Moving Target: An Exhibition Proposal to the Sir John Cass Department of Art
Would that the ship Argo had never sailed- (source unknown)
a
Positioning and attempting to stabilise ourselves in a world of constantly changing social, economic and natural environments is one of continuous concern; careful or not so careful; and steady or unsteady journeying for each and every one of us on this planet. In this sense, we should consider ourselves, everybody around us, and everything that happens around us each and every day - a Moving Target. One and all, changing or capable of changing position at any given point in time.
a
This exhibition investigates and challenges the viewers’ perception of some of the changing positions that have historical and contemporaneous impact on us as citizens. It attempts to provide some answers and raise questions about the positions we take and moves we make.
a
Proposed artists’ work for inclusion within the university’s art spaces are:
a
Roni Horn – Some Thames (2000)
Roni Horn challenges the view of ‘identical experience’, insisting that our sense of self is marked by a place in the here-and-there, and by time in the now-and-then. ‘Some Thames’, on loan from the University of Akureyri in Iceland consists of 80 photographs of Thames water representing the idea of a finite thing having an infinite range of appearance or expression because of its inseparable relation to other things. The work will be bought back to its place of origin and shown in London’s largest university. As in Iceland, the photographs will be spread throughout the university’s open spaces, mirroring the ever-changing ebb and flow of students’ lives and learning.
a
Cildo Meireles – Babel (2001)
Cildo Mereiles’ gigantic tower of radios, each tuned to different channels and set to the lowest hearing volume relate to the biblical story of the Tower of Babel, which reached the heavens. Offended by the tower, God caused its builders to speak in different languages and, unable to understand one another they became divided and scattered across the world. According to myth, this inability to communicate became the cause of all mankind’s conflicts. Babel consists of around 800 radios of various ages, from beautiful vintage large valve radios to more recent mass-produced small electronic radios, which form the sculpture’s summit. Due to the time-based nature of radio, no two experiences of this work are ever the same.
a
Yinka Shonibare – The Swing (after Fragonard) (2001)
Yinka Shonibare’s work explores the changing issues of race and class. Underlying this theme is a series of contradictions and shifting realities. His trademark ‘African’ fabrics are not really authentically African, as people often believe. The Dutch produced these fabrics in the 19th century and in more recent times they are made in England for sale to the African market. It’s the knowledge of this ‘changed’ perception that adds to our investigation of his work. In Shonibare’s words, culture and society is an ‘artificial construct’. The Swing (after Fragonard) is a 3D remake of the original rococo painting in keeping with the style of extravagant pre-revolution France. Although the sculpture maintains the original’s romance, the fact that the woman on the swing is headless and dressed in incongruous yet fabulous African fabrics transports us to another place and position in time and history, to connect the rococo era with its concurrent period of colonialist slave trading.
a
The Mereiles and Shonibare sculptures will be displayed in Unit 2 Gallery at opposite ends of the space. Lighting will be subdued over Babel and a spot light set over The Swing to highlight and contrast the shifts of light and darkness through time.
a
Lorna Pridmore – Lambs to the Slaughter (2008)
In contrast to the other artists, Lorna Pridmore is at the most formative stage of her art career. Her work explores connected themes of mutability and change. A constant is the deconstruction and reconstruction of materials in an attempt to have the viewer question the effects and impact of change through time and making. Lambs to the Slaughter takes an everyday domestic object, the mop and through a making process akin to punitive labour shifts the physical material back through time and at the same time forward in meaning. From its ready-made coiled strands of cotton, the mop-head is shifted to a state nearer to its material origins as rolled sections of fleece. These rolls bring to mind lambs’ tails and can be interpreted in the sense in which we often move through life – attempting to balance being the ‘master of our own destiny’ alongside the struggles of being like ‘lambs to the slaughter‘ moving along unaware of, and not always in control of impending situations. This work will be shown in a corner space of the Entrance Lobby gallery.
_______________________________________________________________________
Nobel Prize Winner, William Golding stated in his essay Moving Target ‘The Writer does not choose his themes at all. The themes choose the writer. ’The same goes for making art; it’s a constant moving target.
A supplementary proposal sheet is attached including: a detailed space proposal and exhibit sizes, funding and sponsorship agreements; curatorial statements and an outline exhibition catalogue.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
MUCH ado about something ? much ado about something ? my AIM
A need for transformation / altered states / physical reconstruction … A
NOT so quick process - rather a slow one with painstaking consideratioN
It’s in the making and not materiality alone … internal stimulI
Futility banished iF
Everyday stuff becomes a discovery … ? is everything mutablE
So I journey along … reassured if you join alongside … my fellow friendS
The road is a bumpy one … a veritable roller-coastering delighT
Onwards with exacting labour and endurance … much ADO
A need for transformation / altered states / physical reconstruction … A
NOT so quick process - rather a slow one with painstaking consideratioN
It’s in the making and not materiality alone … internal stimulI
Futility banished iF
Everyday stuff becomes a discovery … ? is everything mutablE
So I journey along … reassured if you join alongside … my fellow friendS
The road is a bumpy one … a veritable roller-coastering delighT
Onwards with exacting labour and endurance … much ADO
Monday, December 8, 2008
manifesto
Gone the canvas and the brush
Gone the mist, stone and water
Gone the cloud, rain, lake and river
Sign them off until further notice
Bring on the word
Of memory and chance
Find a system to generate rules
Follow them slavishly and unswervingly
Be not too serious, rather playful but reflective
Do not look back
Find numbers random or calculated
Do their bidding until there’s a pause
Ask questions of one and all
Don’t give in until they answer
Make of these responses another system
To generate rules
To follow
Unswervingly
Deliberately
Systematically
In series
Never in isolation.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
If Your Work Needs Special Fixings for Hanging ...
Hi all,
If anyone's work need a very particular/exact size or type of fixings for hanging please could you bring in a small supply when you drop-off your work by the 10.30am deadline on Monday 8th.
We'll have a supply of standard fixings eg. mirror plates/screws/nails/tacks/sticky tapes/blu-tack etc for the bulk of the works - so please ignore this message unless you feel your exhibits would only work with a specific fixing size or style.
Thanks v much.
If anyone's work need a very particular/exact size or type of fixings for hanging please could you bring in a small supply when you drop-off your work by the 10.30am deadline on Monday 8th.
We'll have a supply of standard fixings eg. mirror plates/screws/nails/tacks/sticky tapes/blu-tack etc for the bulk of the works - so please ignore this message unless you feel your exhibits would only work with a specific fixing size or style.
Thanks v much.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Countdown to Interim Show - '28'
Hi all,
There is just over 1 week until the exhibition
A quick update and recap on key dates and actions ...
BY END WED 3rd DEC
Claire, Lulu and Lorna with the support of Josh, Izzy and Jan will set-up the exhibits.
If you have any specific wishes for how your work is exhibited or hung please speak to us and where possible we'll try our best to accommodate and incorporate into the overall planning and curation of the show.
BRIEF MEETING - TUE 2nd DEC AT 5PM AFTER CRITICAL PRACTICE CLASS
To cover final preparation plans as above and any questions.
In the meantime, if you have any other queries, please call Lorna on 07752 734812, post a question here or catch up with one of us in the studio.
Best of luck getting your work ready ... see you soon!
There is just over 1 week until the exhibition
A quick update and recap on key dates and actions ...
- The show is named '28' after the twenty-eight critical practice students in this year's group.
- John is designing a flyer/poster which will be distributed around uni next week.
- A copy of the flyer will be emailed to you to forward the invitation to friends and family.
- We are not asking for write-ups describing the work and will instead let the viewers see and interpret the exhibits as they stand.
- A visitors handout showing the exhibition layout and the '28' names will be available on the night
BY END WED 3rd DEC
- Remove all extra work and materials from your studio space.
- There is space available behind Lorna's table in 310 where things can be packed & stored.
- ALL furniture will be removed from 302 and 305 during the day and by 5pm at the latest.
- Any remaining studio work/materials will be removed by the curators and stored in 310.
- Important: This is the last day that exhibition pieces can be worked on in the studio.
- Painting Day
- Please let Claire/Lulu/Lorna know by Tuesday if you have spare rollers & trays we can use ... before we go shopping, tks.
- DROP-OFF your exhibition work to Studio 305.
- Please CLEARLY LABEL ALL WORK (and where poss leave a contact number in case of queries)
Claire, Lulu and Lorna with the support of Josh, Izzy and Jan will set-up the exhibits.
If you have any specific wishes for how your work is exhibited or hung please speak to us and where possible we'll try our best to accommodate and incorporate into the overall planning and curation of the show.
BRIEF MEETING - TUE 2nd DEC AT 5PM AFTER CRITICAL PRACTICE CLASS
To cover final preparation plans as above and any questions.
In the meantime, if you have any other queries, please call Lorna on 07752 734812, post a question here or catch up with one of us in the studio.
Best of luck getting your work ready ... see you soon!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Manifesto Jamie C
Manifesto; Build A Friend
In this new technological age communication is easy. A colleague across the world can be reached at but the click of a button. But with this comes the true impersonality of the e-mail or text message. A new era is eliminating the need for actual human contact and, as individuals, we must rise up and fully embrace this wonderful new dawn, and usher it towards a new nation of hermits.
Throw off your fellows,
Build your bubble,
Build a friend.
This creation shall be your world, your friend, your whim incarnate. People only think of themselves, it is common knowledge. Didn’t Jean-Paul Satre once say; “Hell is other people”? Wouldn’t things be much simpler without the daily bother of everyone else? All you need is one true companion.
Your world shall revolve around your “Doll” as it shall be dubbed.
Built with your own hands,
Shape it in your own image,
Mould it of the one you love,
Force it into the one you hate.
Buy a lamp to talk to,
I cannot tell you what to do in your world.
You can place it where you want, talk to it, ask it questions, for eventually, in it’s own subtle way, your Doll will answer you back.
Should I eat the orange in my left hand or the apple in my right? Your Doll’s head (or lampshade, whatever) seems to be resting slightly to the left. The orange it is then.
Only you can divine the subtle nuances of your Doll.
Eventually, it will make all decisions for you, it would all be so simple, why listen to other people? Your Doll relies on you,
Why would it lie?
It will never leave you if you speak harshly,
Challenge you if you harm it,
Complain if you leave it’s bulb on all night.
But it will always watch you, and remembers all the secrets you have told it, you will never need anyone again.
Rules;
All members must constantly achieve the perfect state of ignoring all advice and opinion given to you by anyone but your Doll, yet retaining a constant concern over everyone’s opinion of you, everyone but your Doll.
There will be three levels of membership:
Gold: Life-sized, humanoid form.
Silver: Any other humanoid figures either too big to carry or easily portable.
Bronze: Non-humanoid structures and ready-mades without further improvements.
Any member concerned with their current rank is not a true member, no follower would be concerned with others trivial opinion on their status.
If your Doll is worried of your low rank, a letter of complaint must be composed and sent to your local High Hermit, so your opinion can immediately be ignored (as per rule one).
More membership categories may be added in future after a census of existing Dolls is carried out so as to be ignored by the High Hermit.
It is not possible to drop a Doll. A Doll that seeks to end it’s own existence by leaving its owner’s hands proves the unworthiness of its creator.
You may never destroy your Doll, unless in self defence.
In this new technological age communication is easy. A colleague across the world can be reached at but the click of a button. But with this comes the true impersonality of the e-mail or text message. A new era is eliminating the need for actual human contact and, as individuals, we must rise up and fully embrace this wonderful new dawn, and usher it towards a new nation of hermits.
Throw off your fellows,
Build your bubble,
Build a friend.
This creation shall be your world, your friend, your whim incarnate. People only think of themselves, it is common knowledge. Didn’t Jean-Paul Satre once say; “Hell is other people”? Wouldn’t things be much simpler without the daily bother of everyone else? All you need is one true companion.
Your world shall revolve around your “Doll” as it shall be dubbed.
Built with your own hands,
Shape it in your own image,
Mould it of the one you love,
Force it into the one you hate.
Buy a lamp to talk to,
I cannot tell you what to do in your world.
You can place it where you want, talk to it, ask it questions, for eventually, in it’s own subtle way, your Doll will answer you back.
Should I eat the orange in my left hand or the apple in my right? Your Doll’s head (or lampshade, whatever) seems to be resting slightly to the left. The orange it is then.
Only you can divine the subtle nuances of your Doll.
Eventually, it will make all decisions for you, it would all be so simple, why listen to other people? Your Doll relies on you,
Why would it lie?
