Week 35 – Amy Stephens – August 31-September 6

12096235_10156151170120181_8789224296981707273_n“I left my heart in San Francisco,” crooned Tony Bennett. I once left my cashcard in Llandudno. There is also an artistic tradition of people deliberately leaving things in art galleries.

Duchamp perfected the objet trouvé, inventing the “ready-made” by exhibiting unaltered everyday objects designated as art. It’s less clear who if anyone invented the objet déposé, or objet abandonné, or whatever you might choose to call those works that are left in a gallery as a comment or as an intervention.

11700957_10156151169670181_469298560441831057_oBanksy has crept into the Tate and National Gallery in disguise and covertly stuck to the walls a number of satirical works. Another kind of intervention found Brian Eno peeing into Duchamp’s urinal, which seems much more sympathetic than the idiot who went to jail for defacing a Rothko in the name of his own ‘artistic movement’ Yellowism. Curiously, of these three instances it is Banksy’s that isn’t vandalistic, in spite of the larger part of his canonical stencil works being strictly speaking acts of vandalism.

905598_10156151169690181_288549216011358301_o

During Week 35 of Fig-2 someone left a postcard depicting “The Falls of Leny, Callander” though I’m still can’t quite convince myself it wasn’t actually part of the show. The rock formation within rushing water and an external overlaid shape left by a sticker perfectly matched the themes and techniques of the exhibition around it.

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Amy Stephens uses sculpture, drawing and photography to explore relations between geological, architectonic and sculpted forms. She plays with the intersections between objects and how we represent objects. In her show two-dimensional representations turn into three-dimensional objects and vice versa via interventions in the forms by introducing synthetic elements to organic forms and organic elements to synthetic objects.

fig-2_35_50_3The room had been split into two exhibition spaces: one large and a smaller one in the corner which at first I missed. It was lucky they told me it was there because without the second room the show didn’t seem to work. Together the whole show suddenly came to life as the totality of the pieces resonated. The two-dimensional forms first encountered in the large space suddenly spring off the wall into full sculptural form in this second semi-hidden room. Considering all the works together let them ring out together like an orchestra. It was literally an object lesson in curation, and proof that the ‘art of curation’ isn’t just an amusing turn of phrase.

fig-2_35_50_8I loved the slippage between media, the way that a geometric shape would be presented in the big space on a photographic surface and then you’d find yourself confronting the same shape turned into a sculpture, the way the colours yellow, cyan and red would pass between sculptural objects, photographs and across the walls of the room.

fig-2_35_50_4Solid and outline shapes in yellow overlaid the two silkscreens “Freeze-Thaw I & II”. A yellow line led along the length of a wall and continued inside a picture frame as if it had thrown itself off the wall, and finally found itself embodied in the yellow perspex lozenge of the spindly-legged sculpture teasingly entitled Silence.

fig-2_35_50_9The same thing happened with the blue waterfall roll of heat transfer foil “The First Dive” spilling back into the blue shape digitally overlaid over the rock form photography in the c-prints “Rock-fall I & II”.

12138351_10156151169685181_8429118969511032606_oThe digitally overlaid blue shape then turns white and emerges as the flock-covered lozenge-on-legs sculpture “Tethered Object”, and the heat transfer foil reminds us through artificial means of the great violence of slow geological processes to shape valleys and mountains from solid rock.

fig-2_35_50_6The rocks emerge from the flat plane of photography into the gallery in the form of “something. anything. everything. I, II & III” in which there are three rocks. I tell a lie, they’re minerals. Jesus, Marie! They’re minerals! Specifically the mineral ilmenite, a weakly magnetic black and grey ore of titanium. These minerals have been wrapped in red tape: line interacting with shape, then the line wanders off and finds itself as a red flocked fabric line going up through clear Perspex in the large sculpture “Unicorn”, where it looks like either the broadly ascending line of a rising company or the descending fortunes of a failing one. What it is in fact is not dissimilar: it is a representation of the Palio horse race in Siena, Italy created through extreme simplification of a horse or a person stripped to essential forms and motifs.

12108055_10156151169350181_6377449736809568949_n“Unicorn” seems at first a curious title for it. Just like “Tethered Object”, it isn’t tethered, just as a unicorn can’t be tethered. Being mythical it either doesn’t exist or it exists as an absence (like silence, maybe even the yellow lozenge sculpture “Silence”). A unicorn is strong, being a beast, and fragile, in terms of its mythical rarity. Similarly the sculptures all possess this simultaneous stability and fragility. Untethered, you could knock them over easily, and people always walk into things.

tumblr_inline_moaej6xV3d1qz4rgpUnicorn (Leocarno) is actually one of the seventeen contrade (city wards) that compete in the Palio di Siena, so we even find here slippage between language and form: the name unicorn becomes a thing unicorn (just as James Joyce had made a cork frame for a photo of Cork city). The emblems of the district are the same reddy-orange as the lines of “Unicorn” and “something. anything. everything”.

