In and out, rolling and peaking, peaking and crawling. Do they have a specific time pattern? Like a sigh, like how we breathe, in and out, peaking then exhaling, only to peak again.
Is this what it’s like? A slow steady crawl, to a topping out and a gradual unravelling, crashing to my face leaving a thin film of water that finally seeps into the ground.
Sometimes we leave things behind.
The pattern of a wave, reminds me I am living, of the short time I am living, like a breath in and out.
It can touch me. Or, I can submerge my whole body in to its gut, into its breathing, living body and it carries my weight, back and forward, in and out.
It would swallow me, if it could, if it so desires.
But it doesn’t for the moment. Instead it rocks me to sleep. And it deposits my steady, resting body on the sand, on a bed of sand. And it watches over me and in my dreams I hear it breathing, in and out.
My head sinks down slowly, as I softly, slip from its limp salty fingers. and it is ok, down and down.
You see ,inside it I can gurgle all my secrets. Don’t you have something you can’t say out loud, or that you can’t admit to yourself or anyone else, that is... counterproductive.
The murky water doesn’t speak a word, it simply breaths it’s knowing breath and carries it for me, like algae, like air bubbles.
I wait, but at any moment I can inhale. I can.
And I feel my eyes crease a little as I smile, one, two, in and out.
I take the water in my mouth, and it fills my throat and quickly slides down into my lungs, filling me.
We’re the same, breathing the same way, crawling and peaking.
In and in.
I drift into a seabed sleep, not sure if I will wake, but completely careless. Full and bloated.
Then I open my eyes and I am 12 years old, holding my breath in the bath. Beside me in a puddle lies a dead woodlouse. I wonder of its small, shrivelled body. It disgusts me and I don’t like looking at it. The water is tepid and I want to leave but it’s cold outside the tub. My time left here is short, my hands shrivelled, like the woodlouse.
Saturday, 30 January 2010
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
Friday, 15 January 2010
Working out the essential
What is essential is quite a useful question in life really. The past few days I have been trying to analyse what is essential to the work and if there are elements that are lingering that don’t add to the work (yet) or stand out as anomalies. It has become clear to me that parts of the original piece have remained in this incarnation simply because I am a hoarder and terrible at throwing things out, in all aspects of my life.
So looking a design and script with hundreds of scrawlings over it and looking at my house covered in bits of the show, books and too many note books, it is definitely time to ask myself this question. What can the work exist without?
The show is built in layers, or in waves (I shall explain this in more detail later on). When discussing the piece there seems to be a lot, and I am hoping not too much. There is a need to fish out anything that might crowd or confuse it.
All the materials of the show are organic, they are `made’ yes in that I have chosen their positions and dimensions but each remain as they exist in `real’ time: the trees are still trees outside the theatre, as is the water, the mast, the projectors. The only thing that is obviously `made’, at present, are the Jellyfish; they are more like puppets or fancy lights. I had neglected to see this and it was pointed out to me recently. I had been neglecting finishing their design, for no specific reason, I just wasn’t excited by doing so; perhaps this was because at the moment they are just not working.
My aim is that the piece will be powerful on a subconscious, subliminal level. My desire is that not that each fragment of the work pieces comfortably together forming a structure, narractive and political message for the audience to behold. What I want to create is an experience that sits uncomfortably at the bottom of the gut, or causes a slight pulsing pain in the eye. My hope is that it is experiential in a cloudy sort of way, like the effect particular notes in music can have on you. I want it to linger and ring in the audiences ears for a while after.
I am not implying that there are no clear themes in the work, because I think that themes of erosion and memory impairment are quite obvious, my hope is that the form in which they are presented is not presumptuous and expecting of the audience. Unlike my past work which has dealt closely with an immediate delicate and present relationship between performer and audience, this piece I think asks of them to be in the space and let the elements almost flow over them, reading in it what they will, zoning out if they choose. It is more about choice of engagement. My hope is that the memory or replaying of the work is most powerful and significant, that the politic becomes prominent after, upon reflection.
Below is something I have recently written, part of a larger piece I am developing called `When I die at sea’ and I it sort of illustrates what I am trying to explain:
`I drift into a seabed sleep, not sure if I will wake, but completely careless. Full and bloated. Floating. Airless.
Then I awake, and I am 12 years old, holding my breath in the bath. Beside me in a little pool of water lies a dead woodlouse, and I wonder of its small, shrivelled body. It disgusts me and I don’t like looking at it. The water is tepid, I want to leave but it’s cold outside the tub. My time left here is short, my hands shrivelled, like the woodlouse.’