It will never leave you if you speak harshly,
Challenge you if you harm it,
Complain if you leave it’s bulb on all night.
But it will always watch you, and remembers all the secrets you have told it, you will never need anyone again.
Rules;
All members must constantly achieve the perfect state of ignoring all advice and opinion given to you by anyone but your Doll, yet retaining a constant concern over everyone’s opinion of you, everyone but your Doll.
There will be three levels of membership:
Gold: Life-sized, humanoid form.
Silver: Any other humanoid figures either too big to carry or easily portable.
Bronze: Non-humanoid structures and ready-mades without further improvements.
Any member concerned with their current rank is not a true member, no follower would be concerned with others trivial opinion on their status.
If your Doll is worried of your low rank, a letter of complaint must be composed and sent to your local High Hermit, so your opinion can immediately be ignored (as per rule one).
More membership categories may be added in future after a census of existing Dolls is carried out so as to be ignored by the High Hermit.
It is not possible to drop a Doll. A Doll that seeks to end it’s own existence by leaving its owner’s hands proves the unworthiness of its creator.
You may never destroy your Doll, unless in self defence.
Space Jamie C
Found Space Project
There is an unfortunate state embedded in the male psyche, that no matter what the social standing or level of maturity, a street sign emblazoned with “Cock Hill” will always demand a second glance.
The continuing search for a more meaningful, intellectual space, in order to preserve some semblance of reputation, is marred by the instant stock image conjured by the mind at a mere name.
The mysterious “Cock Hill”, perhaps a long dark alleyway, a place of ill repute. The more literal may venture a red light district, the rational illegal cockerel fighting. A slum from a forgotten part left over from Victorian London. A shady spot for the dregs of society, if you ignore the smart offices either side.
The real Cock Hill however seems almost disappointing. It’s banality only describable by maths. A beige shaft of bricks rises up four stories; a block of windows can only look onto the brick wall opposite. It gives the illusion of a dead end, but about fifty feet in it turns sharply onto some other beige passage. Arms stretched, a man would miss the walls with his fingertips by inches, for how many women would wander down here knowingly, just for the name? But all this sits around a once colourful Cockerel mural, outshined even by the mind-numbing bricks around it. Instantly forgettable, and comes with the disenchantment of a mystery solved.
There is an unfortunate state embedded in the male psyche, that no matter what the social standing or level of maturity, a street sign emblazoned with “Cock Hill” will always demand a second glance.
The continuing search for a more meaningful, intellectual space, in order to preserve some semblance of reputation, is marred by the instant stock image conjured by the mind at a mere name.
The mysterious “Cock Hill”, perhaps a long dark alleyway, a place of ill repute. The more literal may venture a red light district, the rational illegal cockerel fighting. A slum from a forgotten part left over from Victorian London. A shady spot for the dregs of society, if you ignore the smart offices either side.
The real Cock Hill however seems almost disappointing. It’s banality only describable by maths. A beige shaft of bricks rises up four stories; a block of windows can only look onto the brick wall opposite. It gives the illusion of a dead end, but about fifty feet in it turns sharply onto some other beige passage. Arms stretched, a man would miss the walls with his fingertips by inches, for how many women would wander down here knowingly, just for the name? But all this sits around a once colourful Cockerel mural, outshined even by the mind-numbing bricks around it. Instantly forgettable, and comes with the disenchantment of a mystery solved.
Walk Jamie C
Cupboard, Mind or Memories.
I open my cupboard doors, looking for my lucky-special stick. My childhood hero; Garfield the cat, once said in a cartoon strip that “everyone should have a lucky-special stick”. And I will find mine.
First point of call is to move everything else out the way. I had my stick at the end of the last term, but inevitably whatever you need the most sinks down beyond the things you have never used in years.
I dig out my old sketchbooks, and dared’nt look, for I always spot mistakes, surely not there before, because no matter how good your work, it pales in comparison to the project of the moment. This too cast down for new interests to appear.
Spare canvas roll next, bought in Atlantis in bulk, and shared between a group of us. It seems more important when it was part of something bigger. I always wonder what is going on a few inches off the frayed edge of my own piece, what colour is on the other half of the thread I now own. How many masterpieces once lay on the same thread? Cut into many squares, once growing in a field. Oh yes, my stick.
Move some folders, full of bits of paper thrown at us with great importance by last years tutors, but never used, thank you Patrick.
Plastic bag. With “Cass Art” shop written on it, plus addresses, given to me by David. Kept telling me to go, but I never have. Must remember I leant him a book.
Large acrylic pad. Given to me by a woman I know, said she will never use it. Unfortunately, neither can I, for I have tried a couple of times with these pieces of paper, but I have never done anything I like on them. So I have deemed them bad luck, and shall never use them. It says “Galeria” on the cover, whatever that means, maybe it’s a curse. Stick Stick Stick.
Also consigned behind this is a painting board that shall never hold paint. Nothing seemed to work (artistically) after this was primed, but things have improved after I started using it as a cutting board. Maybe there is some thing deeply symbolic in this, but no matter, I have found my stick.
This is not my first of my talismans, of course, remembering my yellow-sheep-sharpener that was present during school tests. Maria, the little doll I made, wonderfully creepy, and with me still.
I have found my lucky-special-stick. A short piece of wood, stained blue from when it was part of Eleanor’s drawing machine. I twirl it therapeutically as my once-majorette cousin taught me, and I am happy with my work when it is propped up on the table. Its power proved by a few awful paintings, which forced me to find it again. Having found it, I place it back again, I shall need it soon, but it’s best to have it where I know it is, beneath the stuff I never use.
I open my cupboard doors, looking for my lucky-special stick. My childhood hero; Garfield the cat, once said in a cartoon strip that “everyone should have a lucky-special stick”. And I will find mine.
First point of call is to move everything else out the way. I had my stick at the end of the last term, but inevitably whatever you need the most sinks down beyond the things you have never used in years.
I dig out my old sketchbooks, and dared’nt look, for I always spot mistakes, surely not there before, because no matter how good your work, it pales in comparison to the project of the moment. This too cast down for new interests to appear.
Spare canvas roll next, bought in Atlantis in bulk, and shared between a group of us. It seems more important when it was part of something bigger. I always wonder what is going on a few inches off the frayed edge of my own piece, what colour is on the other half of the thread I now own. How many masterpieces once lay on the same thread? Cut into many squares, once growing in a field. Oh yes, my stick.
Move some folders, full of bits of paper thrown at us with great importance by last years tutors, but never used, thank you Patrick.
Plastic bag. With “Cass Art” shop written on it, plus addresses, given to me by David. Kept telling me to go, but I never have. Must remember I leant him a book.
Large acrylic pad. Given to me by a woman I know, said she will never use it. Unfortunately, neither can I, for I have tried a couple of times with these pieces of paper, but I have never done anything I like on them. So I have deemed them bad luck, and shall never use them. It says “Galeria” on the cover, whatever that means, maybe it’s a curse. Stick Stick Stick.
Also consigned behind this is a painting board that shall never hold paint. Nothing seemed to work (artistically) after this was primed, but things have improved after I started using it as a cutting board. Maybe there is some thing deeply symbolic in this, but no matter, I have found my stick.
This is not my first of my talismans, of course, remembering my yellow-sheep-sharpener that was present during school tests. Maria, the little doll I made, wonderfully creepy, and with me still.
I have found my lucky-special-stick. A short piece of wood, stained blue from when it was part of Eleanor’s drawing machine. I twirl it therapeutically as my once-majorette cousin taught me, and I am happy with my work when it is propped up on the table. Its power proved by a few awful paintings, which forced me to find it again. Having found it, I place it back again, I shall need it soon, but it’s best to have it where I know it is, beneath the stuff I never use.
100-50-20-10-1
100
Reliable
Exigency
Trial
Error
Materials
Curious
Searching
Enjoyment
Complex
Aspects
Appearance
Creative
Inquisitive
Execution
Physical
Thirst
Lazy
Methodical
Confused
Adventurous
Nonsense
Intricate
Perfection
Synthesis
Collective
Relative
Re-constructive
Process
Reflective
Complicate
Mixed
Involving
Layering
Perseverance
Involved
Precise
Chaotic
Messy
Stretched
Harmony
Particular
Emotional
Subjective
Playful
Objective
Communicative
Blissful
Birth
Need
Hang
Thread
Twist
Cover
Support
Insignificant
Inlay
Grasp
Navigating
Flood
Consuming
Overpowering
Surround
Natural
Honest
Functional
Experienced
Necessary
Encapsulate
Scrutinise
Perplexity
Ideally
Personify
Distort
Structure
Join
Realise
Weave
Random
Bind
Self-sufficient
Specific
Blurred
Torn
Close
Pulled
Rhythm
Overflowing
Contained
Careful
Leading
Concrete
Exhausting
Discovery
Undercurrent
Bend
Tear
Descriptive
Indecisive
Bound
Stuck
Pierced
Absorbing
50
Reliable
Perseverance
Scrutinise
Encapsulate
Considered
Bound
Harmony
Enjoyment
Physical
Involving
Thread
Natural
Relative
Indecisive
Absorbing
Perplexity
Pierced
Hang
Reflective
Undercurrent
Careful
Bind
Emotional
Synthesis
Reconstructive
Twist
Support
Consuming
Specific
Join
Ideally
Methodical
Overflowing
Contained
Exigency
Curious
Chaotic
Stretched
Inquisitive
Process
Layering
Grasp
Weave
Structure
Realise
Blurred
Consuming
Particular
20
Particular
Consuming
Reconstructive
Methodical
Chaotic
Weave
Bound
Encapsulate
Blurred
Natural
Overflowing
Join
Curious
Perseverance
Specific
Inquisitive
Layered
Absorbing
Structure
Scrutinise
10
Structure
Chaotic
Specific
Layered
Absorbing
Reconstructive
Bound
Scrutinise
Curious
Weave
1
Reconstructive
Reliable
Exigency
Trial
Error
Materials
Curious
Searching
Enjoyment
Complex
Aspects
Appearance
Creative
Inquisitive
Execution
Physical
Thirst
Lazy
Methodical
Confused
Adventurous
Nonsense
Intricate
Perfection
Synthesis
Collective
Relative
Re-constructive
Process
Reflective
Complicate
Mixed
Involving
Layering
Perseverance
Involved
Precise
Chaotic
Messy
Stretched
Harmony
Particular
Emotional
Subjective
Playful
Objective
Communicative
Blissful
Birth
Need
Hang
Thread
Twist
Cover
Support
Insignificant
Inlay
Grasp
Navigating
Flood
Consuming
Overpowering
Surround
Natural
Honest
Functional
Experienced
Necessary
Encapsulate
Scrutinise
Perplexity
Ideally
Personify
Distort
Structure
Join
Realise
Weave
Random
Bind
Self-sufficient
Specific
Blurred
Torn
Close
Pulled
Rhythm
Overflowing
Contained
Careful
Leading
Concrete
Exhausting
Discovery
Undercurrent
Bend
Tear
Descriptive
Indecisive
Bound
Stuck
Pierced
Absorbing
50
Reliable
Perseverance
Scrutinise
Encapsulate
Considered
Bound
Harmony
Enjoyment
Physical
Involving
Thread
Natural
Relative
Indecisive
Absorbing
Perplexity
Pierced
Hang
Reflective
Undercurrent
Careful
Bind
Emotional
Synthesis
Reconstructive
Twist
Support
Consuming
Specific
Join
Ideally
Methodical
Overflowing
Contained
Exigency
Curious
Chaotic
Stretched
Inquisitive
Process
Layering
Grasp
Weave
Structure
Realise
Blurred
Consuming
Particular
20
Particular
Consuming
Reconstructive
Methodical
Chaotic
Weave
Bound
Encapsulate
Blurred
Natural
Overflowing
Join
Curious
Perseverance
Specific
Inquisitive
Layered
Absorbing
Structure
Scrutinise
10
Structure
Chaotic
Specific
Layered
Absorbing
Reconstructive
Bound
Scrutinise
Curious
Weave
1
Reconstructive
Monday, November 24, 2008
Manifesto for this day
there are moments every day that are special. special if only because you felt them, saw them, imagined them, wished them
i will
capture those glances, glimpses
chase the light and shadows as they create other forms
observe and contemplate
quietly rate stillness and silence
not think too much (until afterwards)
edit and refine, to keep
simple, simple, simple
sometimes there’s an absence which makes you look harder and appreciate more what’s actually there, or what has been
absence makes for imagining
wonder
joy
so,
keep looking all the time
try to see beyond
and rediscover what’s often lost
there are moments every day that are special. special if only because you felt them, saw them, imagined them, wished them
i will
capture those glances, glimpses
chase the light and shadows as they create other forms
observe and contemplate
quietly rate stillness and silence
not think too much (until afterwards)
edit and refine, to keep
simple, simple, simple
sometimes there’s an absence which makes you look harder and appreciate more what’s actually there, or what has been
absence makes for imagining
wonder
joy
so,
keep looking all the time
try to see beyond
and rediscover what’s often lost
TWENTY
absence, considered, everyday, light, quiet, blurred, contemplative, football, moments, shadows, camera, dance, in-between, observed, simple, choreography, edit, instinctive, photography, unobtrusive
TEN
blurred, contemplative, everyday, moments, shadows, considered, edit, light, observed, simple
ONE
moments
absence, considered, everyday, light, quiet, blurred, contemplative, football, moments, shadows, camera, dance, in-between, observed, simple, choreography, edit, instinctive, photography, unobtrusive
TEN
blurred, contemplative, everyday, moments, shadows, considered, edit, light, observed, simple
ONE
moments
A sneaky short cut
At the top looking down. A sneaky short cut. A pathway situated between two imposing Edwardian houses, sloping quite steeply from one high road to a low road. “Peacock Walk N6” says a sign. About four metres wide and 150 metres long. A rusty, mottled, sea green iron post pointedly guards the entrance. Two narrow, metal parallel bars extend beyond, all the way down the steep incline. Every three metres or so, another more plain metal post supports its tumbling route, dividing the path in two. The exit down the end is defined by a less ancient matt, black post. Less inviting. Keep to the left it seemingly demands. Don’t meander. Get on your way with this hidden short cut. Don’t tell anyone. No one is here.