Mention of Palio reminds me of a point raised by Douglas Hofstadter: Chi dice Siena dice Palio — to mention Siena is to bring up its famous horse race. Which would go for Wimbledon too: you think of tennis (or wombles?). In any word, many concepts are sous-entendus: there, but whispered. Inherent. A tethered object.

10350629_10156151170070181_7459507364983449044_nEven the striking rock and mineral forms in the photographs have been created by the eroding action of water: stable and fragile, hard and soft. “Tethered Object” looks inscrutable and monolithic, but its hardness is balanced by its spindly legs and its covering of flock, the lustrous velvety fabric that is Amy Stephens’s signature material. Flock draws the eye and light in: it’s soft but it’s also highly synthetic. Black flock is used like bark to wrap a piece of wood, giving it a synthetic but somehow warm edge.

AS26In “Birch In Space” we encounter a branch of Icelandic birch wood that has been cast in eight pieces and welded together and suspended from the ceiling: the shape is organic and natural but the material is metallic and synthetic and the suspension gives it a lightness that offsets the weight of the metal. The pitching of the one against the other characterises all of the work. The shape of the cast birch also echoes “Unicorn”.

12107094_10156151170370181_6704806387226526579_n“Pulpit” shows a photo of a clifftop, a famous Norwegian tourist destination formed of ilmenite and rock. You can imagine Moses standing at the top and declaiming his fifteen ten commandments, telling us how to live our lives. The Tetragrammaton YHWH (Yahweh) is derived from the verb that means “to be”, “exist”, “become” or “come to pass”: another slippage between language and form, another unicorn: words cast in stone.

12122856_10156151169695181_5496369759480006322_n“The First Dive” is inspired by David Lynch’s book “Catching the big fish: meditation, consciousness and creativity” and the idea of diving in when creativity takes over: jumping in at the deep end and submerging oneself in that danger rather than remaining sat in the shallow end.  You need to take risks to move on. Any act of life worth living is a naturally occurring artificial intervention.

I found Amy Stephens’s work thrilling in the way it exchanged colours and shapes between natural and synthetic forms and between two- and three-dimensional realms. It’s like a daytime Nights At The Museum, as if the non-living things all come out and cause trouble in real life.

Causing trouble in real life is what artists tend to be good at, from Banksy’s interventions to Stephens’s more personal artistic challenges in developing her play with forms and materials, and so on to that troubling and mysterious postcard The Falls of Leny, Callander” . . .

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You can listen to the Fig-2 audio interview with Amy Stephens on Soundcloud

Week 30 – Anna Barham – 27 July-2 August

Fig-2_30_50_16Don’t be evil.

In 2007 Google (the well-known lunar landings provider who did the search engine thingy) introduced a free directory inquiry service in the US called GOOG-411. Your call was digitally parsed by the ‘robot operator’ who then offered to connect your call to its top results. It wasn’t clear what Google was getting out of providing this generous free service, which they even promoted on billboards.

Three years after its introduction the service was suddenly dropped. Google had already released its search-by-voice service in Android, and so the penny.. dropped. GOOG-411, as Google has admitted, had been a covert phoneme-gathering operation intended to create a huge database to improve voice recognition technology for Google’s search products.

Google had amassed thousands of hours of requests for plumbers and pizza delivery and connections to confusingly named places like Schenectady spoken in every accent from every state of the US. The free GOOG-411 service enabled the technology and techniques that activated the speech recognition software which was and is now amassing a vast repository of spoken words in every language on earth, improving itself in a perfect feedback learning loop every time the user corrects a faulty transcription.

Open the pod bay doors, Siri.

Fig-2_30_50_7Anna Barham’s video “The Squid That Hid” outlines the difficulties speech presents to speech recognition software, from accent pronunciation and articulation to background noise. The big problem is that spoken words just run on from each other. It’s hard for humans too. Without visual punctuation it can be hard or impossible to arrange the string of syllables into words into sentences. To the untrained ear Polish sounds like English recorded to tape and played backwards. Yiddish sounds like someone cheating at Scrabble. English sounds like a sarcastic Swede reading words at random from a car manual (see also “Prisencolinensinainciusol”).

Ambiguity over the beginnings and endings of words is the basis of the Four candles/ fork handles sketch, and ambiguity about punctuation gives rise to the Eats shoots & leaves joke.