The woodlouse is an image that leaves me with a strange unsettling feeling which I find quite difficult to explain. It seems to signify some distant other; of the dark, the uncertain. Perhaps in it I see my own face, my future self, old and shrivelled.
This image is perhaps quite an obvious one, in the sense that it is a dead animal, but there are many other natural sculptural objects that unsettle me. These organic objects are perhaps more successful signifiers in art, less manipulative than `made’ objects. Below is a picture of a tree in the woods behind my house that has this same, unsettling effect on me. It makes me think of a tumour.
I recently saw a sculpture by Lucy Skaer, at the Tate Britain as part of the turner prize nominee’s exhibition. She displayed a borrowed a whale skull through a constructed wall in the corner of the gallery. The wall had specific gaps (or view finders) in which you could observe the skull, controlling ad limiting your perspective. You were able to view it as a split image from a distant or in detailed small parts from up close. This was my favourite piece in the exhibition; I was strangely drawn and repelled to this sculpture at the same time. The way it was framed (to me) made the piece less about the ore and grand scale of this dead creature, but more about the detail and texture and realness of it. It became less historical to me and more present in the context of the gallery space. It left a curious and lasting impression on me and I have since pondered on it.
I want to go back to thinking about the `made’ aspects of a show. Is this appropriate in a piece that wants to discuss the real, the beautiful, surreal and brutal in nature?
There are places in the text where I haven’t written any notes I think means one of two things: either it’s so essential, it stands alone as a single and powerful element, or it has become set, background and something pretty I just couldn’t throw out. Throw out, is too harsh, I think I just need to file better. Somewhere I can go back to, but less clutter.
The jelly fish had become this, a pretty picture with not to carefully a thought through meaning. To work out if they are essential, or what about them, the qualities of them is more essential I took the extract of text they appear in and circled the parts I thought of importance, what I really want to explore in this section, what they represent, if anything.
I came up with the following words:
Wood, sand, bone, graveyard, ancient, devouring, digested, death, plastic (x2)
Face, hands, hair, eyes (also appear more than once.)
These words are very organic, natural, old, almost degraded, there is a sense of erosion, of aging of the body. The natural world here is something monstrous and consuming and very real, existing for eons, absorbing us with little importance to what it takes, my grandfathers eyes or no more poignancy to the natural world than a plastic bag or a beer can. Nature is not cruel; it just reminds us of how small we are, that we too are just another living thing.
So I think that the material used to make the jellyfish is important. The plastic bags that so closely resemble a living organism. Plastic bags that make me think about the environment, of waste and pollution, of the clinical, of hospital beds, a material that is hard to get rid of, that doesn’t easily degrade. I think I am interested in the displacement of an object/material from its normal reading. I want to make the plastic a thing of interest that appears living, a material so like a jellyfish. I am interested in ink as a material also for the same reasons. It makes me think of a leaking, an oozing, of dark deep sea creatures. I want to explore these kind of everyday materials that when framed a certain way can come to life and take the mind somewhere else.
So looking a design and script with hundreds of scrawlings over it and looking at my house covered in bits of the show, books and too many note books, it is definitely time to ask myself this question. What can the work exist without?
The show is built in layers, or in waves (I shall explain this in more detail later on). When discussing the piece there seems to be a lot, and I am hoping not too much. There is a need to fish out anything that might crowd or confuse it.
All the materials of the show are organic, they are `made’ yes in that I have chosen their positions and dimensions but each remain as they exist in `real’ time: the trees are still trees outside the theatre, as is the water, the mast, the projectors. The only thing that is obviously `made’, at present, are the Jellyfish; they are more like puppets or fancy lights. I had neglected to see this and it was pointed out to me recently. I had been neglecting finishing their design, for no specific reason, I just wasn’t excited by doing so; perhaps this was because at the moment they are just not working.
My aim is that the piece will be powerful on a subconscious, subliminal level. My desire is that not that each fragment of the work pieces comfortably together forming a structure, narractive and political message for the audience to behold. What I want to create is an experience that sits uncomfortably at the bottom of the gut, or causes a slight pulsing pain in the eye. My hope is that it is experiential in a cloudy sort of way, like the effect particular notes in music can have on you. I want it to linger and ring in the audiences ears for a while after.
I am not implying that there are no clear themes in the work, because I think that themes of erosion and memory impairment are quite obvious, my hope is that the form in which they are presented is not presumptuous and expecting of the audience. Unlike my past work which has dealt closely with an immediate delicate and present relationship between performer and audience, this piece I think asks of them to be in the space and let the elements almost flow over them, reading in it what they will, zoning out if they choose. It is more about choice of engagement. My hope is that the memory or replaying of the work is most powerful and significant, that the politic becomes prominent after, upon reflection.