A kind of crazy paving wall effect starts off on the left hand side with a towering privet hedge above it. The other side is an eight foot high wooden fence, its faded grey, vertical slats bowing out slightly under the weight from whatever is growing behind it. A small bit of rickety trellis balances on top between redundant posts which extend from the top of the fence a good metre in the air.
The ground is tarmaced, uneven and grey, the kind that breaks up and deposits bits on the bottom of your shoes. Piles of blown orange and brown leaves flank the edges, adding a spot of crispiness. The slope invites you to run down. Walking brings arched back and slapping footsteps. Gradually the alleyway becomes flanked by greenery; ivy, jasmine, an apple tree overhanging its garden space. Some plants have been cut back hard, displaying its woody undergrowth. In other parts, ivy spills down to the floor. A mossy, damp smell penetrates the air.
The right hand fence cuts in for a while, a chunk eaten out of the straightness. Here, a couple of concrete steps lead up to just another bit of disjointed fence; perhaps it used to be a gate. Remnants of nocturnal life include an empty can of Lowenbrau beer, bright blue and shiny, sitting on the top step; a crushed Stella can on the ground is prevented from rolling down the hill by soggy leaves wedging it in.
The almost silence of the city: rustling leaves, distant traffic, a train horn. A torn strip of paper clings to a part of the metal rail. It flickers, hanging in on there by persistent sticky tape. Look back. Still no one comes.
At the top looking down. A sneaky short cut. A pathway situated between two imposing Edwardian houses, sloping quite steeply from one high road to a low road. “Peacock Walk N6” says a sign. About four metres wide and 150 metres long. A rusty, mottled, sea green iron post pointedly guards the entrance. Two narrow, metal parallel bars extend beyond, all the way down the steep incline. Every three metres or so, another more plain metal post supports its tumbling route, dividing the path in two. The exit down the end is defined by a less ancient matt, black post. Less inviting. Keep to the left it seemingly demands. Don’t meander. Get on your way with this hidden short cut. Don’t tell anyone. No one is here.
A kind of crazy paving wall effect starts off on the left hand side with a towering privet hedge above it. The other side is an eight foot high wooden fence, its faded grey, vertical slats bowing out slightly under the weight from whatever is growing behind it. A small bit of rickety trellis balances on top between redundant posts which extend from the top of the fence a good metre in the air.
The ground is tarmaced, uneven and grey, the kind that breaks up and deposits bits on the bottom of your shoes. Piles of blown orange and brown leaves flank the edges, adding a spot of crispiness. The slope invites you to run down. Walking brings arched back and slapping footsteps. Gradually the alleyway becomes flanked by greenery; ivy, jasmine, an apple tree overhanging its garden space. Some plants have been cut back hard, displaying its woody undergrowth. In other parts, ivy spills down to the floor. A mossy, damp smell penetrates the air.
The right hand fence cuts in for a while, a chunk eaten out of the straightness. Here, a couple of concrete steps lead up to just another bit of disjointed fence; perhaps it used to be a gate. Remnants of nocturnal life include an empty can of Lowenbrau beer, bright blue and shiny, sitting on the top step; a crushed Stella can on the ground is prevented from rolling down the hill by soggy leaves wedging it in.
The almost silence of the city: rustling leaves, distant traffic, a train horn. A torn strip of paper clings to a part of the metal rail. It flickers, hanging in on there by persistent sticky tape. Look back. Still no one comes.
manifesto...
Deliberation is a must, but delusional
I will be influenced by the past, and my present and future are determined
More will be forgotten
I allow the intuitive
Nothing cannot be known
I am the positive and the negative
I will not voice what I truly want to say
It will exist in the dimension and for the duration
Everything to know is there, even if unknown
It is the truth
I am in the real and in the philosophical
We are all the first person agent and the third person observer
I will be influenced by the past, and my present and future are determined
More will be forgotten
I allow the intuitive
Nothing cannot be known
I am the positive and the negative
I will not voice what I truly want to say
It will exist in the dimension and for the duration
Everything to know is there, even if unknown
It is the truth
I am in the real and in the philosophical
We are all the first person agent and the third person observer
Saturday, November 22, 2008
1from10 - 10from1 ? (100-50-20-10-1)
considered
determined
intuitive
contradiction
influenced
organic
durational
moral
dimensional
existing
determined
intuitive
contradiction
influenced
organic
durational
moral
dimensional
existing
Thursday, November 20, 2008
GOOD ART RULES
By Rosy Forward
Rules of Good Art – General
Good art is:
Defined by it’s maker and their promoters
Created by famous artists and their assistants
Defined by the cost of the art piece
Expensive
To be famous you must be young, preferably male and go to particular London art schools
You then need to do post graduate studies, preferably at the RCA
Once you are famous your assistants can make your art and you need only to sign it
Rules of Good Art – Art School
Good art:
Pushes boundaries
Is political, ironic, intellectual
Is not obvious, traditional, pretty or descriptive unless ironic
Is defined by the opinions of others
Is not craft or ceramics which are c words
Is more about ideas than application
Good artists:
Make beautiful sketchbooks
Use photos only for reference Never to copy from
Talk about art in a way that is profound but unintelligible
In art there are no rules, but there are.
My Art
Before art school I broke the rules in my naivety but I had fun
Then I was inhibited by the rules of art school and I got stuck
Now and in the future what I want from my art is:
To feel free to break rules
To feel uninhibited
To enjoy the process more and mind less about the result
To define my own success
To get on with it, risk it, bugger it
What I want from others
Honesty
Indifference if that is honest
Interest
Criticism
Admiration
Suggestion
Money
Good art rules – (but is it OK?)
By Rosy Forward
Rules of Good Art – General
Good art is:
Defined by it’s maker and their promoters
Created by famous artists and their assistants
Defined by the cost of the art piece
Expensive
To be famous you must be young, preferably male and go to particular London art schools
You then need to do post graduate studies, preferably at the RCA
Once you are famous your assistants can make your art and you need only to sign it
Rules of Good Art – Art School
Good art:
Pushes boundaries
Is political, ironic, intellectual
Is not obvious, traditional, pretty or descriptive unless ironic
Is defined by the opinions of others
Is not craft or ceramics which are c words
Is more about ideas than application
Good artists:
Make beautiful sketchbooks
Use photos only for reference Never to copy from
Talk about art in a way that is profound but unintelligible
In art there are no rules, but there are.
My Art
Before art school I broke the rules in my naivety but I had fun
Then I was inhibited by the rules of art school and I got stuck
Now and in the future what I want from my art is:
To feel free to break rules
To feel uninhibited
To enjoy the process more and mind less about the result
To define my own success
To get on with it, risk it, bugger it
What I want from others
Honesty
Indifference if that is honest
Interest
Criticism
Admiration
Suggestion
Money
Good art rules – (but is it OK?)
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Cake sale!
To raise funds for the show so we can have nice paint, handouts, posters and yummy snacks booze and soft drinks for all!! :)
please make cakes if you can!! and come along and buy some x
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
INTERIM SHOW - TUE 9TH DEC - Update, Timetable, Actions & Requests
Hello everyone,
Here's the timetable, key points, actions and volunteer requests for our Show on Tuesday 9th December, 5.30pm to 8.00pm. 3 Weeks to Go!
Communications:
As raised at our meeting today all future notices will be posted here on the blog; in paper form in the studio spaces CE3-05/CE3-10 and by email when we have a full group list of e-addresses. Please check-in regularly or speak to Claire, Lulu or Lorna if you are unsure of any plans. A Suggestions Box will also be placed in CE3-05 and we welcome ideas and/or for you to come along and chat with us :-)
THE TIMETABLE & ACTIONS
By Fri 21 Nov:
- Submit your initial proposal for exhibit(s) to Claire, Lulu, Lorna.
What we need to know from you:
a) The medium(s) your work will be in (and a rough description of what it is if it's not a piece of work we are already familiar with)
eg. Mediums - Painting/Photography/3D/Time-based/Printmaking/Live Performance/Other (please describe!)
b) An estimate of how much display space you need
eg. a whole or a half-partition for wall hanging work -or- 1 metre sq floorspace for a plinth/floorbased work
What we will do with this info:
- Prepare draft Floorplans and Space Allocations for CE3-02 (Seminar Rm) and CE3-05 (Studio)
On Tue 25 Nov:
- Cake Sale to raise funds for Show costs (Painting materials/Flyers & Posters/Refreshments)
Volunteers Wanted - to make and/or bring in cakes plus help to sell them!
Note: Depending on amount raised at the Cake Sale we may ask for a small financial contribution from each student (£3-£5) to supplement costs.
- 5pm Update Meeting in CE3-02 directly following the Critical Practice Seminar
- Display the draft Floorplan & Space Allocations and discuss any amendments
By Fri 28 Nov:
- Final changes to the Floorplan and Space Allocations agreed
Please make sure you speak to one of Claire, Lulu or Lorna by Fri 28 Nov at the latest where needed. No further changes will be made!
Mon 1 Dec:
- Copy of Final Floorplan and Space Allocations posted for info
Wed 3 Dec - Fri 5 Dec:
- Desk drop flyers and put up Posters
Volunteers Wanted!
Note: an electronic version of the flyer will also be distributed so it can be sent on to family/friends.
- Clear your space of all additional studio work
Thu 4 Dec:
- At 5pm (and earlier where possible!) - Remove all tables and chairs from CE3-02 / CE3-05
Volunteers Wanted!
Fri 5 Dec:
- Painting Day
Lots of Volunteers Wanted!
If you have spare white emulsion/paint rollers/scrapers/primer to marks please bring in - tvm!
Mon 8 Dec:
- Setting up of exhibits
Rob (Fine Art Technician) will be on hand to help with drilling/fixings
- Please plan in advance if you need technical help with fixings so Rob can arrange his workload and we avoid delays.
- If plinths/shelves etc are needed please speak with Alan or Rob (4th floor Technicians) regarding your requirements as there may be ready-made plinths available.
Note: we are not allowed to hang or support any artwork from internal pipeworks etc.
Tue 9 Dec by 3pm:
- Complete exhibition set-up!
- Sigh of relief and a break!
- THE EXHIBITION BEGINS!!!
- 5.30pm to 8.00pm
Wed 10 Dec 10.30am:
- Take down exhibits and return all furniture
Volunteers with and without hangovers welcome and needed!
Other:
- A Volunteer List for you to add your name against the activities listed will be put up in CE3-05.
- At the Exhibition there will be copies of the Floorplan and Artists Names available (note there will not be name-plates against work)
That seems more than enough for now ... but again please keep checking-in for updates.