In the first line of Finnegans Wake we find “past Eve and Adam’s” which can also be read “Pa, Stephen: Adams” which deliberately equates Joyce’s father Stanislaus and his fictional portrait of the artist as a young man and archetypal Son Stephen Daedalus with the Bible’s archetypal Father figure Adam.

Seemingly Fleshed Inside

It all begins with this passage from Image Machine by Bridget Crone (2013). Anna Barham used it as the starting point for the film Double Screen (not quite tonight jellylike) which presents variations on Crone’s text as reworked and mangled by voice recognition software. I say “it all begins” but Crone’s text is itself a response to Amanda Beech’s Fi nal Mac hi ne. I daren’t look whether this also derives from something else for fear we’ll end up in some bottomless pit of recursion and influence.

Barham’s use of the text next went into Penetrating Squid, an ongoing novel whose third chapter forms the basis of the text that was the basis of her week at Fig-2. The text was generated in live reading groups where readers take it in turns to read a text into transcription software. Barham has apparently generated over a hundred versions of Crone’s text. Barham then went on to read short sections over and over again through the software to generate more radical disruptions and the three chapters of Penetrating Squid, which are audible on Soundcloud.

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click image to embiggen

Crone’s text starts with a description of cleaning a squid and as bits fall onto newspaper the words distort and the text itself distorts and falls into associative chains of sounds and images. In the original we find “Tight pieces of sinewy flesh inside the squid try to hold onto this gooey mess” which is one of the short phrases whose variations form the bulk of the text Barham uses, which start off recognizably: “tried to hold onto the screen pieces of silver reflections cybersquaring trying to hold onto the screen” and get further “trying to hold onto the discreet/discrete maths inside the square” and further out: “listening in the pool pieces of seemingly flesh inside”.

IMG_0299In the ICA studio space for Week 30 of fig-2 Barham set up a microphone plugged into a Mac running OS X dictation software with a printer, plus a screen displaying the text as it was generated by the visitors reading. Visitors to the space were encouraged to read from the printouts they found, producing new printouts for the next visitors. As you’d expect over the course of a week the text bore little recognition to chapter three of Penetrating Squid.

Even over the course of successive readers the changes are considerable. In four steps we find, in no particular order, “Hello all this time”, “Hello I’m Harry”, “Okay hello and hurry”, “Okay hello unhurried”. It’s the old game of Chinese Whispers in electronic form.

IMG_0312The OS X software has real-time correction routines that try to identify the meaning of what is being said and retrospectively correcting it, so for example identifying whether you were ‘being discreet’ or rather talking about ‘discrete forms of meaning’.

Intriguingly, this illustrates aspects of Wittgenstein’s theory of language, that we create meaning not via the relation of individual words to the things we associate with them necessarily but via the relation of the words between themselves. The noun ‘Good’ stands for something different thing to the good of ‘good game’. Going on, Wittgenstein challenges us to come up with a meaning for the word “game”. We can’t agree, but we all know what it means in use. Meaning is use. This is the principle that Google Translate and OS X Dictation use: context.

It is awesomely powerful, but incomplete. While the machine understands to an extent meaning as generated by use, there’s still a step missing here, perhaps even missing from Wittgenstein’s theory, that would explain why we can’t agree on our game but still know what it means. It’s a cognitive next step that people working in voice recognition software are struggling with, entering the realm of Artificial Intelligence to seek the breakthrough.

Even with such clever tech and with the rich amount of phoneme data that has been gathered in exercises such as GOOG-411, it is still remarkable how hard it is for machines to transcribe speech, as Anna Barham’s work amusingly demonstrates. Never ask a robot to sell you fork handles.

TRYING TO HOLD ONTO THE SCREEN

In Week 29 of Fig-2 I said that “You are an internet” and imagined inhabiting posthuman cyberspace having transcended physical form. In an act of direct regression, this week I have experimented with subverting this in real time to explore who is The Best: machines or humans? So please put your hands together for this my experiment with manually performing voice recognition transcription. You might think the transcriptions of software are laughable, but wait until you see mine.

I typed out all seven minutes of “Penetrating Squid / Chapter 3 / Seemingly Fleshed Inside” from the soundcloud, first with stops to type, and then typing straight through trying to keep up as best I could. Both attempts are viewable in this googledoc.

In the first pass, which took about forty-five minutes, I couldn’t decide between certain homonyms (discreet/discrete, you’re/your, onto/on too), made harder by the lack of conventional running sense. My ears are pretty good but I wasn’t sure if I heard lightly or likely. I typed silly instead of city.