Below is something I have recently written, part of a larger piece I am developing called `When I die at sea’ and I it sort of illustrates what I am trying to explain:
`I drift into a seabed sleep, not sure if I will wake, but completely careless. Full and bloated. Floating. Airless.
Then I awake, and I am 12 years old, holding my breath in the bath. Beside me in a little pool of water lies a dead woodlouse, and I wonder of its small, shrivelled body. It disgusts me and I don’t like looking at it. The water is tepid, I want to leave but it’s cold outside the tub. My time left here is short, my hands shrivelled, like the woodlouse.’
The woodlouse is an image that leaves me with a strange unsettling feeling which I find quite difficult to explain. It seems to signify some distant other; of the dark, the uncertain. Perhaps in it I see my own face, my future self, old and shrivelled.
This image is perhaps quite an obvious one, in the sense that it is a dead animal, but there are many other natural sculptural objects that unsettle me. These organic objects are perhaps more successful signifiers in art, less manipulative than `made’ objects. Below is a picture of a tree in the woods behind my house that has this same, unsettling effect on me. It makes me think of a tumour.
I recently saw a sculpture by Lucy Skaer, at the Tate Britain as part of the turner prize nominee’s exhibition. She displayed a borrowed a whale skull through a constructed wall in the corner of the gallery. The wall had specific gaps (or view finders) in which you could observe the skull, controlling ad limiting your perspective. You were able to view it as a split image from a distant or in detailed small parts from up close. This was my favourite piece in the exhibition; I was strangely drawn and repelled to this sculpture at the same time. The way it was framed (to me) made the piece less about the ore and grand scale of this dead creature, but more about the detail and texture and realness of it. It became less historical to me and more present in the context of the gallery space. It left a curious and lasting impression on me and I have since pondered on it.
I want to go back to thinking about the `made’ aspects of a show. Is this appropriate in a piece that wants to discuss the real, the beautiful, surreal and brutal in nature?
There are places in the text where I haven’t written any notes I think means one of two things: either it’s so essential, it stands alone as a single and powerful element, or it has become set, background and something pretty I just couldn’t throw out. Throw out, is too harsh, I think I just need to file better. Somewhere I can go back to, but less clutter.
The jelly fish had become this, a pretty picture with not to carefully a thought through meaning. To work out if they are essential, or what about them, the qualities of them is more essential I took the extract of text they appear in and circled the parts I thought of importance, what I really want to explore in this section, what they represent, if anything.
I came up with the following words:
Wood, sand, bone, graveyard, ancient, devouring, digested, death, plastic (x2)
Face, hands, hair, eyes (also appear more than once.)
These words are very organic, natural, old, almost degraded, there is a sense of erosion, of aging of the body. The natural world here is something monstrous and consuming and very real, existing for eons, absorbing us with little importance to what it takes, my grandfathers eyes or no more poignancy to the natural world than a plastic bag or a beer can. Nature is not cruel; it just reminds us of how small we are, that we too are just another living thing.
So I think that the material used to make the jellyfish is important. The plastic bags that so closely resemble a living organism. Plastic bags that make me think about the environment, of waste and pollution, of the clinical, of hospital beds, a material that is hard to get rid of, that doesn’t easily degrade. I think I am interested in the displacement of an object/material from its normal reading. I want to make the plastic a thing of interest that appears living, a material so like a jellyfish. I am interested in ink as a material also for the same reasons. It makes me think of a leaking, an oozing, of dark deep sea creatures. I want to explore these kind of everyday materials that when framed a certain way can come to life and take the mind somewhere else.
Monday, 28 December 2009
Saturday, 26 December 2009
Thursday, 24 December 2009
Monday, 21 December 2009
Resting
I have been trying not to work for the past week, as it is Christmas and I am seeing family who this past year I haven't seen much of due to work. Not thinking about work, not relating every article, image or film back in some way to where your mind is focused is near impossible. For example I went for a coastal walk in France yesterday, it was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and there was snow on the mountains. I took my Camera with me to gather holiday photos I'd promised to show my Dad on my return to Norwich. Granted I was next to the sea, so my mind can't help but think of the show. I ended up taking over 500 photographs of the waves coming in and going out over the dark, grandious rock face. Flicking through the images I had made a little stilted film, captured in frames and began to wonder whether I might use some of this material in the show. This I can accept as work that was somewhat inevitable in a non working period, I did have my camera at hand and I was right on the edge of the cliff by the crashing sea... I was going to take some photos.