AND IMPORTANTLY LOADS OF LUCK GETTING YOUR WORK READY FOR THE SHOW :-)
Thanks for all your support so far and see you in the next few days as preparations really begin!
The Curators:
Claire, Lulu and Lorna
Next Meeting: Tuesday 25 November at 5pm in CE3-05.
Here's the timetable, key points, actions and volunteer requests for our Show on Tuesday 9th December, 5.30pm to 8.00pm. 3 Weeks to Go!
Communications:
As raised at our meeting today all future notices will be posted here on the blog; in paper form in the studio spaces CE3-05/CE3-10 and by email when we have a full group list of e-addresses. Please check-in regularly or speak to Claire, Lulu or Lorna if you are unsure of any plans. A Suggestions Box will also be placed in CE3-05 and we welcome ideas and/or for you to come along and chat with us :-)
THE TIMETABLE & ACTIONS
By Fri 21 Nov:
- Submit your initial proposal for exhibit(s) to Claire, Lulu, Lorna.
What we need to know from you:
a) The medium(s) your work will be in (and a rough description of what it is if it's not a piece of work we are already familiar with)
eg. Mediums - Painting/Photography/3D/Time-based/Printmaking/Live Performance/Other (please describe!)
b) An estimate of how much display space you need
eg. a whole or a half-partition for wall hanging work -or- 1 metre sq floorspace for a plinth/floorbased work
What we will do with this info:
- Prepare draft Floorplans and Space Allocations for CE3-02 (Seminar Rm) and CE3-05 (Studio)
On Tue 25 Nov:
- Cake Sale to raise funds for Show costs (Painting materials/Flyers & Posters/Refreshments)
Volunteers Wanted - to make and/or bring in cakes plus help to sell them!
Note: Depending on amount raised at the Cake Sale we may ask for a small financial contribution from each student (£3-£5) to supplement costs.
- 5pm Update Meeting in CE3-02 directly following the Critical Practice Seminar
- Display the draft Floorplan & Space Allocations and discuss any amendments
By Fri 28 Nov:
- Final changes to the Floorplan and Space Allocations agreed
Please make sure you speak to one of Claire, Lulu or Lorna by Fri 28 Nov at the latest where needed. No further changes will be made!
Mon 1 Dec:
- Copy of Final Floorplan and Space Allocations posted for info
Wed 3 Dec - Fri 5 Dec:
- Desk drop flyers and put up Posters
Volunteers Wanted!
Note: an electronic version of the flyer will also be distributed so it can be sent on to family/friends.
- Clear your space of all additional studio work
Thu 4 Dec:
- At 5pm (and earlier where possible!) - Remove all tables and chairs from CE3-02 / CE3-05
Volunteers Wanted!
Fri 5 Dec:
- Painting Day
Lots of Volunteers Wanted!
If you have spare white emulsion/paint rollers/scrapers/primer to marks please bring in - tvm!
Mon 8 Dec:
- Setting up of exhibits
Rob (Fine Art Technician) will be on hand to help with drilling/fixings
- Please plan in advance if you need technical help with fixings so Rob can arrange his workload and we avoid delays.
- If plinths/shelves etc are needed please speak with Alan or Rob (4th floor Technicians) regarding your requirements as there may be ready-made plinths available.
Note: we are not allowed to hang or support any artwork from internal pipeworks etc.
Tue 9 Dec by 3pm:
- Complete exhibition set-up!
- Sigh of relief and a break!
- THE EXHIBITION BEGINS!!!
- 5.30pm to 8.00pm
Wed 10 Dec 10.30am:
- Take down exhibits and return all furniture
Volunteers with and without hangovers welcome and needed!
Other:
- A Volunteer List for you to add your name against the activities listed will be put up in CE3-05.
- At the Exhibition there will be copies of the Floorplan and Artists Names available (note there will not be name-plates against work)
That seems more than enough for now ... but again please keep checking-in for updates.
AND IMPORTANTLY LOADS OF LUCK GETTING YOUR WORK READY FOR THE SHOW :-)
Thanks for all your support so far and see you in the next few days as preparations really begin!
The Curators:
Claire, Lulu and Lorna
Next Meeting: Tuesday 25 November at 5pm in CE3-05.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
100-50-10-1.TEXT
ten words: graphic. bold. layered. traced. tattoos. precise. risk. style. images. borrowing.
one word: borrowing
one word: borrowing
SPACE.TEXT
The clinically clean space, in a long boring oblong shape, reflections of people in the shiney windows, far too clean for what the environment should be like. Rustling of newspapers, and munching of food, sounds of people texting and typing. Empty tables, apart from the newspapers and reams of paper waiting to be read. Many empty, generic seats, nobody wanting to sit next to each other. After a swift abrubt conversation, a man points reluctantly, giving a disgruntled look, at a sign stuck onto the window.
WALK.TEXT
we should write a fucking story about walking home. cant write anything too nasty. Hah. get the fuck out of my way. 8 bottles of stella for FIVE POUNDS! HAH! a shop called feelings, that’s quite a good one! Where the fuck am i? seriously? John, this way? WAPPING! URRRRRGGHHHH! Honestly, where are we? Does it take longer going this way? Not coming down here again. Weird, weird, weird. What are you having for dinner tonight? A BOX! Do you reckon someones in it? OHHHHHH I know where we are! That’s valance road!! That smells amazing. BEEEEEEP. BLAP BLAP BLAP!
The Space Underground
One after another they descended the hard, stone steps. Gingerly, hesitatingly, clutching the thin iron railing, cold to touch, down they went, step after steep step. So narrow was the space they brushed the damp dark walls as they entered the cool musty cellar. In the dim, dingy light they could just perceive corridors leading to yet more corridors. There were rows of shelves, four deep with large boxes behind iron gates; homes for coffins; three thousand of them. Most dark spaces were occupied, ancient and crumbling, dust layering on dust. Other spaces black, vacant and waiting. They stood and stared in the half light, cooling to a chill. All was still except the drip overhead marking time. All was grey but the light from the ventilator shaft casting daylight promise. They moved slowly, like ghosts. The guide said that if they wanted to book their own space, as he had done, it would only cost them £1,200 and was a bargain.
One after another they descended the hard, stone steps. Gingerly, hesitatingly, clutching the thin iron railing, cold to touch, down they went, step after steep step. So narrow was the space they brushed the damp dark walls as they entered the cool musty cellar. In the dim, dingy light they could just perceive corridors leading to yet more corridors. There were rows of shelves, four deep with large boxes behind iron gates; homes for coffins; three thousand of them. Most dark spaces were occupied, ancient and crumbling, dust layering on dust. Other spaces black, vacant and waiting. They stood and stared in the half light, cooling to a chill. All was still except the drip overhead marking time. All was grey but the light from the ventilator shaft casting daylight promise. They moved slowly, like ghosts. The guide said that if they wanted to book their own space, as he had done, it would only cost them £1,200 and was a bargain.
Ten words and one word
ten words: ambiguous experimental evocative accidental layering mixing risking pre-occupying relationship processing
one word: evocative
one word: evocative
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
100 50 10 1
systematic
colour
playful
reflective
linguistic
memory
landscape
chance
psychological
series
systematic
100, 50, 10, 1
10 words
Exploring multilayer's, of the self, using bright colurs with homoerotic art.
1 Word
Multilayered
Saturday, November 8, 2008
10:30 till 11:00 Sunday 19th October
Bright stairs, the cold, then wind fresh stillness. Again blowing forcing quiet.
Crow squawk's, leaves off, and down, the autominal cat's moan color's, of red having yellow.
A car, there moments crashing, evident amongst the bed gone green.
The indoor's apparent washing. the machine bird bleeps more song than sound.
Amazing on light this wind, silence annoying, the sound, broken until busy. The wind stillness, siren rushing furiously.
Dark slamming, for all, and then stillness, sudden rain.
God rings left for double mad. rustling ladies heels, fall.
Hearing the finish but not waiting.
100.50.20.10.1 Lorna Pridmore
aesthetic aesthetic aesthetic
affinity
alchemy alchemy
allusive allusive allusive
aloof
altered altered altered
atmospheric atmospheric
balanced
cerebral
considered
construction construction construction
contained contained contained contained
contemplative
contradiction contradiction
contrasted
controlled controlled controlled
cuboids cuboids
dark
discovery
disguise
duality
emotive emotive
empirical
endurance endurance
essence essence
ethereal
everyday everyday
exacting
experiment
focused
form form form form
found
fragile
handmade
heavy heavy
hidden hidden
imbued imbued imbued imbued imbued
immanent
industrial
inert
innate innate
instinctive instinctive
intangible
integrity integrity
laboured laboured laboured
latent
light light
loop
maker maker maker maker
manipulate
manmade manmade
material material material material
measured measured
metamorphosis
metaphorical
mutable
natural natural
object
obsessive obsessive
opposites opposites
ordered
ordinary ordinary
organised
painstaking painstaking painstaking
particular particular particular particular
patience
physical physical physical physical
placement placement
poetic
precise
process process process
push push
questioning
quiet quiet
reflection
repetition repetition
representation representation
resistance resistance resistance
shape
slow
solid
specific
spherical spherical
still still still still
stress
subjective
subliminal
subtle
surface
symbolic symbolic
tactile tactile
tangible
tested tested
texture texture
touch touch touch touch
transference
transform transform transform
transience
undercurrents undercurrents undercurrents undercurrents
weight
1 aesthetic - pleasing in appearance
2 affinity - a feeling of identification with something
3 alchemy - a power of transformation
4 allusive - that makes or contains an indirect reference to something
5 aloof - physically distant or apart
6 altered - to become different
7 atmospheric - evoking or producing an emotional tone or aesthetic quality
8 balanced - containing elements in suitable quantities or arranged to produce a whole
9 cerebral - involving the psychological processes of thinking and reasoning
10 considered - carefully thought out or regarded in a particular way
11 construction - a structure or thing that has been built or put together
12 contained - to keep an emotion under control
13 contemplative - calm and thoughtful, or inclined to be this way
14 contradiction - something that contains parts or elements that are inconsistent
15 contrasted - an effect created by placing very different things next to each other
16 controlled - carefully measured and regulated to achieve a desired result
17 cuboids - a solid figure of six rectangular planes set at right angles to the adjacent sides
18 dark - little known or kept hidden from others
19 discovery - the fact or process of finding out about something for the first time
20 disguise - to change something so that it cannot be recognised
21 duality - a situation that has two states or parts that are complementary or opposed
22 emotive - causing or intended to cause emotion
23 empirical - based on observation and experiment rather than theory
24 endurance - the ability to bear prolonged exertion, pain or hardship
25 essence - the basic element or feature of something; the quality that makes it what it is
26 ethereal - very delicate or highly refined
27 everyday - having no remarkable feature to set it apart
28 exacting - demanding hard work and great effort
29 experiment - a test carried out to discover the results of a particular course of action
30 focused - concentrated on a single thing
31 form - a thing's nature, structure or essence apart from its content, colour and texture
32 found - discover by chance or effort
33 fragile - not strong, sound or secure and unlikely to withstand stresses and strains
34 handmade - made by hand, not by machine
35 heavy - weighing a relatively large amount and thus difficult to lift, carry or move
36 hidden - to conceal something
37 imbued - to make something rich with a particular quality
38 immanent - existing within or inherent within something
39 industrial - relating to, used in, or created by industry
40 inert - not moving or able to move
41 innate - relating to qualities a person is born with
42 instinctive - having a particular quality or skills spontaneously without effort or instruction
43 intangible - difficult to define or describe clearly, but nonetheless perceived
44 integrity - the quality of adhering to high principles and standards
45 laboured - requiring a great deal of effort
46 latent - present in the unconscious but not consciously expressed
47 light - of little weight, not heavy; easy to lift
48 loop - a figure produced by a curve, or a doubled thread that crosses itself
49 maker - somebody who creates something
50 manipulate - to control or influence something in an ingenious or devious way
51 manmade - made by human beings and not occurring naturally
52 material - relating to or consisting of solid physical matter
53 measured - slow, deliberate, or carefully considered
54 metamorphosis - a complete or marked change of physical form, structure or substance
55 metaphorical - the application of a descriptive term which is imaginative but not literal
56 mutable - capable of changing, or subject to change
57 natural - present in or produced by nature
58 object - something that is perceived as an entity and referred by a name
59 obsessive - to preoccupy and fill the mind continually
60 opposites - something that is completely different from another or from what is expected
61 ordered - an organised state, with elements arranged properly, neatly, or harmoniously
62 ordinary - of a common, everyday kind
63 organised - to apply efficient working methods in order to work effectively
64 painstaking - involving or showing great care and attention to detail
65 particular - taking great care when making a choice and having high standards
66 patience - the ability to endure and persevere calmly when faced with difficulties
67 physical - existing in the real material world, and able to be touched and seen
68 placement - the act of placing or arranging something in a particular place or position
69 poetic - having qualities associated with poetry, especially in being gracefully expressive
70 precise - very careful about small details
71 process - to prepare something in a series of steps or actions