The second pass, in real time, was of course a trainwreck. Certain omissions and conflations occur near the start and everything is mis-spelled, and then it just gets worse as I miss more, and at some point I knock CAPS LOCK on without realizing. By this point words have bled into each other and are half formed and in the wrong order, the text obliterated, repetitious. I enjoyed afterwards finding an example of spontaneous creative accident: a Joyce-style portmanteau word QWEAKNESS. At a couple of points I froze completely and I remember typing the letter ‘i’ about six times in a row, utterly defeated.

Insight is quick / inside the squid

mutant lisp generatorThe texts created from accidents can be beautiful and poetic. Is Anna Barham a poet? This is a kind of suggestive poetry, certainly if the meaningless syllables of dada poetry can be said to be poetry. The poetry creates kinds of sense because each word has a meaning, and new meanings are being created and found by the strange aleatory juxtapositions of the words. A clash of meanings is set up where there was no conscious intention. It is created anew by use and association, which brings us back to Wittgenstein’s notions of meaning as use.

Random associations and meanings can also occur in the physical dimension, or our perception thereof. Whenever I see or think about Anna Barham’s (amazing) anagrammatic Twitter handle “Banana_Harm” I have the sensation that I can smell foam banana sweets. For Mmm: by Anna’s tweaks.

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I am indebted to Daniel Soar’s LRB article “It knows” for the Google knowledge, and Fig-2 curator Fatoş Üstek’s interview with Anna Barham.

Week 29 – POSTmatter – 20-26 July

DANIEL ROURKE 22 JULY LIVE WRITING http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-daniel-rourke

Hello cruel wwworld. I have abandoned my physical form and its inky fingers and terrible headaches. I now inhabit a googledoc with fifty other anonymous avatars, mostly the more anthropomorphised animals: Anonymous Beaver, Anonymous Fox, Anonymous Monkey and Anonymous Panda; and their exotic cousins Anonymous Axolotl, Anonymous Liger, Anonymous Ifrit and Anonymous Quagga. Everyone’s having a good time. There is no trouble, just good-natured exchanges and the sense of a vibrant community. I love everything. 10

EMMA CHARLES, 'THE STRAIGHTEST PATH ALLOWED BY LAW', 2015
EMMA CHARLES, ‘THE STRAIGHTEST PATH ALLOWED BY LAW’, 2015 – http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-x-emma-charles

In the studio an ancient slide projector clicks through twenty-four images then rattles rapidly through the slide magazine and returns to the first image. GOTO 10

The googledoc empties and during the night one of the anonymous anthropomorphised animal avatars deletes all the text leaving justbyewhich three days later becomespoer.combye”.

http://postmatter.com/#/currents/postmatter-x-fig-2
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/postmatter-x-fig-2

The magazine is digital, and called POSTmatter because it has transcended the need for the physical form, just as I have done. Its overly anthropomorphised animal avatar would, I think, be an Anonymous Platypus. But while the platypus is a semi-aquatic egg-laying mammal from eastern Australia, the Anonymous Platypus is a digital magazine that originally began as a trapezoid egg on an iPad in 2010 then hatched into this growing cross-platform monotreme. Its staple diet is editorial pieces, exhibitions, and art commissions that sit at the convergence of the digital and physical. It uses its curious but versatile duck-bill to drill into organic matter and physical space and deposit mindbombs from the web superbrain.

POSTmatter’s fig-2 show has two thematic components,

  • the natural landscape and how it can be presented digitally;
  • the process of writing and publishing a magazine;

intersecting with two realms:

  • the ICA studio space;
  • the digital online publishing space.
JACOB KIERKEGAARD, ‘STIGMA’, 2014
JACOB KIERKEGAARD, ‘STIGMA’, 2014

There’s a certain parallelism across these that broadly echoes dichotomies of real-unreal, natural-artifical, present-absent, and so on. All of the work presented both physically and online is about the intersection of physical and virtual. This is an area of contemporary importance in art practice. Even Gilbert and George have embraced digital, making those weird symmetrical images of themselves. Grumpy stalwart and militant smoker, the one guy left who still paints, you know, paints paintings with paint, even David Hockney has taken to ‘painting’ on an iPad.

