Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Post hurricane postcard

I am sending you this post-Hurricane postcards as a homage to conceptual artist On Kawara, who once sent a series of postcards to his art dealer stating the time/date and this message: “I am still alive.”




Time unknown, date unknown  “I am still alive and kicking.”

P.S No Power. No water. Lots of art. So much laughter.


Saturday, August 27, 2011

My Hurricane has a name.

Irene.

In my head tapes I keep singing the Dixies Midnight Runners song "Come on Eileen". Of course I sing "Come on Irene" but i just googled the lyrics to see if I could do something entertaining with them and its about something that I wasn't aware of, so I'll leave the musical appropriation it in my headtapes. 

Is it on your news? There's a hurricane heading my way - yes a cyclone. New York has shut down it's entire subway system and bus service and evacuated residence from certain area. I'm about 10 min from New London and we are getting ready.


actually Im still 24 hr drawing but around me they are preparing:

filling sinks/baths/bottles with water
finding flash lights
charging anything that plugs in
writing out emergency numbers
getting beds for everyone in the main house
opening the basement door.

In preparation I have told two darling French ladies to take the list of residence names to the basement and find me if I'm not in the basement before they lock the doors. It took me 24 hours to get out of Oz, I don't want to be whipped back there by a hurricane. 


Gotta be quick there's a hurricane coming

Wednesday Thursday Friday things happened - more on that later.

Today I needed to stop.
and look.

Look in slow motion, look attentively, look as a process, look with wonder. I know a way to do this, but don't hold it against me given that my post about the unknowing I'm using a process that I know very well to explore looking. The 24 hour Drawing Project. Its just a useful tool. The premise is you start and finish a work in a continuous 24 hour period, its an exercise in endurance, tha action of making, and a chance often to simply spend some concentrated time on a small idea that you don't have time to investigate when the demands of exhibiting are competing with the demands of creativity.

Its hour 8 of the drawing project and I have gathered random samples of plants to look at. Im drawing them with two hands but I never look at the page. The drawing is a by-product, its the gathering of visual information through experience and into my memory bank that I'm focusing on.



Me drawing.


The by-product/drawing


I didn't bring any materials so I am using things from the paper recycling alos found some post-it notes in the kitchen and a few biro's around the place.



Views and viewing


From outside looking into my studio, it's picturesque and calm.




From within me, inside my studio looking out. The view is unclear and calm.


Friday, August 26, 2011

Unknowing


Some books fall on your head. They get knocked off a top shelf and the corner of the hard spine smacks your skull. When you pick it up, the action of peeling opening the book is like clawing your fingers into a small crack in your mind and prying it open. Not so open that your brain falls out but a gap that lets the breeze in.

Such was my experience of ‘Options with Nostrils’ which contains an essay by Dieter Roelstraete titled ‘A room with many doors’. Dieter is the founder of the ‘Office of Unknowing’ and writes that our longing for art is “to be shown the very limits of understanding” and that when we are defeated by knowing (which is different from understanding but you can read the book if you want to find out more), what is left of the experience of art is wonder.

Normally when I work overseas, I am meticulous organised. I have the work ready to go, I am rehearsed, prepared, ready. I have back up plans, I know what I need and how to get it, I know how to deal with the unexpected, I know where the nearest exist are.

I came to the I-park residency with 2 plans:

Plan A: Do exactly what I always do
Plan B: Don’t have a plan

Somebody else’s heart attack made my mind up about which option to choose and so here I am at I-park with ‘Options with Nostrils’ being not only an object of brain splitting ability but a lullaby to my fear about doing Plan B - the unknown.


Foraging

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Martha says hi Mum




I just got back from seeing Martha Wainwright play a gig. Let me paint the picture a little... 


She was playing at the Copper Union Hotel. Sounds like a dive bar right - something akin to the Inkerman Hotel. But oh no no. it was a swanky pants hotel, on the top floor, part of the penthouse suit in fact. Picture a glass room half
the the size of our house, 25 floors above the east village, with 3 walls (thats a 360 minus 90 degree view - more if you lean around the railing) which looks out over the vast Manhattan night. (do you understand the vastness? go up the Eureka tower then do some maths number thing that makes melbourne look many times bigger, then squish it like a bit of clay so the width gets thinner and the height gets fatter, then do that mental biggering thing again Yx X +++++Z, ok close engough).



I's surprisingly hushed up there, surprising for the cacophony that is NY. It's balmy and still and wonderful. On the horizon you can watch the flight patterns of plans landing at JFK its hypnotic. The walls all open out onto decking, there's a small bar, about 50 people. And Martha. She sings a casual little acoustic gig for 2 hours. and she sings in a whisper that stills you. 




ah










With so few people around and no backstage for her to exit to, I wondered over to her to thank her. It's NYC after all, so these things happen. It was nice we had a chat, I told her how i discovered her. My Mum had arrived late to an exhibition of mine,  she explained she had sat in the car and listened to 'that song about her dad', and my mum was blown away. I have hundreds of memories of my mum dancing to music but i don't know that i have ever heard her talk about a song like she did that night. 


