I’m beginning to realise the scale of the back log of things that I mean to do. However, rather than going on about that which has no existential form of which we might discuss the nature of the undone, here are some images and words relating to real events.
After arriving in England late last year (2010) I paused in London briefly and participated in a experimental sound art noise ensemble that was organised by the London based Austrian artist Thomas Eisele (false name supplanted to hide identity).
So we all sat and improvised that day.
Later in the week Charlie Hope and Jamie Hamilton exhibited “The Black Balloon” under the Blackfriars Bridge on St Paul’s Walk. This piece used three projectors displaying three different bird’s eye views of London. Each of these screens could be seen separately through windows that were set in the wall. An electro-acoustic sound-piece accompanied the work, making use of the partition wall façade, that separates St Paul’s walk from the installation space under the overpass, and induction speakers to create a sound that resonated straight into any passer by. The installation was kitted with sensors that activated the light and sound show whenever a pedestrian came into the vicinity of the installation.
As well as providing audiences with alternative perspectives and vistas, this piece of work seemed to very much about passing moments in time. As members of the public pass this piece of work they are provided with the choice to stop, to watch, to listen, and to think. Of course this means interrupting a rhythm, it means breaking a stride, or it means considering public spending or seeing how long it takes to put everything in its place: I.e. how fast can I lose the illusion?
In regards to what this piece really meant, one felt as though it meant very little, instead it seems the joy was in the making, in the discovering what happens next. In this context then the work was not about saying anything more profound than, “you can take a little time out and you can live a little”. But this is a difficult ethic, and it is an ethic, to portray without either offending the morals of another or putting forward an unrealistic ideal. Where is the line drawn and how does the artwork effectively speak its mind? Whether this artwork had a mind to speak is another question entirely, however, as was insinuated before, I felt as though the work had nothing clear to articulate to an audience. On the other hand, the intentions of the gallery, to use a space that was otherwise not being used for the purposes of exhibiting, was perhaps the most fully realised concept of the day.
Of course then there is a discourse about what it means to live a little.
Details regarding the work can be found at the following sources:
And then, completely unrelated, I hear about this:
Recently, the Hengist series written by Jacky Gray has been demanding my attention. Not that I am currently reading the book or writing for it for that matter, I am actually developing the book’s covers, and that is plural because each book is being released more than once. Since book two in the Series, Rory, the covers have been split between “the green” and “the white”. The green has what I would say is a more textbook appearance whilst the second crafted in a more playful and imaginative parody of the 1970’s “Live and Let Die” poster by Robert E. McGinnis.
Each design is specially constructed to suit the content of the book that it has bound in its parenthetical grip: It is a cover after all. The latest book, Reagan, is the third in the series and follows the exploits of Reagan, the young but capable protagonist. The books two primary target demographics appear at first glance to be polar opposites but given the success of the series so far, as I have heard it, to appeal to both young teenage and adult readers and those women of a particular disposition for teenage romance. Apparently there is a similar phenomenon taking place in regards to a particular teen vampire film and book series. Its not comfortable to stomach I know.
Apart from this I have not had time to do much else. The New Year was a failure to comply issue as my body arrived at the pub to late to see the new year come in. What a shame. Instead I re-learnt how to mosh into the early hours whilst the man operating the pubs compact disc player flicked his way through the metal hits of the naughties.
As it stands I am packing away my belongings, the sheer quantity of technical apparatus is now beginning to out-gun the fabrics that are to adorn my back. A sure sign of the times.