Five creative artists are presenting work in the studio space. A further five write live, broadcasting the process of composition online via the viewable googledoc, each writing for an hour (the psychoanalytic hour). There are live webcasts between artists all over the world, streaming in the ICA studio space.

fig-2_29_50_17-EmmaCharles-ThestraightestpathallowedbylawThe layout of the space itself is a quote: Jardin d’hiver by Marcel Broodthaers, from whose work was borrowed the original moniker fig-1 and the present fig-2 – this is why it’s dressed like a greenhouse. It’s not winter, and it’s not Broodthaers. This is what the show is really about, or springs from.  There are allusions to Broodthaers’ first Italian retrospective, ‘L’espace de l’écriture’ (The Space of Writing). This is a space in which writing is written. An hour a day, in the googledoc. Five writers. Countless anonymous anthropomorphised animal avatars. In his words “writing (poetry), object (something three-dimensional), and image (film)”: these three elements are those of the fig2 show. Tracing a line from Broodthaers to fig-1 to fig-2 and then exploring the line as a literal artefact as a mark on the page or a string of text, this is a fig-2 theme. We discussed it in Week 3 and have traced it through subsequent weeks. Emma Charles “The Straightest Path Allowed by Law” traces the fibre-optic cabling between New York and Chicago, photos from the route flash up on the carousel.

Emma Charles’s carousel slide projection leads me to discover her film “Fragments on machines” in which we see servers and wiring and all the physical infrastructure that underpins the supposedly virtual space.

“My muscle has been replaced by flex and copper, my brain a server, 1s and 0s my voice. I exist as a phantom under iridescent colour. I speak in shimmering tones to the hidden construction of the form. I desire to become data and will be mobile, moving to provide. I will become the information flow. I am your personal relationship to the source. I become more and more. I move in and out of positions several times a day to adapt. I adjust by fractions to adapt to my surroundings. I collect, I discard, I seek positive results, then the purge at the end of the day. I refresh, renew, liquidate and realign my entire self.”

JOHN GERRARD, ‘WORKING DRAWING FOR INFINITE FREEDOM EXERCISE (NEAR ABADAN, IRAN)’, 2011
JOHN GERRARD, ‘WORKING DRAWING FOR INFINITE FREEDOM EXERCISE (NEAR ABADAN, IRAN)’, 2011

Fig-2 is kind of an ‘acoustic’ venture – rearranging an actual physical space every week. But even here, each week is completed by its archival documentation on the fig-2 website, and the soundcloud artist interviews, and the social media presences. Each week isn’t complete without these glosses and reflections and the establishment of interconnections and themes between each of the fifty shows. Themes recur, and only when it’s all done will the full picture be visible.

I think fig-2 is London’s last gasp for a funded relatively low audience experimental art-led venture. The arts are facing a 40% funding cut and while this won’t change much for most of us- musicians don’t get a penny from anyone- it’s a kick in the balls for fine art: installations cost a fortune. Already the art scene is distracted by big blockbuster shows; this will get worse. Arte Povera will be more widespread. Stuff like fig-2 won’t happen. No middle-budget edgy but accessible work. It’ll be punk and prog. Guerrilla gigs and grand opera. An expression of the class warfare the rich are waging on not just the poor but the middle classes too. Already more art is happening on the internet because as a space it is accessible in a way that galleries just aren’t.

The notion of ‘digital publishing’ seems of a different character to ‘pure’ ‘digital art’ – it is mediated by a publisher, the digital magazine. There are digital curation platforms such as sedition but these are different not just because they’re selling videos or apps or other media that can be differentiated from prose or even hypertext. They’re selling limited editions. It’s a retail marketplace for individual works, following the model established by photography. The work is in theory infinitely reproducible but it is limited because the economics still obey the formula ‘scarcity = value’.

Whereas a magazine is a work in itself, from which its contents can’t be detached except to be republished in another magazine or in a book. Except this sounds like print publishing talking; a digital magazine doesn’t have ‘editions’ it’s just one constantly rolling edition. There’s no bumper christmas issue, no summer special with four different collectable covers.

MARK DORF, //_PATH, 'UNTITLED72' AND 'UNTITLED56', 2012
MARK DORF, //_PATH, ‘UNTITLED72’ AND ‘UNTITLED56’, 2012

The economics of digital art are weird. Buying mp3s still seems weird to a lot of us because you don’t physically have anything for your money. But you might listen to an mp3 hundreds of times. How many times will you watch a digital artwork? New media art. Internet art is a category discrete from digital art. One advantage of digital art is that if a museum host it on their servers then it can be permanently on display rather than only when an exhibition is mounted.

We learn from a piece in vice magazine of all places that MoMA’s digital collection is currently about 90 terabytes in size, but the museum expects that to grow to 1.2 petabytes (1.2 million gigabytes) by 2025. That archive will soon be stockpiled on Linear Tape-Open (LTO), a magnetic tape storage system developed in the 1990s. This is one solution to the storage problem of digital media, but doesn’t really address the problems of obsolescence: that the technology and software to maker older work visible doesn’t exist any more. In the Uncube x POSTmatter webchat editor Louise Benson noted that the original issue of POSTmatter as it was released on the iPad is no longer supported.

