I was in Polegate today, which is a town near Eastbourne, in Sussex. I found this completely flattened and very rusty tin can on the grass verge by the side of the road.
It set me thinking about flatness and three-dimensionality. And about bodies I suppose. And their transposition into images.
Photography.
What an alien concept to me.
The visual.
What does that mean?
And why if we inhabit fleshed out, rounded bodies, would we ever think of making flat images? I know, it's something to do with the retina and all.
Flat Stanley.
A children's book about a boy whose noticeboard falls onto him in the night and he wakes up with as a two dimensional person. And then he has adventures as a 2-D person in a 3-D world.
How can the images that Hirschhorn has chosen for his banner have the visceral impact on us that they do have? What is the process whereby animal fear is generated by looking at pictures of dead and mutilated people? I'm not really interested in the neurological answers to these questions. But rather in the part that imagination plays in that process.
Imag(e) in a(c)tion.