She didn't sing 'that' song for me but here it is anyway (Some people probably shouldn't listen to this)







MOMA

I became a member of MOMA this week. I'm not normally a joiner but apparently I was buying so many art books that if I paid the $60 membership they would refund my $20 entry and give me 20% off all my books and return the books I'd already brought and buy them at a member rate, and cause id had lunch they would give me 20% back fro that- it would be so cheap they'd have to pay me to walk out.

Ok, there was Maths involved, I didn't really understand the numbers bit. It just sounded like an impossible temptation that meant i could enter a utopia that is real it exists now, in the bricks and mortar world and not in a magical realism manifesto. This utopia was named Unlimited Access. It's a beautiful beautiful place - so i went to MOMA 3 times.

And I'm euphorically happy.

My new best friend Dougals Huebler - a square of sawdust photographed every hour as it gets walked over. How have i not seen this before!!!



Me and Michelangelo Pistoletto (also Andy and Marilyn in the very far background) 

Murder and minatures


I want to tell you about a thrillingly terrifying, perplexing then surprising, immersive on a scale you cant imagine, performance adventure of Macbeth that I went to see but first I need to tell you about an exhibition of miniatures at the New Art and Design museum, because that, my dears, is where the theatrical unreal/real experience of wonder began.

With the majority of galleries and museums closed for the summer the pickings of what to see are a little slim. Slim by New York’s standards is still 40 or 50 more kilos fatter than the picking’s in Melbourne, so I have still been getting about to a decent number of galleries. But oddly there was a miniature show on that my friend was super keen to see – it’s hard to understand why artists who live in the city don’t just want to go to MOMA every day of the week but hey, off we went to the New Art and Design museum which was exhibiting dioramas. Ridiculously precise renditions of artists studios, hair salons, itty bitty villages frozen under ice, a violin makers workshop and library all with tiny people and teeny books the world shrunken with a ray gun was there. The one small problem I have with dioramas is that Im not  singularly impressed by craftsmanship, I always want a bit of content in there, something more to think about than just “Man that’s small.” A couple of pieces in this show did stand out – a reduced scale skyscraper just slightly taller than the average person, in which you could view from one single window an open plan austere office. But the office stretched out to a far distant horizon seemingly miles away, which makes you mover back and visually measure the outer dimensions of the skyscraper again. Also at one single desk was a hologram of a rotating ghost chair, it was captivating how your mind knew that the office was small but visually it just looked bigger, it was both miniature and vast and it undid logic in my brain. A different work which had us gasping, laughing and repeatedly saying “NOOOOO. Really??? Ahhhh oh my god what?” was made up of 2 strips of tiny LED’s in a short single file down the wall, it looked not surprisingly just like 2 strips of tiny LED’s in a short single file down the wall until you walked passed it without looking directly at it, then BAM you could see a 3D eye blinking at you or the word “See”. Perception is a perplexing thing and I love to art that contradicts my expectations. 

But lets get to the peak of excitement in the story.

Later that evening we went to a performance called ‘Sleep no more’. The premise was that it was a postmodern version of Macbeth in which scenes are acted out in different locations and the audience moves around the venue at there own discretion. We arrived at 11pm and were told to check in our bags, jumpers or jackets, phones, cameras etc, we entered a long long labyrinthine deep black maze which ended up in a cozy dark jazz club. At this point you are firmly separated from your friends, ushered into a small room where you are told that you are no longer allowed to speak, that you must wear a mask at all times and that you must explore this alone, that there will be others with black masks who are not there to guide you and that you will be rewarded for your curiosity! They then shuffled a group of you into a lift and deposited you on different floors. 

Oh no – what’s going to haaaaapen to me!

The set was a hotel circa 1940’s. Let me say that again the set was … an entire hotel. About 6 stories high with never ending corridors, hundreds of rooms, false rooms with in rooms and darkness was every where and the music was an intensely load horror movie genera sound track. Every inch of the building was a highly crafted meticulous set, there were secret passages, doors got locked behind you, sometimes other audience people would enter a room but you would get locked out, at first I cynically thought “oh this is like a walking ghost train, or a house of horrors type of thing”, but the shear scale of it and the Macbeth-ness of it consumed you. It was as if the dioramas from earlier in the day had grown up around us and we tentatively felt our way through, watched, discovered, and missed 3 hours of the essence of Macbeth.

These are some of the things I expereienced:
a child’s room deserted and dusty, one wall was made of dark glass and when you pressed your nose against it you could faintly see an exact replica of the child’s room on the other side but… the sheets were bloody stained,
A dance piece on a four poster bed – the persuasion of Lady Macbeth
A dance in which Lady Macbeth
Many many scenes of people washing shirts, towels, walls and sheets in strange space a clock rooms, in hospital wards, in bath tubs.
A detective offices with filing cabinets full of records you can read
Mental wards
Psychiatric offices
Interrogation rooms
A candy store where you could eat anything you wanted
A foggy moor the size of school gymnasium with a labyrinth that makes you feel like you’re destined for the mental institution
A graveyard, complete with an earth floor and ruined buildings and so dark you stub your toes and cant see the end of the room
Information every where notes, letters, posters, messages scratch inside draws, diaries of book shelves – hard to know what was relevant and what was not, but you could read it all.
A ballroom that I couldn’t get out of no matter how many different exists I tried to escape from, the first time a stage was set with a long white clothed table and at it sat 8 actors in slow motion violence and excess at this point about 40 audience members had appeared at the same time. The next time I went in there it was a forest of Christmas trees and not a single audience member in site.

