Maxwell's Los Angeles studio. Using vintage leatherworking tools and traditional saddle-stitching techniques, Maxwell aims to create beautiful designs that embody both simplicity and functionality, and that develop rich character and patina over time.
The collaborative contributions of Mia and Pitoc went unmentioned, but the availability of a leather wrapped stone did not, and Nordstrom's Leather Wrapped Stone went viral in December as an object of superficial, reflexive media mockery and superfluity, the diametric opposite of their creators' intentions. It appears they also sold out, but at what must be considered too high a cost, or too low a return; at the moment no Wrapped Stones are available in Made Solid's online store.

Earlier this week Nordstrom confirmed they would no longer carry the licensed merchandise of Ivanka Trump, citing poor sales. Yesterday Ivanka's father tweeted in outrage over the haters' and losers' slights, and the White House press secretary literally said Nordstrom's decision to discontinue stocking Ivanka was an attack on the president's policies and family. Discount clearance stores TJ Maxx and Marshall's also both dumped the toxic, failing brand. Today as I type this, the other White House flack is violating federal law by literally declaring a commercial promoting Ivanka's brand and telling people to go buy it.

Untitled (Sold Out) (2017) consists of things that actually did sell at Nordstrom, namely a Made Solid Leather Wrapped Stone. So whatever it is to you, it is now also a declared, limited edition inspired by [our rapidly unraveling] history and its surroundings. Though I will endeavor to pin it down, the size and location of the edition is presently unknown. Both small and medium Made Solid Leather Wrapped Stones purchased from both seasonal appearances at Nordstrom are included, but Made Solid Leather Wrapped Stones purchased elsewhere, are not, no matter what their size.

Fakes already abound, but if you believe you have an example of this artwork, please provide images and appropriate documentation of the provenance, and I will gladly issue a signed certificate. Requests for confidentiality will be honored.

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Since 2001 here at, I've been blogging about the creative process—my own and those of people who interest me. That mostly involves filmmaking, art, writing, research, and the making thereof.

Many thanks to the Creative Capital | Warhol Foundation Arts Writers Program for supporting that time.

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Our Guernica Cycle, 2017 –
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Social Medium:
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Standard Operating Procedure
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CZRPYR2: The Illustrated Appendix
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HELP/LESS Curated by Chris Habib
Printed Matter, NYC
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Destroyed Richter Paintings, 2012-
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Canal Zone Richard
Selected Court Documents
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