A Barefoot Residency..

An invitation to listen..

8 voices and a grand piano. I watch the piano’s breaks release and 2 men swiftly and incredibly ‘waltz’ it into the middle space. The image stays..

I listen to 4 pieces of music, and move around the church in the hope of catching the delayed sound at the end of each piece…a capturing game.

I leave silently whilst the singing continues.. and plan my return, to listen again. It may happen , the delay, the edge, the 3 second fracture of listening.

New routes and dust ..

a large empty space has appeared in the centre of the church. The floor is a carpet of dust pulling the sound beneath it like a quietening sheet. New lines are revealed, all leading to the edge..

I try to resist the urge to skip around it, but may not..

dust collects on the soles of my feet…a new field today.

I am able to walk in a wider circle. Labyrinths, crop circles..tracings..

My feet become cold. I think of ice, ice shoes, ice in churches, and watching Marina Abramovic’s seated performance amongst ice blocks and snakes..

quiet boundaries, holding breath.

and in comes a fly..just me and a fly.

A space of 20 days..

Remnants of easter lillies and basement voices, and the soundscape today is ‘spoken’ in long sentences of repair..

Acts of sifting through light and images, being drawn towards circular framing, liquid screen.

I project another ‘walk’, a previous act of trespass to incite connection both there and here.

There is an echo that I try to listen to, and in order to do this I resume the walking circle for a moment, just for a moment..

And then 2 people arrive to ‘order’ the flowers. scooping and sifting through dead heads, and I listen to the pouring of water.

He tells me of a choir practice and he says ‘ there is a three second delay when we sing, from the front to the back of the church. When we sing we can hear ouselves three seconds after we stop. we can still hear our voices at the back of the church’.

and I am invited to come and listen sometime..