Everything moment felt suspenseful violent and passionate and bloodied and gruesome and sinister and insane and intense. But Macbeth isn’t a rom com is it.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

3 walks


1. a walk in space.
2. a mind walks
3. a walk in New York city. 

Elastic City is an art walking tour. But not your average ‘let me lead you around a gallery and explain art to you” kind of tour. Instead, they are walks created by artists to make audiences active participants in poetic experiences of a city. ‘Solar Alignment’, my space walk of the day was invented by local artists Neil Freeman which claimed to explore the way the sun synchronizes with the city, but actually delivered much more. The walk physically covered just a few blocks of the east village/china town/little italy, but mentally took us out of the neighbourhood, out of NYC, out of the country and into the vast sublime of the solar system. Our time was spent watching the sky, and the sun and the light and shadows move behind and over the city, but with each of these moments you became acutely aware that it was us, on this plant that was moving, not the sun. When you standing still for long enough you can see your shadow moving in tiny increments, BUT it isn’t moving at all - the earth is moving under it. Now I know that you all know this – the earth revolves around the sun big deal. But it’s very rare to have this knowledge so well illuminated that you see it and you feel it. Instead of feeling like we were 5 people walking along the sidewalk, we were 5 people standing on a planet, in space, within a solar system. It was a delight to talk and wlak and look and be surprised. It also gives me a kind of vertigo that makes me want to grip tightly onto something made of steel and cement. Don’t stop spinning world, I like gravity.

Walk 2 was located in an extensive exhibition of Francis Alys’ performative walks pieces at MOMA. It largely comprised of video, drawings, notes and diagrams that recorded his many many walks, so ironically I spent the entire afternoon sitting down in dark theatres and at small tables while I imagined his walks, here is a sample of my favourite video, which was both humours and poetic in its exploration of isolation and belonging:

- 64 Coldstream guards (you might know them as Beefeaters with the big black fuzzy hats) enter the city of London by different streets, unaware of one another’s route.
- The gurads wander through the city looking for each other
-  Upon meeting they fall into step and march together, looking for more gurads to join up with.
- When a square measuring 8 x 8 gurads has been built, the complete formation marches towards the closets bridge
- As they step onto the bridge, the guards break step and disperse.

And also this one...

"Sometimes making something turns into nothing."
In this walk he pushes a massive block of ice around the streets of mexico until it melts - oh the futility of creativity!





After all my mind blowing walking, I decided to hop off the subway 10 blocks early and digest my day of wandering and wondering, in the twilight and in the rain.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Where is the art?

Its 5am. Coffee. Other things come to mind but mainly just that ... coffee.

I've been chatting this morning to the guys from I-Park in the USA about my residency there, coffee. It was an early call. Coffee. It's not yet dawn, but it was wonderful to talk about the work I want to make and comforting to hear how organised and supportive they are but also how open they are to artists processes and the development of work. I like them already. I like them like coffee. They provide food but I forgot to ask about coffee. hmmmm... I might need to organise that myself. And the house and studios sound wonderful. They asked me what time I like to get up. I said 10am. At 10:01 I have coffee.

I miss not being in the studio at the moment. I've noticed my agitation and restlessness at not making anything for a month - you have probably just notice that nothing arty has happened on the blog. Perhaps its the longest I've gone without making work. Coffee could help with that calculations. Some days its not just agitation it's a simmering distress like a caged animal that starts gnawing at its own leg. I'm pleading with the world "Enough with all the paper work!' "Stop sending me emails and forms".

RIP
Hannah Bertram formally know as 'The artist'
Cause of Death: Bureaucracy

Or maybe it wasn't the paper that killed her, but the balls that killed her? Remember that ad that was out a while ago, with all those coloured bouncy balls. They get released at the top of the hill and bounce all out of control and crazy like down the street. It looked like fun in the ad, but in life when your insanely busy and you 'drop the ball' or in my case 'balls' it's not fun. (coffee could also help to extend my early morning vocabulary). This week I have apologised to more people then I may have apologised to in my whole life. "Dear So-and-so, I'm really sorry I missed the meeting last week" ... "Dear So-and-so, I'm really sorry I haven't got around to sending you the catalogue images" .... "Dear So-and-so, I'm sorry.. "  "I'm sorry" "I'm sorry" "I'm sorry". Its quite humbling to have to be apologetic and to daily admit your flaws to people. Still, I'd rather have everything under control. I'd rather drink instant coffee with powdered milk than drop balls.

I'd rather be in the studio.