It is silent and I am sitting in front of the window watching a light, almost imperceivable, snow fall. There is a bank of old cinema chairs and a projector here in my room – traces of last night’s presentation of Fenu’s film. On my way to the kitchen I saw that some of the objects that I had arranged in the windowsill at the end of the corridor had fallen – not surprising they were rather precariously balanced. The kitchen is a mess. Last night was a success!
I think that everyone is pleased with how the evening went – a slow start that gradually become a relatively good size crowd that engaged with the works and with us, some of whom followed us in to town for a late night drink. It is going to take take time for me to think through and reflect on the evening … actually I feel as though I want thoughts and reflections to come to me in their own time … rather than actively seeking to call them up. One thing that I can say now though is that I am very pleased that I made the last minute decision to make a piece that had I had almost not dared to do for fear of it not working and me becoming terribly disappointed.
The piece was quite simply to place tea-light candles in a number of ’windows’ in the abandoned building that Sorcha, Kristjan, Lidija, Fenu, and I had explored over a week ago. I choose to place candles in nine of the large square apertures on each of the second, third, and fourth floors of the four floor building. The nine illuminated window holes corresponded to the nine windows of the fifth-floor room where Sorcha and I were exhibiting in this building. At just before 6pm I borrowed Lidija’s head-torch and headed over to the dark shell of the building and them methodically went from room to room – starting at the top left hand corner. I brushed away the centimetre of soft snow that sat on the bricks and placed a lit tea-light in a white paper cup in the middle of the window hole. My work there complete I came back to the main building, took off my coat and boots and very tentatively went over to the window to see if the installation … intervention(?) … was visible. The reflections in the double glazed windows made it difficult to make out the rows of tiny pricks of light several hundred meters away – if I had not know exactly what I was looking for I could not have seen it. However if I opened the openable portion of the window and turned my head a little to the left the pattern of lights was bright and clear. The piece took on an unexpected intimacy as I invited first Sorcha and then visitors to the window which I opened for them. As the number of visitors grew they took it upon themselves to invite their friends to the window which they then opened or was left open between a group of visitors.
For me the piece worked in many different ways – it evoked both formal and personal responses. For all it’s simplicity it significantly expanded the size and scale of the presentation/exhibition, it created another type of spatiality. The tiny glowing forms of the cups appeared to float in the darkness – indicating the presence of something not visible. It recalled the reassurance of seeing the lights of home on a winter night as much as it recalled the flicking candles of vigils and cultural commemorations. It was at once comforting and melancholic. As the evening drew to a close the candles extinguished and the lights died.
In the taxi home from the bar Kaspars said again how much he liked the piece, and that means a great deal to me. I want to acknowledge here Sorcha’s simple and definite encouragement – without even knowing what my ’last minute thing’ might be. In between these two distinct moments I can possibly identify … distill(?) what this residency has given me … restored in me … and that is quite simply – faith.
I miss my morning runs. Running indoors is not at all the same, it does not do the same things as running outdoors does. Running indoors feels static even though I am moving – the air is still. I am not a fan of still air, all the time that I lived in Enköping there was always at least one window a little open – usually three, the bedroom and/or kitchen windows only being closed when it was particularly windy and the sound of things rattling kept me awake. Static rooms and static air make me feel static – as though the air is thick and lacking energy. This morning I will walk to the shop – it will not be the same as running but it will get me out of the building and into the fresh air. It has not snowed since last week but the temperatures have remained just below zero and I noticed while walking yesterday that there is now a layer of ice beneath the surface of snow. This is not something to be running on without studded running shoes.