72 push - to extend something beyond the usual limits
73 questioning - expressing a question without using words
74 quiet - not grand, showy or pretentious
75 reflection - careful thought; the process of reconsidering prior actions or decisions
76 repetition - the act of doing something again
77 representation - to symbolise or stand for something
78 resistance - a force that opposes or slows down another force
79 shape - to mold something into a different shape
80 slow - taking a long time to do or create something
81 solid - built out of strong substantial material and not likely to break or collapse
82 specific - with individual qualities that allow a distinction to be made or necessary
83 spherical - relating to a sphere, or to spheres in general
84 still - subdued, gentle or quiet
85 stress - a force or system of forces exerted and resulting in deformation or strain
86 subjective - existing only in the mind and not independently of it
87 subliminal - entering, existing in, or affecting the mind without conscious awareness
88 subtle - cleverly indirect and understated
89 surface - the outermost part of a thing, the one that can be seen and touched
90 symbolic - using a symbol or symbols to represent something else
91 tactile - pleasing or interesting to the sense of touch
92 tangible - able to be touched or perceived through the sense of touch
93 tested - a trial run-though of a process to find out if it works
94 texture - the feel and appearance of a surface, especially how rough or smooth it is
95 touch - to be in, or bring something into, physical contact with an object
96 transference - the transferring of something from one place to another
97 transform - to change things completely
98 transience - coming to an end, disappearing or changing
99 undercurrents - a feeling or force felt to be present but not openly shown or expressed
100 weight - the heaviness of something
affinity
alchemy alchemy
allusive allusive allusive
aloof
altered altered altered
atmospheric atmospheric
balanced
cerebral
considered
construction construction construction
contained contained contained contained
contemplative
contradiction contradiction
contrasted
controlled controlled controlled
cuboids cuboids
dark
discovery
disguise
duality
emotive emotive
empirical
endurance endurance
essence essence
ethereal
everyday everyday
exacting
experiment
focused
form form form form
found
fragile
handmade
heavy heavy
hidden hidden
imbued imbued imbued imbued imbued
immanent
industrial
inert
innate innate
instinctive instinctive
intangible
integrity integrity
laboured laboured laboured
latent
light light
loop
maker maker maker maker
manipulate
manmade manmade
material material material material
measured measured
metamorphosis
metaphorical
mutable
natural natural
object
obsessive obsessive
opposites opposites
ordered
ordinary ordinary
organised
painstaking painstaking painstaking
particular particular particular particular
patience
physical physical physical physical
placement placement
poetic
precise
process process process
push push
questioning
quiet quiet
reflection
repetition repetition
representation representation
resistance resistance resistance
shape
slow
solid
specific
spherical spherical
still still still still
stress
subjective
subliminal
subtle
surface
symbolic symbolic
tactile tactile
tangible
tested tested
texture texture
touch touch touch touch
transference
transform transform transform
transience
undercurrents undercurrents undercurrents undercurrents
weight
1 aesthetic - pleasing in appearance
2 affinity - a feeling of identification with something
3 alchemy - a power of transformation
4 allusive - that makes or contains an indirect reference to something
5 aloof - physically distant or apart
6 altered - to become different
7 atmospheric - evoking or producing an emotional tone or aesthetic quality
8 balanced - containing elements in suitable quantities or arranged to produce a whole
9 cerebral - involving the psychological processes of thinking and reasoning
10 considered - carefully thought out or regarded in a particular way
11 construction - a structure or thing that has been built or put together
12 contained - to keep an emotion under control
13 contemplative - calm and thoughtful, or inclined to be this way
14 contradiction - something that contains parts or elements that are inconsistent
15 contrasted - an effect created by placing very different things next to each other
16 controlled - carefully measured and regulated to achieve a desired result
17 cuboids - a solid figure of six rectangular planes set at right angles to the adjacent sides
18 dark - little known or kept hidden from others
19 discovery - the fact or process of finding out about something for the first time
20 disguise - to change something so that it cannot be recognised
21 duality - a situation that has two states or parts that are complementary or opposed
22 emotive - causing or intended to cause emotion
23 empirical - based on observation and experiment rather than theory
24 endurance - the ability to bear prolonged exertion, pain or hardship
25 essence - the basic element or feature of something; the quality that makes it what it is
26 ethereal - very delicate or highly refined
27 everyday - having no remarkable feature to set it apart
28 exacting - demanding hard work and great effort
29 experiment - a test carried out to discover the results of a particular course of action
30 focused - concentrated on a single thing
31 form - a thing's nature, structure or essence apart from its content, colour and texture
32 found - discover by chance or effort
33 fragile - not strong, sound or secure and unlikely to withstand stresses and strains
34 handmade - made by hand, not by machine
35 heavy - weighing a relatively large amount and thus difficult to lift, carry or move
36 hidden - to conceal something
37 imbued - to make something rich with a particular quality
38 immanent - existing within or inherent within something
39 industrial - relating to, used in, or created by industry
40 inert - not moving or able to move
41 innate - relating to qualities a person is born with
42 instinctive - having a particular quality or skills spontaneously without effort or instruction
43 intangible - difficult to define or describe clearly, but nonetheless perceived
44 integrity - the quality of adhering to high principles and standards
45 laboured - requiring a great deal of effort
46 latent - present in the unconscious but not consciously expressed
47 light - of little weight, not heavy; easy to lift
48 loop - a figure produced by a curve, or a doubled thread that crosses itself
49 maker - somebody who creates something
50 manipulate - to control or influence something in an ingenious or devious way
51 manmade - made by human beings and not occurring naturally
52 material - relating to or consisting of solid physical matter
53 measured - slow, deliberate, or carefully considered
54 metamorphosis - a complete or marked change of physical form, structure or substance
55 metaphorical - the application of a descriptive term which is imaginative but not literal
56 mutable - capable of changing, or subject to change
57 natural - present in or produced by nature
58 object - something that is perceived as an entity and referred by a name
59 obsessive - to preoccupy and fill the mind continually
60 opposites - something that is completely different from another or from what is expected
61 ordered - an organised state, with elements arranged properly, neatly, or harmoniously
62 ordinary - of a common, everyday kind
63 organised - to apply efficient working methods in order to work effectively
64 painstaking - involving or showing great care and attention to detail
65 particular - taking great care when making a choice and having high standards
66 patience - the ability to endure and persevere calmly when faced with difficulties
67 physical - existing in the real material world, and able to be touched and seen
68 placement - the act of placing or arranging something in a particular place or position
69 poetic - having qualities associated with poetry, especially in being gracefully expressive
70 precise - very careful about small details
71 process - to prepare something in a series of steps or actions
72 push - to extend something beyond the usual limits
73 questioning - expressing a question without using words
74 quiet - not grand, showy or pretentious
75 reflection - careful thought; the process of reconsidering prior actions or decisions
76 repetition - the act of doing something again
77 representation - to symbolise or stand for something
78 resistance - a force that opposes or slows down another force
79 shape - to mold something into a different shape
80 slow - taking a long time to do or create something
81 solid - built out of strong substantial material and not likely to break or collapse
82 specific - with individual qualities that allow a distinction to be made or necessary
83 spherical - relating to a sphere, or to spheres in general
84 still - subdued, gentle or quiet
85 stress - a force or system of forces exerted and resulting in deformation or strain
86 subjective - existing only in the mind and not independently of it
87 subliminal - entering, existing in, or affecting the mind without conscious awareness
88 subtle - cleverly indirect and understated
89 surface - the outermost part of a thing, the one that can be seen and touched
90 symbolic - using a symbol or symbols to represent something else
91 tactile - pleasing or interesting to the sense of touch
92 tangible - able to be touched or perceived through the sense of touch
93 tested - a trial run-though of a process to find out if it works
94 texture - the feel and appearance of a surface, especially how rough or smooth it is
95 touch - to be in, or bring something into, physical contact with an object
96 transference - the transferring of something from one place to another
97 transform - to change things completely
98 transience - coming to an end, disappearing or changing
99 undercurrents - a feeling or force felt to be present but not openly shown or expressed
100 weight - the heaviness of something
Thursday, November 6, 2008
COIN OPERATED
To my left, there are two fat friendly Indian women, sat next to me on the cheap prison yellow coloured benches, laid out here for us all to sit on.
How are ten people?,( if all machines are used at the same time), suppose to share this meager bench.
It's cold. Cold.
Outside the heavens have opened, and two little boys, who have come from the park are crossing the road.
They look like they have taken a bath fully clothed.
It always amazes me how cars always seem to drive faster in the rain.
' PUSH IN TO LOCK '
The washing machine doors are clean on the inside, almost, apart from the gangrene around the rims.
The bottom of the machines are matted with scum.
It's uncomfortable here. As the fat grey haired ladies in the corner, are the owners of this establishment.
It's amusing, having been in a few launderettes in my time, a Hindu one made me chuckle.
Directly on the wall in front of me, there are two pictures of middle aged Asian men, in an ornate black and silver frame.
These items the owners do clean, probably everyday.
They sparkle as the light from the window hits them.
The men, one fat both old are smiling. One of the pictures is taken in this very place, in the Eighties or so.
This you can tell by the highly flammable launderette suit he is wearing.
The Eighties is what this place is stuck in.
The prison yellow painted benches, the mismatched blue linoleum tiles on the floor, all beaten up and grotty around the corners.
A hint of home comforts show up now and again. In the left hand corner of the shop window, is an array of well cared for potted plants.
Ferns, tomatoe plants placed decoratively on a black broken plastic milk crate.
The women beside me are eating, as they move the bangles that adorn their wrists jingle jangled.
Their protruding bellies straining their clothes.
The way that they sit with their necks blending seamlessly into their bodies, make them look like the little Buddha's that tourist would bring back from their travels.
' SMALL MACHINE £3.00'.
'PLEASE NOTE THAT CUSTOMERS WHO ARE USING OUR MACHINES IN THE LAUNDRY HAVE FIRST PRIORITY OVER CUSTOMERS WHO JUST WANT TO DRY THEIR CLOTHES FROM HOME. THANK YOU.'
A man comes in from the rain outside, wearing a blue paddington hat. His beady eyes look like that of a teddy.
Now all three of them are watching me. Wondering why I am here.
A jade green plastic garden chair is by the front door, making up for the small seating arrangement.
It's cold in here, help the aged is what springs to mind.
' THIS LAUNDERETTE IS FULLY STAFFED '. Is on a peeling art deco style sticker on the front door.
What exactly will they help you with?. So far nothing, all that they are doing is keeping each other company.
They laugh.
The machine in front of me spin's faster and the drum finally stops.
To my right is the back door and a window showcasing washing powders, Daz, Ariel, Persil all lined up to be sold.
Maybe a little at a time, like a corner shop, in which they sell you single cigarettes illegally.
The man sits down directly facing to the right hand side of me.
They laugh, and speak in Hindi, so i can't tell if they are laughing directly at me.
A machine in the far right corner spins at the end of it's cycle making the hole room shake like a train would, if it was under foot.
'SHIRTS IRONED ONLY 80p'
The machines have a detailed description of operating.
'WARNING'
' DO NOT USE THIS MACHINE BEFORE READING THE OPERATING INSTRUCTIONS'.
Too many rule.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
100-50-10-1: Jan
100
derivative, distinctive, theoretised, intuitive, disturbing, timorous, brave, tentative, tremulous, technical, constipated, immured, inaccessible, accusatory, feminist, political, dead, vital, aloof, lamentable, ambivalent, cowardly, angry, resigned, compromising, harsh, antediluvian, costly, barking, barren, fruitful, fruitless, embryonic, pregnant, perverse, compulsive, fetid, fictive, feigned, authentic, baffling, serious, solemn, sincere, spurious, genuine, strident, gloomy, vainglorious, conceited, humble, modest, hodgepodge, risible, claptrap, slow, subjective, biased, personal, backward-looking, discriminating, heterogeneous, consistent, ethical, honourable, soft, harsh, idealistic, unknowing, wise, bewildering, adequate, inadequate, flawed, imitative, starved, tawdry, crude, taut, succinct, taciturn, telling, tedious, insular, open, inspired, dramatic, entrenched, panic-stricken, tricky, unexpected, self-effacing, mundane, unpractised, under-explored, undervalued, idiopathic, private, monochromatic, surprising.