However my failure in not working started much earlier. I brought away with me only one book, a graphic novel I have wanted to read for a while, no theory books, only escapism hopefully. The illustrations reminded me of the images and tone of images I want to create in Silica, and there were a few chapters about the ocean but that is all, and goes back to what I was saying that when your mind is on something, everything you experience becomes linked back to that. I felt I succeeded here in reading to relax, the majority of the book is completely different to my work topics.
When your head is in something, it becomes a real strain to not bore your friends and family with all that you find exciting, mainly because they are never as fully absorbed in it as you, and I hear myself become repetitive and talking in abstracts that I can only understand because I know what I am thinking. I am determined, with this time of rest, to not talk too much about work, if at all. Whilst I believe talking things through is a fantastic way of broadening ideas, I also think they become tired; what excited me last week now seems like a relatively mundane idea. Resting the work seems important.
Going back to france, walking along the Port, there was the most beautiful chiming sound coming from the ropes of the Yachts, clanging against the boom of the boat. I'd toyed with the idea of putting a flag or boy, or big warning light into the design of the show. I wanted another sea sculpture object at the front near to the audience, one that was imposing yet dislocated from its real form. Seeing the booms and hearing them, I definately want to put in a sound sculpture of the boom: a very tall pole, with the rope attached and make a mechanism so that the rope moves as if it were being hit by the wind, making the sound in parts of the piece. I like the scale of the boom, and the fact it is only part of a boat, a suggestion of the water. Its shape is also powerful, towering above the audience, I also feel its absence from the boat suggests a sense of destruction, of danger perhaps. I am thinking that perhaps my warning light can be at the top of this mast, glowing and fading in parts of the piece... exciting thoughts for me! So once again, trying not to work I was working. I am having so much trouble shutting off, I can never relax, as if working on a project makes me feel like there is more of a purpose to things. This i s a slightly depressing realisation, but I see it around me a lot, in others working in Theatre and in my friends. Work is a funny thing, especially in the world of self employment. I would love to be able to settle into a week of not working, not thinking about it all, and then perhaps discover new ideas, fresh ones outside the realm of my current fixation with the sea and memory. And I will continue to try to relax, perhaps it just takes more time, it has been a hectic year.
However my failure in not working started much earlier. I brought away with me only one book, a graphic novel I have wanted to read for a while, no theory books, only escapism hopefully. The illustrations reminded me of the images and tone of images I want to create in Silica, and there were a few chapters about the ocean but that is all, and goes back to what I was saying that when your mind is on something, everything you experience becomes linked back to that. I felt I succeeded here in reading to relax, the majority of the book is completely different to my work topics.
When your head is in something, it becomes a real strain to not bore your friends and family with all that you find exciting, mainly because they are never as fully absorbed in it as you, and I hear myself become repetitive and talking in abstracts that I can only understand because I know what I am thinking. I am determined, with this time of rest, to not talk too much about work, if at all. Whilst I believe talking things through is a fantastic way of broadening ideas, I also think they become tired; what excited me last week now seems like a relatively mundane idea. Resting the work seems important.
Going back to france, walking along the Port, there was the most beautiful chiming sound coming from the ropes of the Yachts, clanging against the boom of the boat. I'd toyed with the idea of putting a flag or boy, or big warning light into the design of the show. I wanted another sea sculpture object at the front near to the audience, one that was imposing yet dislocated from its real form. Seeing the booms and hearing them, I definately want to put in a sound sculpture of the boom: a very tall pole, with the rope attached and make a mechanism so that the rope moves as if it were being hit by the wind, making the sound in parts of the piece. I like the scale of the boom, and the fact it is only part of a boat, a suggestion of the water. Its shape is also powerful, towering above the audience, I also feel its absence from the boat suggests a sense of destruction, of danger perhaps. I am thinking that perhaps my warning light can be at the top of this mast, glowing and fading in parts of the piece... exciting thoughts for me! So once again, trying not to work I was working. I am having so much trouble shutting off, I can never relax, as if working on a project makes me feel like there is more of a purpose to things. This i s a slightly depressing realisation, but I see it around me a lot, in others working in Theatre and in my friends. Work is a funny thing, especially in the world of self employment. I would love to be able to settle into a week of not working, not thinking about it all, and then perhaps discover new ideas, fresh ones outside the realm of my current fixation with the sea and memory. And I will continue to try to relax, perhaps it just takes more time, it has been a hectic year.
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