In Certain Places

Are you doing jankers?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jankers

The nextdoor neighbour from the newsagent having another go. Looking into the shop saying you can’t see anything, (I don’t understand, there is ‘something’ in the shop, a visible thing) saying no more people coming into St. Johns. In the middle of our conversation/debate/argument he walks off to talk to someone else, rude.

Went to see Marina Abramovic presents (Dedicated to Tehching Hsieh) last night at the Whitworth, part of Manchester International Festival 09.

The other day eating my bacon butty from Galloways on the corner of St. Johns I watched the street cleaner cleaning the street in front of me. Using a grabber he was picking up other peoples discarded cigarette ends. He reached, squeezed, squeezed, squeezed again. One particular butt was proving to be particularly elusive and he kept on trying, I was thinking it’s got to be easier to pick it up (he’s wearing gloves). Finally, success. I go back to my butty. A couple minutes later I look down the street and I see cigarette butts, here and there. Quantum physics in action; me watching changed his behaviour. He could sense I was watching and didn’t want to give up, didn’t want me to witness him thinking ‘fuck it’ but once he’d succeeded and we were both satisfied the heat was off.

Can any female performance artist out there explain the prevalence of nakedness in female performance for me?

A man played with the remote control digger. I’ve set it up so that with the controls as close to the door as possible it would be impossible to knock the tunnel over. The man moved the empty rolls of tape around, against each other. Amusement arcade.

I’ve changed my mind, now I think I’ll make it so the tunnel can be knocked down by the remote controlled digger, more poignant.

Alex was awarded with a certificated for staying the full four hours at the Whitworth; I left at 22.40 and received no certificate.

I am in the back of the shop with the lights off, setting up a video camera so that I can film an hour at lunchtime, hopefully ‘to capture’ passers-by looking in. I try plugging in the power adapter and realise I’ve brought the wrong one. There is a couple sat on the bench in front of the shop and I can see that the woman is explaining to the man what I am doing. She is miming wrapping a plank of wood in hazard tape.

“What am I building?” “A sculpture” “What of?” “Does a sculpture have to be of something? What does it look like?” “A tunnel.” Beautiful. She explains she couldn’t read the magnets on the fridge door from where she was sat. She suggested wrapping the chairs, “and a table”, in hazard tape. I ummed and arghed but explained that even though that might connect the seats with the art, the seats weren’t the art but a facility. She asked about the text and I explained, “Cheap Chairs!” she said. Fantastic.

Another audience member asked if I thought artists with beards had more authority (I’ve had a shave). He said I didn’t have the towel last week then corrected himself to say it was folded differently!

A young girl asked if she could crawl through the tunnel. I said she could but if it fell on her whilst she was doing it then I could be sued. Her friend suggested I charge; we agreed the charge would have to be equivalent to the cost of insurance. She said she would sign a disclaimer, crawling consent.

I’ve hooked up sound. A Tom Waits sample with a sample from The Great Escpe. The headphones look lost on the seat. Philippa organises a plinth I can borrow from The Harris. A skip outside The Harris has two comfortable chairs in it, yes I can have them.

Back in the back of the shop I see someone picks up the headphones and listens. I go for a break and when I come back I know someone else has picked up the headphones because they are now ear down. I think about using speakers so that everyone can hear the sound. Is that more important than the idea, point about public/private space?

Where does copyright begin?

Rang Alice Booth this morning regarding Making Time opportunity. I needed to find out if I had been shortlisted as I have an Assessment day to be a Bike Club Officer for CTC (first rule of Bike Club…..) tomorrow to be followed, if successful, by an interview in Birmingham on Friday which is the same day as the interviews for Making Time. I didn’t get it. She didn’t want to tell me, she said she’d email me in an hour or so. I explained the reason why I needed to know so I could let the other people (CTC) know and explained that I was away from a computer. She still didn’t want to tell me so I assumed that meant unsuccessful. I realised, ‘it dawned on me’, that if I was on the shortlist she would have remembered my name and it would be easy to say so.

Instant depression. Whittling wood (c5000 sticks) for a year sounds good to me but I didn’t actually say that was what I was going to do. Left it open, which in hindsight, aaarrrrgggghhhh. Then I start thinking it’s all down to who you know, I mean, I know Charles and Elaine….

Depression turns to disappointment to realisation/actualisation I am doing art, being creative. I am grateful for the opportunity, it’s all good.

“You’ve got that down to a fine art.”

The guy from the newsagent nextdoor wants to know what I am doing, how much it costs, who’s paying for the lights – he says his service charges will go up. I say something about he’d be paying service charges if the shops were empty. He wants to have a closer look, I ask him not to touch. The first thing he does is touch it, gently, just to see how stable it is. He comes out and asks whens it going to be open, I explain that it isn’t going to be ‘open’ for the reason he’s just demonstrated. He smiles.

I told Charles (one of the ICP Team) about the lady saying too much art in Preston already and he read it as a positive; the work of In Certain Places working, being noticed.

I’ve edited interview with Charles and Elaine, two of ICP team, for radio show on Preston FM 103.2FM Tuesday 14th July 18.00-19.00.

Music to include Tom Waits, The Specials and The The.