50
derivative, distinctive, theorised, intuitive, disturbing, timorous, brave, technical, constipated, immured, starved, dead, vital, feminist, angry, compromising, barking, serious, modest, biased, ethical, flawed, crude, succinct, insular, unexpected, self-effacing, pregnant, unpractised, surprising, risible, adequate, inadequate, discriminating, open, heterogeneous, panic-stricken, perverse, genuine, consistent, fictive, monochromatic, gloomy, costly, subjective, soft, accusatory, slow, bewildering, compulsive,
10
derivative, constipated, feminist, pregnant, compulsive, slow, surprising, theorised, crude, disturbing
1
slow
/////////////////////////////////////////////
100
Current work is influenced by the quasi-ethnographic approach of Sophie Calle; her collaboration with Paul Auster, and the way that they manipulated the boundary between fact and fiction. This prompted me to start an imaginary relationship with Siri Hustvedt, through her first novel, The Blindfold. I am recreating objects (a stained glove, some soiled cotton wool, and a small mirror) that Hustvedt makes central to her narrative, and exploring their nature, primarily through video. What has emerged so far is the ambiguity of mundane things that might be seen as simultaneously subject and object, enlivened and inert, reality and invention.
50
The quasi-ethnographic Sophie Calle,
With Paul Auster,
Manipulated the boundary between fact and fiction
To start an imaginary relationship, Blindfold, with
A stained glove,
Some soiled cotton wool, and
A small mirror.
What has emerged?
The ambiguity of mundane things,
Simultaneously subject and object,
Enlivened and inert,
Reality and invention.
10
A Blindfold Boundary Invention
To Emerged Things
With Some Enlivened
1
Invention
derivative, distinctive, theoretised, intuitive, disturbing, timorous, brave, tentative, tremulous, technical, constipated, immured, inaccessible, accusatory, feminist, political, dead, vital, aloof, lamentable, ambivalent, cowardly, angry, resigned, compromising, harsh, antediluvian, costly, barking, barren, fruitful, fruitless, embryonic, pregnant, perverse, compulsive, fetid, fictive, feigned, authentic, baffling, serious, solemn, sincere, spurious, genuine, strident, gloomy, vainglorious, conceited, humble, modest, hodgepodge, risible, claptrap, slow, subjective, biased, personal, backward-looking, discriminating, heterogeneous, consistent, ethical, honourable, soft, harsh, idealistic, unknowing, wise, bewildering, adequate, inadequate, flawed, imitative, starved, tawdry, crude, taut, succinct, taciturn, telling, tedious, insular, open, inspired, dramatic, entrenched, panic-stricken, tricky, unexpected, self-effacing, mundane, unpractised, under-explored, undervalued, idiopathic, private, monochromatic, surprising.
50
derivative, distinctive, theorised, intuitive, disturbing, timorous, brave, technical, constipated, immured, starved, dead, vital, feminist, angry, compromising, barking, serious, modest, biased, ethical, flawed, crude, succinct, insular, unexpected, self-effacing, pregnant, unpractised, surprising, risible, adequate, inadequate, discriminating, open, heterogeneous, panic-stricken, perverse, genuine, consistent, fictive, monochromatic, gloomy, costly, subjective, soft, accusatory, slow, bewildering, compulsive,
10
derivative, constipated, feminist, pregnant, compulsive, slow, surprising, theorised, crude, disturbing
1
slow
/////////////////////////////////////////////
100
Current work is influenced by the quasi-ethnographic approach of Sophie Calle; her collaboration with Paul Auster, and the way that they manipulated the boundary between fact and fiction. This prompted me to start an imaginary relationship with Siri Hustvedt, through her first novel, The Blindfold. I am recreating objects (a stained glove, some soiled cotton wool, and a small mirror) that Hustvedt makes central to her narrative, and exploring their nature, primarily through video. What has emerged so far is the ambiguity of mundane things that might be seen as simultaneously subject and object, enlivened and inert, reality and invention.
50
The quasi-ethnographic Sophie Calle,
With Paul Auster,
Manipulated the boundary between fact and fiction
To start an imaginary relationship, Blindfold, with
A stained glove,
Some soiled cotton wool, and
A small mirror.
What has emerged?
The ambiguity of mundane things,
Simultaneously subject and object,
Enlivened and inert,
Reality and invention.
10
A Blindfold Boundary Invention
To Emerged Things
With Some Enlivened
1
Invention
Writing space
Jan Savage
This room is made of three connecting spaces.
The first has two gullies, running from front to back, both behind a long, step-up slab of stone painted a pleasing gull grey. Blue floor sparkles between them. On the far side - a large yellowing window, with slatted panes. Each gully is divided by small partitions that bring to mind the phrase ‘Starters Orders’. And each row of partitions has a black box overhead. There is a sudden rush and gurgle of water down the gully that disappears down a hole with a pierced metal cover. The once-silver metal is turning white.
The second space again has a window at its far end, but also what seems to be a door, painted shut. Half of this space is divided into three small areas, each with a door, and each with a white rounded bowl on the floor.
The third space has six white bowls and six mirrors spaced across two walls.A large pipe uncoils from the ceiling like a tree snake. Towels hang from the walls. A sign says “Caution: Hot Water” and another, “Please wash your hands”. A startled-looking man leans by the door. The floor glitters blue.
This room is made of three connecting spaces.
The first has two gullies, running from front to back, both behind a long, step-up slab of stone painted a pleasing gull grey. Blue floor sparkles between them. On the far side - a large yellowing window, with slatted panes. Each gully is divided by small partitions that bring to mind the phrase ‘Starters Orders’. And each row of partitions has a black box overhead. There is a sudden rush and gurgle of water down the gully that disappears down a hole with a pierced metal cover. The once-silver metal is turning white.
The second space again has a window at its far end, but also what seems to be a door, painted shut. Half of this space is divided into three small areas, each with a door, and each with a white rounded bowl on the floor.
The third space has six white bowls and six mirrors spaced across two walls.A large pipe uncoils from the ceiling like a tree snake. Towels hang from the walls. A sign says “Caution: Hot Water” and another, “Please wash your hands”. A startled-looking man leans by the door. The floor glitters blue.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Hey guys (curating)
hey guys, just wanted to say I'd like to volunteer to be a curator for our end of term show, I hope no-one has a problem with this!! Is anyone intrested in joining me?? Give me an email at rubyrubysoho_unknown@hotmail.com or come chat at uni ...don't leave me on my own!! :) x x
Sunday, November 2, 2008
space
Up a small singular stone step, through a keystone archway, the rotting wood frame and rusting hinges the only remnant of the door from which once hung. The question is posed as I effortlessly over come the mock wall two breeze blocks in height: was this once entirely blocked off ? Once inside, most likely because of the missing door, I find the space not in the least bit claustrophobic, but others would. The dimensions are difficult to determine, 5’ in diameter seems a reasonable guess based on my 5‘9” height. The height is an entirely different matter; dizzying then nauseating if looked at too long - two stories, maybe ? The walls, which presupposes a flat and straightness are made from layer upon layer of mortared bricks set in a circle. The dirt floor, although likely to originally have been dirt, is clearly much higher than planned based on the singular step and natural ground outside. This leaves me with yet another question: is this because of decades of dirt or that just accrued from abandonment ? somehow a staggering amount if it is since the latter. I find myself going in and out again of my space, each time noticing it anew. At first there were only the large things noticed: a patch of very fine, greens and black coloured moss flowing down nearly directly in front, just slightly to the left; the tapering window at 3:00; the large elliptical hole in the ceiling; the three large steel structural supports; another window; or the numerous frayed spider webs dusted with dust. Then noticing the nooks and crannies just above the floor which numbered in 3; that the second brick from the keystone is missing on the inside of the archway; the wooden archway doorframe; the rusted door hinges; the seemingly pointless wooden structural supports on the brick arch; a rusted metal hook jutting out. As I make my way around again and again, I find more little holes, missing bricks in the “walls” 7, 8, 9; large industrial size bolts in the middle of the steel supports; that the two upper supports are peculiarly connected like holding hands; that more light is coming in towards the top; the mortar is flaking away; the surprisingly milky white colour of the “walls”. Now and again, while leaving my space, I am chanced upon by the occasional man going past who gives me an odd glance. This strikes me as odd since I have finally found my space, I have reason to be there but what is his ?
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Space
SPACE v1
X marks the spot
It’s the X that draws you to the space. 10 inches by 10 inches, perfectly symmetrical, firm in its ownership of the metal surround. It’s been painted in that official shade of yellow that’s intended to command our attention and obedience. However, what message it is meant to convey is unclear in this instance, and it’s as if someone realised this as there’s been an attempt at erasure, leaving a dirty smudgy grey effect to the surface; the yellow fighting through in places, determined to do its job and issue its instruction.
The metal surround is less pleasing to the eye: one of those herring bone designs seen in both real and fake metal flooring. Without my glasses on the patterns are out of focus and appear to move around in a giddy jig, unsettling and slightly nauseating. The floor space denoted by the metal has a boundary of about 5 foot by 3 foot – large enough to lie down in if the dizziness overcomes me.
Whilst the foreground surface is richly decorated with chewing gum and the detritus of London life, at the far edge unblemished metal is bounded by a relatively clean white line and an assertive stripe of yellow. No doubt someone somewhere can translate this coded message intended for those who walk this path.
The space is occupied.
I stand here owning my 15 square foot of floor space and - backed up by the forceful voice of the cadmium yellow - no one comes near.
SPACE v2
Waste of Space
This space is a waste of space… it has no use.
In inclement weather you couldn’t shelter there. When the sun is out you couldn’t bask in its rays in this space. You couldn’t sit and read a book or contemplate the views there.
Business people don’t bustle through juggling briefcases, mobiles and Starbucks. Kids don’t play there of hang out in menacing gangs comparing the size of their weapons. Dogs don’t shit there. Tourists don’t sit there. Even the man with the over-engineered sweeping machine doesn’t clean there.
IT HAS NO USE!
Apart from, of course, should the unlikely incident occur that the young man up above – possibly slightly hungover from a night spent partying at a club to drown his sorrows because his girlfriend left him for his best mate a week ago – starts to feel dizzy and steps backwards, reaching for the building to steady himself. In doing so he misjudges his footing and kicks a bucket, which rolls towards the edge, causing him to leap forward to catch it, transferring his weight too quickly and, setting off a chain of reactions culminating in the window washing scaffolding cascading down to earth in an almighty crash.
Then, this space below where we cannot go, would have served its purpose.
X marks the spot
It’s the X that draws you to the space. 10 inches by 10 inches, perfectly symmetrical, firm in its ownership of the metal surround. It’s been painted in that official shade of yellow that’s intended to command our attention and obedience. However, what message it is meant to convey is unclear in this instance, and it’s as if someone realised this as there’s been an attempt at erasure, leaving a dirty smudgy grey effect to the surface; the yellow fighting through in places, determined to do its job and issue its instruction.
The metal surround is less pleasing to the eye: one of those herring bone designs seen in both real and fake metal flooring. Without my glasses on the patterns are out of focus and appear to move around in a giddy jig, unsettling and slightly nauseating. The floor space denoted by the metal has a boundary of about 5 foot by 3 foot – large enough to lie down in if the dizziness overcomes me.
Whilst the foreground surface is richly decorated with chewing gum and the detritus of London life, at the far edge unblemished metal is bounded by a relatively clean white line and an assertive stripe of yellow. No doubt someone somewhere can translate this coded message intended for those who walk this path.
The space is occupied.
I stand here owning my 15 square foot of floor space and - backed up by the forceful voice of the cadmium yellow - no one comes near.
SPACE v2
Waste of Space
This space is a waste of space… it has no use.
In inclement weather you couldn’t shelter there. When the sun is out you couldn’t bask in its rays in this space. You couldn’t sit and read a book or contemplate the views there.
Business people don’t bustle through juggling briefcases, mobiles and Starbucks. Kids don’t play there of hang out in menacing gangs comparing the size of their weapons. Dogs don’t shit there. Tourists don’t sit there. Even the man with the over-engineered sweeping machine doesn’t clean there.
