Stating/Showing

Is this the place for duplication?

Image directories. One image holds the centre of the next image, this image gives away its centre as it knows its own centre will have space on the image that comes after. This is another form of collaboration. I do believe:

An old sculpture trail

“This is a triangulated object that helps us focus. Existing in time, in and around the changing colour of leaves, it changes with each perspective that is happened upon it – it is no sociological structure just an object for precise contemplation…”

What of this object then? How can it act as a point in direct collaboration and why? And why would anyone care as half the time it is just covered in leaves? This photograph is very orange – you need to change the white-balance on it – it looks old… too old.

“It will work as a point of collaboration as it is a formal pyramid with four sides. Each side a reflection of the respective other – a geometric representation of the actuality that happens during collaboration. A propensity object. Each side is the same, but as you turn slowly around the concrete pyramid you notice imperfections that spell out differences. There are indeed many differences that this photograph does not depict – in many ways this is a romanticised representation of the object and its specific location. For one thing the object is framed yet again by the camera’s eye – a direct response to the perspective of the viewer…”

How do you mean it is a romanticised version?

“Well, what you do not see in this image is the two people dressed in patterned dialogue. One holding a stick, the other precariously wearing high heels muddied by the turf. These two people have the collaborative ability to de-familiarise the object… so take a long hard stare. At the photograph that is not the object in front of you. Take your stare and keep it – the next time the object is framed and shot it will be entirely different.”

How will it be different?

“Lets just say it will be something like standing on your head…”

Enclosure

The first studio I had was a room without windows that had two strip lights, which resonated with a communicative buzz. I used it as a room of reflection and an enclosure to let loose my wide collection of bouncy balls:

If I happen to be incommunicado it is not my fault. I am in writing jail – a self-set constraint where I retreat in to four walls, feed off their flatness and project ideas back on to the key board resting on my desk. Ideas are bouncing around all over the place; I find it hard to stop for breath or for water of for Spanish meats.

A friend of mine is off on a week’s meditation retreat in the bowels of Western Scotland. I am jealous of her power to jump on an bus sharing the destination of others, arrive and then be absolute in the solidarity of her own mind and the connections therein. Sometimes I make up the practice of meditating. The last time I visited home my mother was preparing to move out: I was laying across her bed watching her pack – I picked up a supplementary magazine from the weekend paper flicked through its pages and found a relaxation technique spelled out in a sidelined column referencing ‘ways to deal with stress’, it said: “… breath in for four seconds through your nose, then breath out through your mouth for another seven seconds”. This is well practiced within these four walls, I count in and out envisioning waves on a beach swelling in 1 2 3 4 and… swelling out… 1 2 3 4 5 6 7. I imagine the words associated with migraine and anxiety washing away to drown in the sea.

One: I hit the desk with the heels of my hands just above the wrists, my fingers flayed like antenna projecting out towards the walls around me.

Two: I am a bat loosening my thoughts and waiting for the return of measured displacement with my eyes closed. I am in the dark until their return.

Three: I feel the crochet under my feet and liken it to crotal lichen. I am otherwise here as well as there. I am beyond the walls as well as within them, using their divide as a platform to frame and otherwise throw ideas at, bouncing too and fro.

Four: I slowly clench my toes and my fingers tightening the hole of my mouth waiting for immanent exhale. It works and my back is aligned with my neck as the rear of my head arches to allow the tip of my nose to face the ceiling.

One: I realise the ceiling is not there, instead there is sky, my process of meditative state seems to have worked.

Two: through my mouth I begin to blow a balloon filling it with helium that is reverent to my elevated state.

Three: this balloon begins to lift me, still attached to my throat, and my body tears away from its seat. My wrists leave the desk; my feet leave the patterned floor.

Four: I get so far and something stays my flow as I begin to run out of breath. But I push on anyway hoping for more. The balloon’s size increases but exponentially, soon its volume will reach its plateau matching the capacity of my lungs.

Five: the peak is reached. The ceiling manifests and returns to hold me within. I bounce gently against it and then settle as if the room has been turned upside down, filled with water and I have gently floated to the bottom.

Six: my potential weight takes over and I start to reduce in height – I prepare myself for landing, I retrace my steps making note of each second in the elapsed time. I will repeat the process and perhaps the ceiling will remain gone.

Seven: my last second and I feel the magnetic pull of the desk, my seat, the floor and its crafted edging, pink, purple, blue, red, yellow, green with intersecting faded white squares. I don’t open my eyes – I return to my exacting and grounded formation. And I repeat the process again.

Spelling herbs: Basel is Blackford hill and beyond

Well, what sits on the window cil matches the mood green outside. At the top of the hill on the top floor the coffee machine whistles away and so does the wind outside, you wouldn’t think we were about to break in to summer, or is what used to be mid Lothian (now Edinburgh) always like this? Perhaps its just written in the script. The clouded sky does bring out different levels of green though, which I quite like. The same greens that are Basel, Coriander, Parsley, more Basel, Thyme, more Coriander, and some Lettuce – all fighting for their own light.

It begins to rain again slightly, one or two drops fastened against the window. This matches the sound of the fridge next to me as it extracts the warm air from inside leaving a fairly cold temperature. This method of extraction is also like leaving the flat and confronting the rain. Its probably colder inside than out.

There is a red leafed tree sat just beyond the green line of trees just below the window. This colour matches a plant I once had in my possession, bought from Homebase on 15% off day. A wonderful purple-y red and leaves like velvet. I used this as a prop in a film piece I made starring myself. That was in Glasgow and I remember holding the plant, still wrapped in its plastic, and clambering on the train with my other props at Haymarket station. This was around a month ago now.

The gallery where these props were filmed alongside myself is just off George Square in the centre of Glasgow. Its a tricky one way system to get to the correct street and luckily my friend has a nippy 70s soft top to manoeuvre there. I enlisted her help in exchange for an apple juice to help me pick up the props after the exhibition: she kindly agreed and we drove back to her place afterwards lifting the plant – now out of its wrappings flourishing with its colours – from the car and taking it in to her ground floor bedsit.

The plant now lives in the bedsit and this little bit of colour that resides in Edinburgh, just outside of my window enclosed within the tree, now lives in Glasgow’s west end near the Kelvingrove museum.

My friend is from South Queensferry and detests Edinburgh as the city she had to return to from London after study. Since I moved East she has not been too visit me. But yesterday, like a character from an Iris Murdoch novel, she crept back in to my life. She knocked on my flat door I let her in and she sat at my kitchen table, in the seat where I now sit writing this. It felt displaced, she said “its just like your old flat in Glasgow, but in Edinburgh”. With her usual expectant hunger I fed her.

I begin to think of partnerships now. I have realised quite recently that my drawings and perhaps my films and performances – under the guise of ‘collaboration’ – are in fact an exploration of partnerships.

Soon we will return north in the same 70s soft top. But its raining pretty heavy now and the slick black leather roof would leak…