With the presentation this evening I had imagined having free time over weekend and had thought that I would go to some museums, see more of the city, and go to the fabric shops. I had not expected that we would be making another overnight trip to the countryside and having another workshop. The museums I can visit on Sunday but I might not have the opportunity to get to the fabric shops. The idea of dashing in to town at some point today is not appealing … I want unhurried time if I am going to choose fabric and trimmings to take back to Sweden … so perhaps that will not be possible. Over the time here I have collected(?) … picked up(?) … odd materials: two pieces of burnt timber from the beach, some feathers from a walk, an unusually spherical stone, two pairs of mussel shells, and what I guess is a shattered screen from a monitor found on a run. There is also the paper packaging from bags of oats and bars of chocolate bearing foreign (exotic??) names and words that a I do not understand. There are some materials that I found around the building that I thought might be part of an installation but are not: three identical art nouveau inspired lampshades, a chromed plastic washing machine door trim and another piece of chromed plastic, possibly a handle, that Lidija found and gave me on the way back from a bar one evening, a pair of wooden fillials(?) and wall mounts from a curtain pole that I am now using with one of the flag pieces. What to do with these treasures? Certainly I can photograph them (individually and/or collectively) but to what purpose? Do I present them along with the flags and placards in the installation? Should they be arranged and shown elsewhere? Were they simply part of my process here … have they served their purpose? Do I see if they fit in my suitcase? Perhaps Sunday could be better spent playing with these materials …
Three flags completed and installed in the room on the fifth floor. The room is not how I had expected it to be … it is far better! Sorcha is also presenting her process(?) … outcome(?) … material(?) – I shall have to ask her how she describes what she does. She begun placing things in the room while I made the flags which I then took upstairs. We chatted as we worked in the room. I leaned one flag against a wall and was struggling with placing the second … it would need fixing to the wall and/or floor if it was going to be adjacent to the first. I was reluctant to make such a permanent placement while the room as a whole was still evolving. Sorcha mentioned that she prefers to utilise the architecture and features of the room rather than additional fittings in order to position pieces – being guided by the room itself. She left the room temporarily … and then it occurred to me – ask Sorcha to include my pieces in her installation/curation. She was obviously a little taken aback by the suggestion that I immediately and perhaps too enthusiastically presented on her return. Concerned that I might not like what she might do I assured her that I was interested in handing over control and was very interested to see what she would do. In talking with her about the idea I realised that an opportunity to try something like this is exactly what the residency offers – to be honest I probably would not ask such a thing if it was a gallery show, but here it feels right to take risks and to play. The more we spoke the more convinced I became that it was important for me to do this. Sorcha quietly warmed to the idea and subtly moved to where an unattractive bundle of cables hung against the wall dangling form half removed conduit circumferencing the ceiling. We had not reach any conclusion as to what to do with the cables in out earlier conversation – we agreed they were ugly and distracting. She put an arm through the bundle, bent her knees and I think I saw her bounce a little. She was testing the weight she explained … she thought that I could use the cables to hold one of the flagpoles. It is not something that would have occurred to me … and the it works brilliantly.
The third flag, which I had ’assumed’ would lean against the same wall, in now on the opposite of the room resting on a radiator. It was my placement but completely inspired by Sorcha’s approach. I was pleased to see that later on she was re-arranging the way in which the fabric laid on the floor.
Yesterday I washed four loads of found fabrics: promotional fleece blankets, a shawl, a double bedsheet, a piece of net curtain, and three quilted mattress protectors. I was excited to make flags from all of these … first I thought of single colour flags – red, black, and white, then I favoured cutting the fabrics and assembling stripes and/or triangles. This morning I thought it wise to check existing red, black, and white flags. There was nothing particularly alarming but paying attention to my own need to know if I could be reproducing a national symbol made me realise that other people would probably also read the flags as referring to somewhere or something – which is not my intention. I took a step back and returned to the idea of single colour flags – that was until Andreas (Andreas Ribbung – the third visiting artist) said without hesitation red for socialism, black for anarchy, and white for peace. It was not difficult at all to decide that the red and black fabric could be excluded.
I would not, could not, say that these two episodes can be called collaborative – well perhaps the first was a little collaborative but they are interesting in testing out inviting other artists in to my process(es).
I got distracted this morning and now write this after my run rather than before. While running – up and down the five flights of stairs and lengths of the basement – I found myself wondering if porridge could be an artistic material: raw oats from the bag, or the gelatinous (?) cooked oats?
Porridge has been my regular breakfast since arriving here. I was offered it almost immediately I first set foot in the communal kitchen. Seeing the price of thick yogurt, nuts, and seeds here made me realise that I could not afford my usual breakfast here. So I reverted to porridge which had been my staple from the time I moved to Sweden to about three years ago. Thinking about lessening the distinctions that I make between the art and non-art aspects of my life no doubt led to this thought momentarily crossing my mind. It might well be a step too far … but has sparked a few more questions about how we (I!) have learnt, been taught, to follow patterns and conventions: these stuffs are for making art, these stuffs are for making food. Children don’t naturally make those distinctions … we are taught … and are rewarded with praise when we don’t play with food. Food is of course a precious commodity, and it is an increasingly political issue with the rise of living costs.
