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.
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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.
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Proposed artists’ work for inclusion within the university’s art spaces are:
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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