HYBRID FAMILY JH No. 2 – Los Angeles/Mexico, 9.12.2015



Dear Maja,



your oxytocine blast while practicing breast pumping not only seems to have strongly transpired in your

last writings, but has rendered me – although digitally abstracted – globally emphatic when travelling

across the different biological and cultural spheres on the other side of the Atlantic. While reading your

elaborate dissertation on the mythology and etymology of canine cultural references and histories,

one can easily become an unconscious postanthropologist and suddenly see all relationships and beha

viors through the filter of K-9 topologies: Be it the observation and interaction with the typical miniature

lapdog of an over-caring child less Californian couple, whose universe is quasi entirely composed of the

interiors of the home, the car and the pet hotel, or of the disregarded stray under-dog in Mexico

City, while paying attention to facial ex pressions of mystical breeds such as the Chihuahuas as the

smallest recognized breed, or the sensitive Mexican Xoloitzcuintli hairless dog’s – one is tempted

to detect mutual domestication and hybrid projections everywhere. I felt inspired to ask, while re-reading

a paragraph from animal philosopher Elisabeth de Fontenay, “is animalization of the human face an

operation that encourages various forms of racism, and is it a danger for the idea and reality of human

kind, or, quite the reverse, might it not accustom us to the tiny differences that develop in the senses,

the heart and mind of anyone practicing it, a little gentle empiricism and perceptive humility?”



Reading then about your INVOLUTION OF (m)OTHER – a brilliant pun, chapeau – a paradox indeed stroke

me when thinking-feeling that you are just in this moment getting ready, psychologically and physiologically,

for the great day when ‘your’ selected adoptive puppy will arrive and you’ll check if she is even as ready

as you to engage in this trans-species m/otherhood than you are: Despite the hard corpo-real efforts that

the diet and the permanent regular pumping in three hour intervals imply, and the excitement I imagine,

you are focusing nearly in all your writing on the underlying significances of giving the ‘right’, symbolic

name to the arriving creature into your ‘pack’ and onto your breast. Involution of the uterus without

pregnancy, (m)OTHER pregnant with meaning? Semantic hyper-compensation, while awaiting the visceral?



I well understand your emphasis on involution, to oppose evolution with Deleuze and Guattari, as to resist

the logic of filiation and to replace it by contagion, according to the first principle of becoming animal,

“pack and contagion, the contagion of the pack, such is the path becoming-animal takes.” Contagion of the

pack by adoption, as factually it is, such as the much quoted “aparallel evolution” with which Deleuze and

Guattari precisely praise also viruses as the crucial and active vectors responsible for life’s diversity. Viruses

can “move into the cells of an entirely different species, but not without bringing with it ‘genetic information’

from the first host. […] Transversal communications between different lines scramble the genealogical trees.

Always look for the molecular, or even sub-molecular, particle with which we are allied.” But, beyond herme

neutics and beneath pharmaceutics, what does the whole poly-sensual beyond the poly-semic feel like?



The reason for my question may be the following: We know that in the history of art, creative impulses

have often been imputed to forces of otherness external to the ‘genius’ and supposedly escaping cognitive

control, so to make him (most often) or her (less often) the very medium through which mysterious,

universal or natural forces would materialize and manifest themselves as the artist’s art. Articulated in form

ulas such as Arthur Rimbaud’s famous Je est un autre, the homogeneous conscious subject is challenged by

manifold drives – but most often, however, by spiritual forces, psychological splits, not by physi(ologi)cally

explainable alternatives to human identity, selfhood, and agency, based on the natural sciences. And while

the recourse to animality and related allegories as a vector of representation in art is a common feature,

the challenge of your Hybrid Family project relies precisely in its radical embodiment and the re-materiali

zation of symbolic layers compiled over and over in our Western culture of interpretation – that lacks this

presence effects, to speak with Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht.



Meanwhile, the puppy, she, Lady Lovelace Laelaps, must have arrived very recently at your post-Beuysian

Berlin Bülowstraße loft! I am curious to viscerally apprehend – zu begreifen – how you like Lady Lovelace

Laelaps and Lady Lovelace Laelaps likes you. How does your microbiome communities match, when, as

Donna Haraway states, you are “in company with these tiny messmates – to be one is always become with

many”? How does she smell? How do you smell for her? Can you grasp the biosemiotic level of molecular,

olfactory exchange? Does she effectively suck you as you hoped, and does it further increase oxytocine pro

duction? Does she like your milk? And also: Having adopted her, did you ask Lady Lovelace Laelaps if she

agreed? And – what – did she respond?