CLEMENT VALLA, ‘POSTCARDS FROM GOOGLE EARTH’, 2010
CLEMENT VALLA, ‘POSTCARDS FROM GOOGLE EARTH’, 2010

It’s interesting that POSTmatter chose ‘landscape’ as one of the big themes for their week. Landscape doesn’t exist. It has been supplanted by Google’s Universal Texture, which we encountered in Week 12. This is the rather terrifyingly named Google patent for mapping textures onto a 3D model of the entire globe. Sometimes this goes wrong, and for a moment the workings of the Universal Texture are exposed, and it’s like being Neo seeing the Matrix, or a glimpse of the Mind of God. Clement Valla has a wonderful project documenting examples of these surreal/cubist mistakes in Google Earth when large structures are reconstructed wrongly.

Writing live at the ICA studio Orit Gat produced “Travels in Google Maps” further exploring these problems of how our real and digital environments have become one and the same. When navigating with google maps, who has not been confronted by some weird glitch and assumed that it is not google but reality itself that is at fault?

Uncube editor Sophie Lovell says “I don’t see any difference really between things and the “web”.” Big communication wallahs like Professor Joseph Turow have argued for the decapitalization of the word ‘internet’ for a decade. This process is pretty much complete except among those people who would still list ‘the Internet’ as a hobby. To everyone else it’s just where we spend most of our time now. It’s the internet, not the Internet, just as we don’t usually refer to the Town Centre or the Park or the Bath.

This is one reason why it is true to say that The Internet Does Not Exist. It has become the water in the fishbowl, which we can’t even see any more while we’re swimming through it. Intersections between digital and traditional media alert us to the nature of the media, reminding us that this is water. You are an internet.

FullSizeRender (5)

POSTscript: At time of writing, POSTmatter is still publishing work generated during its week at fig-2. Here is a list of works they published. It was impossible to represent these in any detail in a short piece, even one in a fragmented style. But if you want to get into the themes above, these are explored in dynamic ways in the individual works.

http://postmatter.com/#/currents/postmatter-x-fig-2
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-larissa-sansour
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-sam-jacob
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-daniel-rourke
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-jacob-kirkegaard
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-iain-ball
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-lawrence-lek
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-uncube-x-postmatter
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-tyler-coburn
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-orit-gat
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-x-emma-charles
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-alice-butler
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-mark-dorf
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-rachel-pimm
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-milika-muritu
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-matthew-flintham
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-michael-newman
http://postmatter.com/#/currents/fig-2-john-gerrard

alterego
https://fig2loyaltycard.wordpress.com/2015/07/28/week-20-18-24-may-d-cheeseman-o-hagen-r-trotta-by-alix-mortimer/

POST POSTscript:

Week 28 – Patrick Coyle & Francesco Pedraglio – 13-19 July

Fig-2_28_50_-1Fig-2 is famous for its collaborations. The project itself is a direct collaboration with each week’s artist where the artist and curators work closely to craft a seven-day show. Several of the weeks have also featured two or more featured artists in collaboration, and Week 28 was a collaboration between Patrick Coyle and Francesco Pedraglio. They both do a lot of spoken word performance and their show played brilliantly with interactions and slippages between the physical and the verbal.

Fig-2_28_50_36The studio space was set out in a backwards S shape demarcated by the free-standing panels. On the front of these, Francesco’s black vinyl strips were laid out like mazes. Within the back were disparate objects collected by Patrick. Around the space everything was lilac or purple. Ground acai and acai berries, meths in a Dewars miniature, Winsor and Newton galeria Acrylic (purple), random purple markings, a lilac gas canister, purple cups, purple staining. It’s like Prince had a loft clearout.

Fig-2_28_50_-28Throughout fig-2 we have seen the six skylights of the ICA studio space closed off or opened to light, given colourful gels, and with this week they found a new look. One of the skylights has at some point been stepped on and it’s concave rather than convex, so it’s like a sky pond. Patrick filled it with purple water and put in weird objects, some of which over the week went mouldy, some solidified, some returned to liquid.
11157432_806467892757538_4163445423355068377_oThis is reminiscent of Jacopo Miliani’s Week 16 in which the artist brought in flowers every day but left them without water so over the week they faded away, presenting in physical form an illustration of time, which is such an all-pervasive notion in fig-2 with it’s radically curtailed exhibition times and rigid lengths.

Fig-2_28_50_-29Just as Miliani presented space as a choreographic score, here the studio space contained the raw physical ingredients that would go into the word soup of a half hour performance. The pair took it in turns to ‘read’. Francesco delivered a memorised poem three times, delivered almost slickly, with Patrick reading his speeches about purple, the mating habits of cedillas, the acai, the acaiphabet, the lab goo. All of these things were drawn into a verbal texture during the performance that magically transformed words and ideas into new ones.