IT HAS NO USE!
Apart from, of course, should the unlikely incident occur that the young man up above – possibly slightly hungover from a night spent partying at a club to drown his sorrows because his girlfriend left him for his best mate a week ago – starts to feel dizzy and steps backwards, reaching for the building to steady himself. In doing so he misjudges his footing and kicks a bucket, which rolls towards the edge, causing him to leap forward to catch it, transferring his weight too quickly and, setting off a chain of reactions culminating in the window washing scaffolding cascading down to earth in an almighty crash.
Then, this space below where we cannot go, would have served its purpose.
Walk
Walk 1
Shuffling across the tarmac, my arm around her shoulder to steady her; she’s less sure of her footing now since the fall. Her eyes flit vacantly from my face to the gardens not settling anywhere, recognising nothing.
When did she become so short? She fits uncomfortably under my arm which aches from the burden of supporting her. Our slow progress across the ten yard stretch reminds me of ‘pigeon steps’, the game we played at school – but this is no game now, this is my life.
I enter the security code and, as the door opens, we’re greeted by the warm fug and the overpowering smell of bleach, urine and institutional food. She’s back to the place we now refer to as her home. And the weight immediately lifts from my shoulders.
Walk 2
Concentrate.
Start by standing upright.
Whoa – steady girl!
Okay, this isn’t working. Let’s be less ambitious.
A Neanderthal crouch will have to do….
Straighten up slowly…
O wow, this is high.
The view’s completely different from up here.
Wobble. Woops – this is scary! So close to a serious fall.
How do people do this for a living?
Keep calm and don’t rush things.
One foot in front of the other, that’s all it takes.
Don’t even think about going for a confident, blasé look - you know you can’t pull it off.
Just don’t cling on to things – that’s a dead give away you’ve not done this before.
Okay. The plan is 3 steps forward, pause, take a look, turn around and retreat to safety.
Come on. Be brave. You can do it. It’s not that far.
Deep breath.
One step…Oh er, my legs are shaking.
I’m going to twist my bloody ankle if I don’t watch what I’m doing and it’s a long fall from up here.
Slowly. Carefully. One step for mankind and all that.
Oh you know what? I think I’ve almost got the hang of this. (Pride before a fall?)
Maybe I could even raise my head and take a look?
Hmm – not quite what I’d imagined.
Nothing like it looks in the pictures in the magazines, but then it never is – reality.
Right. That’s enough.
Three steps back to terra firma.
But at least you can say you had the experience if only for 5 minutes.
Shuffling across the tarmac, my arm around her shoulder to steady her; she’s less sure of her footing now since the fall. Her eyes flit vacantly from my face to the gardens not settling anywhere, recognising nothing.
When did she become so short? She fits uncomfortably under my arm which aches from the burden of supporting her. Our slow progress across the ten yard stretch reminds me of ‘pigeon steps’, the game we played at school – but this is no game now, this is my life.
I enter the security code and, as the door opens, we’re greeted by the warm fug and the overpowering smell of bleach, urine and institutional food. She’s back to the place we now refer to as her home. And the weight immediately lifts from my shoulders.
Walk 2
Concentrate.
Start by standing upright.
Whoa – steady girl!
Okay, this isn’t working. Let’s be less ambitious.
A Neanderthal crouch will have to do….
Straighten up slowly…
O wow, this is high.
The view’s completely different from up here.
Wobble. Woops – this is scary! So close to a serious fall.
How do people do this for a living?
Keep calm and don’t rush things.
One foot in front of the other, that’s all it takes.
Don’t even think about going for a confident, blasé look - you know you can’t pull it off.
Just don’t cling on to things – that’s a dead give away you’ve not done this before.
Okay. The plan is 3 steps forward, pause, take a look, turn around and retreat to safety.
Come on. Be brave. You can do it. It’s not that far.
Deep breath.
One step…Oh er, my legs are shaking.
I’m going to twist my bloody ankle if I don’t watch what I’m doing and it’s a long fall from up here.
Slowly. Carefully. One step for mankind and all that.
Oh you know what? I think I’ve almost got the hang of this. (Pride before a fall?)
Maybe I could even raise my head and take a look?
Hmm – not quite what I’d imagined.
Nothing like it looks in the pictures in the magazines, but then it never is – reality.
Right. That’s enough.
Three steps back to terra firma.
But at least you can say you had the experience if only for 5 minutes.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Space
White Rose Court is a dead-end alley measuring 20 paces in length and 3 paces in width. Alleys, passageways, nooks and crannies are surprisingly common in this offshoot of Bishopsgate - so near to the Luftwaffe's targets. 20 metres away lie Parliament Court and Artillery Passage - both in demand by film and tv companies as locations for period dramas. But they ignore White Rose Court. Its boundaries are the high walls of three post-war buildings. Entering on the north side is a sandwich bar. On the south side it is a pub. Blind and deaf you could determine the time of day by the smell. White Rose Court, as the name suggests, is a construct demanded by building regulations. It serves only to provide statutory fire exits. A red bricked office block stifles the narrow end and every urban ugliness is condensed into it. A metal grill across a dark doorway, an angry, yellow sign, a security camera and a filthy layer of grime where ground meets wall. There is no time of day that the light shines kindly upon it. At least at night the darkness at the far end provides refuge for what spills out of the pub.
The pub and sandwich bar entrances (together with the new smoking regulations) provide an excuse to linger at the top but there is no reason to go any further. Even the pub's beer cellar is located at the front. To stride purposefully through is to invite a curious glance. Thus surveyors, architects and planners have conspired and succeeded in erecting a powerful but invisible forcefield.
The pub and sandwich bar entrances (together with the new smoking regulations) provide an excuse to linger at the top but there is no reason to go any further. Even the pub's beer cellar is located at the front. To stride purposefully through is to invite a curious glance. Thus surveyors, architects and planners have conspired and succeeded in erecting a powerful but invisible forcefield.
Walkway (A Space)
The most direct route
The straight line from A to B
The desire path
Called THE WALKWAY
Up ramp – upstream – a tributary – flows forcibly on a straight course through the centre of the Windermere and Derwent Estates. Fortified on either side by banks of high walled brick buildings. Forbidding grey tarmac – murky and muddied by its foot-passengers. Wide and clear, a concrete river – calm today – lets us easily stream along – no danger of bumping into each other laden with the cargo of everyday life
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The disembark
The gentle decline
The sloping ramp
Downstream Maplin St
Mercilessly to the A11.
The gentle decline
The sloping ramp
Downstream Maplin St
Mercilessly to the A11.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Anish Kapoor and Richard Serra short interview
if it interests anyone;
http://www.timeout.com/london/art/features/
5938/Anish_Kapoor_and_Richard_Serra-interview.html
http://www.timeout.com/london/art/features/
5938/Anish_Kapoor_and_Richard_Serra-interview.html
Maggie's space remembered
The shiny new bicycle looked slightly incongruous propped against the corrugated fence splashed with yellow. Traffic sounds were muffled here and the coo coo coo of a dove alternated with the sound of a saw. Faded silver graffiti on the riveted green door matched the galvanised iron. Above it, a glimpse of sky though the tangled barbed wire.
A buddleia seedling clung to the cracked concrete, its roots seeking sustenance from an unseen source.
Opposite, were more corrugated walls, this time in blue, with a bright yellow security warning. A pulley, which seemed completely unconnected to any supporting structure, dangled overhead.
Crisp plane leaves danced among the shadows drawn by the bare tree on the tarmac.. A faint sweetish toasted smell mingled with that of oil.
A car door slamming suggested someone coming or going. Then an alarm sounded.
Maggie's space observed
Traffic sounds muffled as if further away. ‘Coo coo coo’ must be a dove as a pigeon’s song has five syllables, doesn’t it?
Sound of sawing from behind the grey corrugated sheet.
A faint burnt toasted smell drifts in the breeze.
Glimpse of blue sky through tangled barbed wire.
Footsteps in the distance – no owner.
How on earth does the buddleia manage to grow in that crevice and will it eventually split the wall? Where do the roots go?
A red and white ‘pedestrians’ arrow points you into the corner – no way through.
Smell of oil.
Plane leaves flickering on the tarmac. From behind the blue corrugated façade the sun casts shadows of the bare branches. Why is every thing corrugated? And why is the CCTV notice in yellow? Did they know the wall would be blue?
An alarm sounds from beyond.
A car engine revs so there must be someone near.
Faded silver graffiti on the green riveted door harmonises with the galvanised iron sheets.
Is that screaming or children playing?
Another car door bangs.
The pulley seems to have detached itself from the bar. Below it, shreds of plastic cling desperately to more barbed wire.
Why would they want to keep people in rather than out?
Monday, October 27, 2008
Walk with a dustcart
Jan Savage
I am walking behind the dustcart that takes our rubbish every Thursday, following this strange, cumbersome beast as it makes its faltering way down our street and the next. It’s a homage of sorts: the dustmen’s gang leader – a humorous, robust-looking man called Dave - died suddenly last week, a few days before he took retirement. I didn’t really know him, but liked his sharp cheerfulness, the way he dared to call me darling, how he turned a blind eye when my rubbish was over the limit, and how he waved from the cab when our paths crossed well beyond these streets. And I took pleasure in the way we both knew that this camaraderie was not entirely unrelated to the matter of a Christmas bonus.
As I walk I listen to the sounds of the dustcart, the disjointed song that was the backdrop to this man’s working life: the clunking of gears, the screeching and sighing of brakes, the jolting and jarring, the bleeping of reverse gear, the scrape of bins being dragged over paving, the sound of harder, then softer objects falling into the mouth of the cart, the men’s single-syllable, undecipherable cries to the driver – Wuerp, Wuerp……..
I watch the mounds of rubbish – the rags, the egg shells, old shoes, juice cartons - churning over inside the cart’s craw in unchosen intimacy. It reminds me of another death – my father’s – and how his body had to share an undertaker’s hatchback with an unknown corpse on their way to the funeral parlour. Perhaps it is the small satisfaction of this memory that makes me relish the slightly sweet, fetid smell that is the wake of the dustcart. Or perhaps it is that, in respect for Dave, I need to step in his footsteps, to smell what he smelt, and inhale the odour of our street’s collective waste, the entwined remnants of what we once craved, what we devoured and what we have chosen, often absent-mindedly, to reject.
Jan Savage
I am walking behind the dustcart that takes our rubbish every Thursday, following this strange, cumbersome beast as it makes its faltering way down our street and the next. It’s a homage of sorts: the dustmen’s gang leader – a humorous, robust-looking man called Dave - died suddenly last week, a few days before he took retirement. I didn’t really know him, but liked his sharp cheerfulness, the way he dared to call me darling, how he turned a blind eye when my rubbish was over the limit, and how he waved from the cab when our paths crossed well beyond these streets. And I took pleasure in the way we both knew that this camaraderie was not entirely unrelated to the matter of a Christmas bonus.
As I walk I listen to the sounds of the dustcart, the disjointed song that was the backdrop to this man’s working life: the clunking of gears, the screeching and sighing of brakes, the jolting and jarring, the bleeping of reverse gear, the scrape of bins being dragged over paving, the sound of harder, then softer objects falling into the mouth of the cart, the men’s single-syllable, undecipherable cries to the driver – Wuerp, Wuerp……..
I watch the mounds of rubbish – the rags, the egg shells, old shoes, juice cartons - churning over inside the cart’s craw in unchosen intimacy. It reminds me of another death – my father’s – and how his body had to share an undertaker’s hatchback with an unknown corpse on their way to the funeral parlour. Perhaps it is the small satisfaction of this memory that makes me relish the slightly sweet, fetid smell that is the wake of the dustcart. Or perhaps it is that, in respect for Dave, I need to step in his footsteps, to smell what he smelt, and inhale the odour of our street’s collective waste, the entwined remnants of what we once craved, what we devoured and what we have chosen, often absent-mindedly, to reject.
SPACE
The sides aren't parallel.
The sides aren't symmetrical.
The sides aren't closed in.
The ceiling isn't man made.
The people take no notice to the space they're in.
It isn't used as a place to stop or wait or stay in for any more time than you have to.
It isn't closed from natural light.
There aren't more than 2 permanent objects in the space.
You don't have to make an effort to enter it.
There is no door.
There isn't just one-way to enter or exit.
It never shuts.
The sides aren't symmetrical.
The sides aren't closed in.
The ceiling isn't man made.