I do not think that I am about to start making porridge sculptures … though on the other hand why not see what is possible with the material … I do think however that my time here is leading me to (re)consider habitual patterns and ways of being. Yesterday I felt very at ease with things – myself, others, being here, collecting, making, testing, questioning, playing, wondering, chatting, laughing. It was quite simply a good day. It felt natural and easy to ask Kaspars about getting some basic tools even a sewing machine – which he has very kindly borrowed from his mother. I enjoyed starting to sort things out in one of the larger rooms on the fifth floor – some of the things that I had thought about didn’t work out, other things came to mind as I laid things out.
Later in the day there was a question in the group chat: was it one of us who had left stuff in the room – photo attached. It was interesting for me to notice that I answered that yes it was me without feeling either guilty or stupid – two of my usual reactions to having been ’caught’ doing something that I should not have being, even if I did not know that I should not have been doing it! The room had been shown to us as a potential presentation space the week before so it I didn’t think that I need to ask about it again – I had enquired as to whether anyone else in our group was interested in using it. Turns out that the organisation who control the whole building didn’t know that we had been shown the room – mis- or lack of communication but not on my side. It felt good not to take on issues that while involving me do not belong to me. I simply apologised and it took only a few minutes for me to move the things down to my room. After dinner the subject came up as a few of us sat around the table in the kitchen. Again I felt that I was part of a general discussion about the sometimes tense situation between the residency and the building managers. It feels as though I am in a good place and am able to distinguish between things that belong to me and things that do not – I see this as I good sign, I sign that I am comfortable and confident with who I am here. Perhaps this is what happens after two weeks in a Black Hole
I had not counted on it snowing during the residency – an oversight as I did not bring either studs for my running shoes nor sufficient warm layers of running wear. Compounded by increasingly late sunrises I realise that I have probably run my last run here. The forecast for the coming week shows nothing above zero … perhaps a sunny -1 will be enough to melt the snow and provide the opportunity for run on the last weekend – that would be nice. In the meantime I shall shift my morning routine and do some much needed stretching. I cannot imagine my life without regular physical exercise … how do my fellow artists here feel in their bodies?
My days here are quite different from those of the other artists … I am at the other end of many different spectra – the earliest to rise, the earliest to go to bed, the ones who drinks the least, the one who does (the most/some) physical exercise. The other artist who is in his fifties is a heavy smoker and drinker … though often the second to rise. The other artist who drinks in moderation and is the youngest, she is also a non-smoker. This situation is not so unusual, I am used to being on the edge … at a distance from the majority of artists’ lives … in my own orbit.
Yesterday I spent a surprisingly (to myself) long time at the Riga fashion museum – Modes Muzejs. Despite having a modest collection of perhaps no more than 40 garments on display it kept me engaged and intrigued for nearly three hours. I have now seen a dress from the house of Charles Worth – the creator of what is now haute couture (it was Worth who first sewed labels bearing his name into garments, he was the first to show his collections on models, the street where he established his ateljé became the centre of Parisian … read ’global’ … fashion). I have learned about Watteau pleats, seen exquisite embroidery and beadwork form the eighteenth hundreds, as well as pieces by Chanel, Schiaparelli, Balenciaga, Halston, Ralph Lauren, Jean Paul Gaultier, Thierry Mugler, and Alexander McQueen as well as designers who were new to me such as Gustav Bear, Paul Poiret, and Rudi Gernreich. Often I was the only person in one of the three rooms – sometimes in the whole museum. Although I am fascinated by tailoring it was the draperi and embellishment that I found most inspiring … thinking not so much about how the garments might work when worn but rather how the pleats, folds, drapes, and forms worked now … static … as I encountered them … what could I learn for my own work, for the flags?
The museum shop was full of substantial monographs, surveys, and thematic publications … if I had unlimited resources and unrestricted baggage allowance I would have spent a fortune. As it was I went back to the very glamorous and helpful staff at the entrance and asked for their tips on local fabric shops. They recommended two (one each) on the same street a short distance from the city centre. I am going to use the remainder of the ’culture award’ that I got to buy fabric, and possibly some braids, ribbons, and fringes to take home with me.
Modes Muzejs