Purgatorio de l’inferno is a long poem by Genoese avant-garde poet and playwright Edoardo Sanguineti which is kind of a Marxist response to the Divine Comedy of Dante. Francesco read, retranslated and reinterpreted Sanguineti’s tenth canto, a section I read as a warning to the Damned about materialism.

Fig-2_28_50_-22It is in three short stanzas. In the first we see the cat in boots, the peace of Barcelona, the locomative, the peach blossom, the seahorse, and “if you turn the page, you see the money”. We see Jupiter’s moons, the sun’s journey, the checkerboard, Latin literature, shoes, the school of Athens, butter, a postcard from Finland, the masseter muscle, and childbirth, and “if you turn the page, you see the money.” The last section is ironic: we see the generals with their machine guns, graveyards and graves, savings banks, security, history books full of history, and then when you turn this page, “you see nothing.”

Fig-2_28_50_-13Francesco presented his own translation of this three-part poem three times, each time gathering subtle variations and additions (the Arab Spring, spring break, the first day of spring, as well as socks, pillows, headaches, phone bills, and kebabs after a drunken night) concluding the whole performance with the original Italian. For each thing that Sanguineti’s poem lists, Francesco called it into being through the performance, through the imaginative act of saying it into being. The vinyl strips on the walls reconfigured themselves into signifiers that represented like a new language, a neologism, the signifieds of the poem.

Fig-2_28_50_-25By the act of naming, objects are charged with symbolic value. Francesco used the tape as well as red window blinds, lightbulbs, stones, in each case claiming that they represented the postcard from Finland, or the peach blossom or the Peace of Barcelona. This is magical. Literally the essence of magic. The magician tells us that the assistant has been cut in half and we are prepared to accept it, to countenance a new reality imaginatively.

Fig-2_28_50_-26Similarly, we take on trust the signification of words during translation, that this means that. There’s every possibility we could be misled, as happens in the Hungarian Phrasebook Sketch where a prank language book misleads Hungarians. But if we so chose we could accept these alternative meanings, that “My hovercraft is full of eels” is a way of asking for a box of matches. This is literally how codes and cyphers work, by agreed renegotiation of signification.

Fig-2_28_50_-8Francesco stresses that his translation of Sanguineti’s poem is “unofficial”. This underlines the doubt about what is being transmitted, and the possibility of transforming it into something else, perhaps not intended. He could be giving us an accurate translation or he could be giving us a hovercraft full of eels. He is certainly taking a line on the wall for a ride round the poem, so how do we trust language? If we turn the page, is there money, or nothing?

Adam naming things in the Garden of Eden, Francesco redefining the line, Patrick beginning by asking if anyone can “do me a purple” was all part of a performative tapestry of re-appropriation and resignification too. It demonstrates the arbitrariness of signification. The magical realism of bringing objects into being by naming them, the imaginative act in which we are complicit every time we accept that the invisible surroundings portrayed by a mime, or the invisible interlocutor of a stand-up comedian up there on the stage.

Fig-2_28_50_-23Are they there or not there? In Week 18 we went into metaphor, the saying that this is that which occurs with the knowledge that this is not literally that, but our minds accept it for the purpose of comparison or instruction. The show is therefore all about the process of definition and signification, the hypnotic elixir of language that drugs us with its heady excesses of meanings.

Fig-2_28_50_-30The week’s Sipsmith gin cocktail was called the LIQUID HYPNOTIC ELIXIR and it involved orange, sloe gin, and, crucially, acai. The acai is purple. The acaiphabet is a secret cypher invented by Patrick, which is unknown to anyone else and encoded by arrangements of acai berries. This private language is another example of special verbalisation seemingly intended to manifest the non-verbal communications of plants that happens through their strange mating habits involving seeds and berries. Patrick admits good-humouredly that in curatorial terms this idea didn’t go much beyond apparently spelling out the artists’ names on the wall, but it fits into the themes of definition, communication and signification.

Fig-2_28_50_-4Patrick described the life cycle of the cicada, burrowing soon after birth into the earth and staying there, only emerging to mate and having mated dying. The funny little diacritical mark the cedilla, usually found under the c in words like Haçienda, can be found clinging limpet-like under the s in fig-2 curator Fatoş Üstek’s name.  It is also found in the unfamiliar Açaí palm but not usually in the familiar Acai berry, the popular purple superfruit.

Having described the life cycle of the cicada, Patrick explained that, in contrast, cedillas live in the sky and burrow into clouds, emerging to mate; the winged cedillas attach to certain letters and once they deliver their seed they die a critic (diacritic). The young hatch and make their way through the artist guide, digging in with their strong legs to feed off “excess of egress”.