The people take no notice to the space they're in.
It isn't used as a place to stop or wait or stay in for any more time than you have to.
It isn't closed from natural light.
There aren't more than 2 permanent objects in the space.
You don't have to make an effort to enter it.
There is no door.
There isn't just one-way to enter or exit.
It never shuts.
WALK
4 strongbows and a sense of friends direction lead me back to my room. i stubble over the fcaewash and wonder what made my mouth burst in sensual mint flavour... i lean back in bed and wonder at these things as i wonder how the hell i ot home. a sense of diretiona dn a firned that was drunk. i wonder how this flavour of mint swelled on my mouth and how the flowing feeling of sick and anticipation and reject entered my stomach. i rememeber thinking i hould t do this, i remember wondering why i was. i remember 4 strongbows. i remember a house party. i remember friend.
i rememeber nothing.
sleep fills the left over's of a niht with dawn and dreams and i wake not knowing wst time it is or what i should be getting up for.
A write I text. thogh i cant remembet hwat ive just written on this page.
fuck it.
i rememeber nothing.
sleep fills the left over's of a niht with dawn and dreams and i wake not knowing wst time it is or what i should be getting up for.
A write I text. thogh i cant remembet hwat ive just written on this page.
fuck it.
Friday, October 24, 2008
My Dream Land...my walk
This walk is a true journey which I undertook whilst sleeping around 8am on Friday morning. This was less of a walk I suppose and more of a journey through my thoughts and subconscious; my sleeping mind. Writing these moments I hope will help me remember this strange occurrence and perhaps help me to understand myself on a deeper scale. What is this subconscious mind? How does it come to our awareness so suddenly with no warning after being forgotten for months, perhaps even years?
It all began (as far as I can recall) in a hazy opening in the country, where the trees and green leaves were vibrant and blowing in the dreamlike summer breeze. It seemed like somewhere near home as I felt safe and calm. I came to, staring upwards at the light piercing the bright green leaves. It is funny how happenings in dreams appear to have no relation to each other upon awakening, but in our dreamlike state these places and motions flow together, the pieces of the puzzle vanishing as one awakens. Would these missing links have been more of a help to understanding this subconscious confusion? I wandered in this happy dream world until I came across many situations taking me away from this calm and happy space. I began a job as a bartender, my happy world morphing into a dingy but homely local pub, awash with dark wood floors, dark wood walls covered in pub grime. I pulled pints, and threw around cocktails being taught these new skills. As I worked away earning my keep, slowly familiar old faces began to seep into the building; old school friends, friends from when I was a baby, old teachers, old parents and hundreds of faces from my past. Why are they here? Should I talk to them? Should I have contacted them during the years? Are they angry at me? Their voices kept building and looking and growing in intensity until I knew I had to leave. I was unsure of what I should do, carrying this feeling of unfinished business though all I wanted to do was to move on. I had to get away, it was too much. I had to change my clothes, it was the only solution, to change my appearance and leave as quickly as possible.
I cannot recall what I changed into but at this point I awoke with an odd feeling of guilt and regret. There were two biscuits next to my pillow.
ps. Hello everybody! I finally have an internet connection, amazing!!! Looking foward to reading everyones writings x x x peace!
It all began (as far as I can recall) in a hazy opening in the country, where the trees and green leaves were vibrant and blowing in the dreamlike summer breeze. It seemed like somewhere near home as I felt safe and calm. I came to, staring upwards at the light piercing the bright green leaves. It is funny how happenings in dreams appear to have no relation to each other upon awakening, but in our dreamlike state these places and motions flow together, the pieces of the puzzle vanishing as one awakens. Would these missing links have been more of a help to understanding this subconscious confusion? I wandered in this happy dream world until I came across many situations taking me away from this calm and happy space. I began a job as a bartender, my happy world morphing into a dingy but homely local pub, awash with dark wood floors, dark wood walls covered in pub grime. I pulled pints, and threw around cocktails being taught these new skills. As I worked away earning my keep, slowly familiar old faces began to seep into the building; old school friends, friends from when I was a baby, old teachers, old parents and hundreds of faces from my past. Why are they here? Should I talk to them? Should I have contacted them during the years? Are they angry at me? Their voices kept building and looking and growing in intensity until I knew I had to leave. I was unsure of what I should do, carrying this feeling of unfinished business though all I wanted to do was to move on. I had to get away, it was too much. I had to change my clothes, it was the only solution, to change my appearance and leave as quickly as possible.
I cannot recall what I changed into but at this point I awoke with an odd feeling of guilt and regret. There were two biscuits next to my pillow.
ps. Hello everybody! I finally have an internet connection, amazing!!! Looking foward to reading everyones writings x x x peace!
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Wed 1st October. Joshua Raffell
Dave my partner is off work today, because of Eid a Muslim holiday. He's a teacher at a school with a high percentage of muslim children. We are going to see a new exhibition at the Tate Modern of Rothko "the late series", Dave had been to the previous exhibition at the Tate Britain in 1987 and been a big fan ever since.
I woke up after not feeling well, my face is covered in a rash and feels like sand paper. I have a cold sore from Hell and to top it of, a crick neck. I feel like shit and want to curl up in bed and die. Despite feeling sorry for myself, I do get up and we make it to the exhibition. We walk into the first room , I look around see some small sketch book paintings and feel unimpressed, Partly due to not feeling well and partly due to not connecting with the work. There is a panel with writing on, which I do try and read, but quickly become aware that nothing has sunk in, each word I read has no meaning because I cannot remember anything that I have read before. This is a common scenario that I link to being dyslexic. I feel frustrated and fed up. I stop noticing the paintings until I come to a room that has a crowd of people to my left. I cannot even get a glimpse at what they are looking at, so give up there is a painting to my right that has a few people looking at it, I then notice a grey arrow on the wall, To the right of the painting the wall with the arrow on is set back from the wall with the painting on. There seems to be an opening , so you can go behind the painting. At that moment a lady walks from behind .
There is a panel cut out of the wall which has a glass viewing window, so you can see the back of the picture, where the canvass has been stretched on to the wooden frame, there is a baton going vertical down the centre of the painting, with three batons going horizontal, this is obviously to give the frame support. There is a signature ' Mark Rothko' .
I wonder what Rothko himself would have thought of the way the back was exposed. Would he has approved?
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
EID.
By Laura Mcintosh
Head down, Ipod on. I stumbled upon a sea of copper.
Heady with the heat of warm sweaty bodies.
I continually requested. " Excuse me!!". And one by one the copper sea parted in sync, squashing together and letting me through.
At 5'3, if I had known, that I would be engulfed by a crowd of many men, I would have turned running back through the crowd, that was now caressing my clothing.
I'm claustrophobic. Even with a gathering of a few.
The thought of hundreds stealing my air with their chests, had me clutching at my scarf.
'Excuse me please!!".
I proceeded, repeating the single phrase , that I used that cold winter morning.
As I took a deep breath and gathered my faculties.
Smelling smoke I remembered the lit cigarette in my hand.
Remembering to not step on any toes, and stopping myself from burning an hole in their neatly pressed garments, distracted my mind long enough from the suffocating desire to want to run away.
I looked up at all their warm faces and smiled, as they courteously told each other that I was coming through.
This wasn't what I expected.
Weren't they suppose to be ' 'Sexist!?'. 'Violent ??'
....Finally.
Fin.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
An Imaginary Walk
A man, dressed immaculately, navigated the perimeter circular path of the city park with such precision as to make sure his every footstep was equal and measured.
Keeping his eyes fixed steadfastly ahead, he remained directly alongside the elaborately scrolled wrought iron fence as though his life depended upon it.
All around a cacophonous squawking could be heard from the crows feeding in large mob-like hordes. A light westerly breeze bought wafts of pungent air, from the nearby factory, flickering across his face. He didn’t wince at the acrid taste and smell left in his mouth and nostrils.
In the near distance, young families, old couples and friends meandered amiably – criss-crossing the inner paths of the park – chattering in constant competition with the birds.
As the man continued round and round back to where he began - a faint shadow could be seen moving aimlessly around the central circular path in the opposite direction.
Their paths never crossed.
Keeping his eyes fixed steadfastly ahead, he remained directly alongside the elaborately scrolled wrought iron fence as though his life depended upon it.
All around a cacophonous squawking could be heard from the crows feeding in large mob-like hordes. A light westerly breeze bought wafts of pungent air, from the nearby factory, flickering across his face. He didn’t wince at the acrid taste and smell left in his mouth and nostrils.
In the near distance, young families, old couples and friends meandered amiably – criss-crossing the inner paths of the park – chattering in constant competition with the birds.
As the man continued round and round back to where he began - a faint shadow could be seen moving aimlessly around the central circular path in the opposite direction.
Their paths never crossed.
Maggie's walk
Twenty past – that’s five minutes going due west then, so that must be the gate over there. How many layers of paint can there be on it? Solid but elegant, isn’t it? Apparently it was made in the forge that Jim now works in. Did you know that the surname ‘Wright’ come from the same root as ‘wrought’?
Now, bare left along the middle path. Follow the curve and watch out for bicycles on the green track.
Those prickly green chestnut cases are really quite soft when you pick them up. Did you soak them in vinegar? Can’t say I bothered.
If it rains again we can shelter in the bandstand over there. In fact, let’s take a short cut across the grass.
Can you smell the damp leaves?
Did you hear it? What is it? Look – a bright green flash! And another!
Outer circle of trees, fifth one along looking into the sun. Yes, that’s it – faded red ribbon round the trunk. She said she’d loosened it in Spring.
It’s taller than the others and the leaves are so shiny. View over the cricket pitch, that was the idea, they say.
No chestnuts yet; maybe next year.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
My Stationary Walk
I am standing at my designated spot outside the railway station wearing my sash and holding my ‘tin’ (plastic cylindrical box) and roll of stickers. Today is my six monthly hour long stint of Cancer Research collection. It is 8.00 am and I have placed myself strategically so that I can be seen at a distance and have to be passed by all those who are going to the station. I am obliged to stand still in my position which is a rarity for me as I am always on the move. I cannot wave or shake the box nor should I approach or talk to people unless they speak to me. These are the rules. At the same time I want people to see me and feel kindly towards me and the cause, so I stand feeling rather pious but with a benign open expression and a smile at the ready.It is an interesting experience as I am at liberty to watch people in a way that, had I not had this ‘honourable’ task, would be considered odd or make myself and others uncomfortable. It’s a great excuse to people watch! My thoughts run to how I am being approached but ignored by these people. Though I cannot move it is they who are being put on the spot. I can see them glance at me, avoid my eyes and hurry by. Until anyone offers me anything I start to feel annoyed by my empty tin and their meanness. Will anyone stop at all? on you bastards, I think, you’ve all got jobs, you might need this money one day! Everyone should take a turn at this charity collecting – then they would know how it feels and be more generous! I put some money in from my own purse.I observe that the commuters are generally aged between 20 and 40, smartly groomed in preparation for their day of work and most often travelling alone, though sometimes in pairs. There are occasional schoolchildren singly or in groups. There is a pattern of people’s volume and speed of movement depending on the train times. Trains arrive every 15 minutes. Everyone streams by and naturally, when one is due, people who have cut it too fine are in a greater and greater hurry until that train has gone and the next early birds start to trickle past at a relaxed pace once more. I feel increasingly cold and wish I had worn gloves.Someone catches my eye and then walks right up to me, digging about in his trouser pockets for change and puts the money in the tin. I am genuinely so grateful and am all smiles! Then someone else does the same, a woman this time, fishing about awkwardly in her handbag for her purse. I realise they must be in a hurry and am so appreciative: Thank you so much! Would you like a sticker? No? Sometime this happens, no one gives and then there’s almost a queue! I have plenty of time to think so I contemplate this phenomenon and also try to calculate such things as the ratio of male to female givers, how much I estimate is in the box and how many givers to non givers: I have money weighing my container down I feel much more warmly towards my fellow man. Occasionally someone feels moved to speak about why the charity has a special relevance for them and we have a short but meaningful exchange. Sometimes people I don’t expect to stop do so, like a couple of young schoolgirls and I feel very heartened by this. I am never concerned about how much people give, it is the fact that they have bothered to stop that seems to matter.I notice that the time which, at first seemed to drag has seemed to speed up and my shift is finished. It is time to hand over my tin, sash and stickers to the safeguard of the next collector, Linda. I feel quite relieved. I become a normal commuter myself, buy my ticket, get on the train and slip into anonymity.
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