This question of animal consent is not new; it also has been addressed by ‘practical ethics’ philosopher Peter

Singer with regards to zoophilia, as an acceptable practice, according to him, as long as there would be mu

tual consent. But the question also popped up when curating the trans-species blood brotherhood performance

Que le cheval vive en moi (May the horse live in me) by the French artist duo Art Orienté objet in Ljubljana

in 2011: Artist Marion Laval-Jeantet would turn herself into a proverbial guinea pig allowing herself to be

injected with horse blood plasma containing the entire spectrum of foreign immunoglobulins (glycoproteins

that circulate in the blood serum) – but she would refuse a transfusion towards the actual animal, because

she would not know whether the horse would agree, and how to respond. In their famous Internet pop tube

What does the Fox say, Norwegian comedian duo Ylvis mischievously asks: “If you meet a friendly horse,

will you communicate by mo-o-o-o-orse?”



Certainly not only for myself, one of the most inspirational philosophical treatises about animality is Jacques

Derrida’s text The Animal That Therefore I Am (More to Follow) in which the questions both of naming

animals ‘animals’ and of how so-called animals may respond become central. “Animal is a word that men

have given themselves the right to give. These humans are found giving it to themselves, this word, but as

if they had received it as an inheritance.” Naming – really contamination, or filiation, then? And further: “All

the philosophers […] say the same thing: the animal is without language. Or more precisely unable to res

pond, to respond with a response that could be precisely and rigorously distinguished from a reaction, the

animal is without the right and power to ‘respond’ and hence without many other things that would be the

property of man.” What does it mean to name a living being that is, not unusual for dogs, eight weeks old

and still un named when it changes its ‘owner’ entitled to say ‘my dog’? Nomen est omen, you write, but

for whom? More to follow…



I follow you, indeed, in your desire to deconstruct what you often have been addressing in our previous

discussions as “the fascist system of dog breeding”, with its pedigree obsessions and restrictive nomenclature

when it comes to the mandatory letters – L – to employ when giving names to the offspring of a same litter.

Lovelace Laelaps sounds like a cynical and resolutely post-Linnaean binominal nomenclature. And the feminist

evocation of British mathematician and writer Ada Lovelace in the context of a non-linear pack, with her

reputation to have conceived the first algorithm supposed to be carried out by a calculating machine, appear

to me as reminiscent when Donna Haraway, in When species meet, illustrates her writings with a cartoon

in which the American Association of Lapdogs gathers in order to contrive a strategy to combat their worst

enemy – the laptop!







Your Laelaps mythological dog that always gets her catch, in paradoxical competition with the Teumessian

fox who always manages to escape, point more generally to the role of animal allegories in human mytho

logy, and often in paradoxes. Think also of paradoxes such as those of Zeno of Elea. In order to defend the

doctrine of Parmenides, whereby any proof of the senses is misleading, he played with words and used

fallacious arguments. One of the best known of Zeno of Elea’s paradoxes is the one about Achilles who,

although reputedly fleet-footed, would never be able to overtake a tortoise after generously giving it a few

meters head-start – something disproved by the simplest of real-life experiments. Time, motion, and infinity

did not as yet seem to be important variables at the time of Greek geometry and, despite the unacceptable

conclusion it led to, the reasoning looked valid, without it being obvious just where the fallacy lay. We

shall come back to this, for the two ways of solving these conundrums set in the form of paradoxes also

happen to be the ones we are interested in in art: thought or action, thought and action. With regard to

such ancient and almost eternal sophistry, we find two types of epistemological reaction: on the one hand

that of logicians, starting out from the actual logic of known elements, and who demand that one distinction

be drawn between levels of language, and another between the subject of the utterance and the subject of

the statement; and on the other hand, a more pragmatic, common sense attitude, like that attributed to

Diogenes the Cynic, who, on being presented with the paradoxical argument against the existence of move

ment, made no answer but… just walked away. You remind us that the name cynic actually derives from

the Ancient Greek kynikos, dog-like, since the cynics were insulted ‘as dogs’ because they proudly rejected

conventions to provoke alternative thought.



However, you write that both your Scottish Border Collie Lord Byron and Lady Lovelace Laelaps are meant

to be “non-human symbols” between artistic and natural-scientific, possibly molecular, logics. Are we sure?

‘What does the Dog say?’ While in the tradition of the un-discipline of biosemiotics – one of the reasons for

me coming to do research in Denmark – the concept of interpretation is not a human exclusivity, claiming

that all biological systems have sign relationships that are constantly being interpreted, the symbolic, however,

seems to be a sign of high semiotic complexity. As biosemiotician Jesper Hoffmeyer writes, “humans possess

the ability to communicate and think via symbolic references, while all other organisms seem to be limited to

iconic and indexical referencing”, according to the sign trichotomy established by Charles Sanders Peirce. In

this sense, I’m extremely curious how your other senses are now becoming engaged in your bodily relationship

of hybrid m/otherhood.