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 ...

• 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

KEY DATES & ACTIONS:

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.

THU 4th DEC

• 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.

FRI 5th DEC

• Painting Day
• Please let Claire/Lulu/Lorna know by Tuesday if you have spare rollers & trays we can use ... before we go shopping, tks.

BY 10:30am LATEST ON MON 8th DEC

• DROP-OFF your exhibition work to Studio 305.
• Please CLEARLY LABEL ALL WORK (and where poss leave a contact number in case of queries)
  

THE EXHIBITION HANGING TEAM
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!

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.

Words Jamie C

Disquieting
Dark
Esoteric
Dolls
Narrative
Cliché
Characters
Dream
Emotionless
Puppets

Esoteric

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.

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.

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

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

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

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.

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