Fig-2_28_50_-31Excess of egress wasn’t to be found in the beautiful part of the installation that was a video of some viscous purple “Lab goo” being poured into a purple cup. This weird substance has the consistency of the melty terminator in Terminator 2 and won’t quite be poured into the cup but bounces back and forth without quite being poured. This is a wonderful thing to behold and in the performance brought Patrick to lilt poetically “lapping the side, lapping the side! slapping the thigh! lapping the side! shimmering bright – slapping the side! touching the left, lapping the side, lapping the side” – I thought I misheard all of this as “lapping the side” which amused me all the more, assuming it was “slapping” but it was actually “lapping” after all. Part of the show’s pleasure in wordplay delighted in such imaginative slippages as can take place between “the side” and “acai” and ICA.

The performance concluded with Patrick at the piano, and the song began with a reprise of “lapping the side” which you can listen to and enjoy via this here widget. It’s my favourite song. Cedillas sing it as part of their mating ritual.

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POSTSCRIPT: The one week of this duo show was curiously dominated by threes. We had this in Week 17 where Charlotte Moth presented The Story of a Different Thought – “a bird with three eyes, three versions of the same name, three versions of a story”. It’s hard to say if this multiplication of threes could be said to be another theme weaving in and out of fig-2 or just a thing we have as a culture about threes, from at least Plato onwards if not earlier. Three’s company.

Week 4 – Simon Welsh – January 26-February 1 – 4/4 – Banana in the mirror (30 Jan)

The fig-2 project shares with the original fig-1 project a sense of freedom from conventional notions of art practice and curation, where it is more about using the available space for a creative purpose, what ever that might be in whatever discipline.

In week four, the poet, environmental activist and public speaker Simon Welsh, delivered a series of forty-two minute lectures. I’m not going to offer critical commentary on what he said, just to try to share with you what I took from his words, with apologies for omissions and distortions. “The worst tragedy for a poet is to be admired through being misunderstood” (Cocteau). Simon’s vision is abundantly positive, with mythic Blakean resonances and a kind of panpsychical holism centred on the empowerment of the individual for the greater good of all.

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4/4 – Banana in the mirror (30 Jan)

We are obsessed with how we appear. Social media widens the gap between the Projection and the Actual Self (as much as we can be said to possess such a thing). When you look in the mirror, there’s a streak of toothpaste on your face. You wipe it away. From the mirror, rather than your face. You know it’s not your ‘real’ face, but it’s social media and you have mistaken the mirror you for the real you. What if you suddenly see a banana in the mirror? It can’t be there with you, but it’s there in the mirror. What then?

Simon Welsh was in email marketing. A crisis befell a company. The comparison was with Domino’s Pizza, when some videos went viral exposing some saboteurs putting pubes in the pizzas. Do you then pay a bunch of people to direct the online conversation toward positive spin? This is what alcohol, tobacco, and arms companies do. This is like wiping the mirror instead of your face. And in this instance, the banana in the mirror is real.

Motivational speakers remind us that the Chinese word for ‘crisis’ comprises the characters for ‘danger’ and ‘opportunity’. Simon advised the company to use their crisis as an opportunity: we have a side we aren’t proud of, and we are working to change it. A more positive use of social media. To learn to apologise.

A real apology begins “Sorry that I . . . “

If you start with “Sorry that you . . . “ this isn’t a real apology. “Sorry you were upset” disconnects it from your emotional state; how can you apologise about what you can’t experience?

“Sorry if . . . “ is worse yet: the apology is conditional. “Sorry if I offended you” . .  and what if you didn’t offend them? Does that mean you’re not sorry? People communicate differently to each other in person than online. “Sorry if . . . “ has become normalized.

This is one way social media has impacted on us, but social responsibility is growing. Welsh cited the Miley/Thicke twerking moral panic about an incident that might have been a tacit admission on our part that the media has been sexualising young girls in a troubling way. A better role model is New Zealand songwriter Lorde, who is more of a reflection of who we are when we are ourselves rather than projected in the distortions of the mirror.

The media is powerful. In Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-four the printing presses on one side declare that “peace is certain if there is no war” and the other side that “war is certain if there is no peace.” Profound stuff. More seriously, the head of ISIS does not exist; he was invented by the CIA to focus energy, somewhat like the “five minute hate.” Films demonize this head of ISIS to reify the myth of his existence.

The human race is an entity, a superorganism, of individuals. The mirror can be held to account, because when you move the people, the money will follow it. Simon Welsh invites us to reunite with who you are on the inside. The new study of “Reputation Management” encourages us to paint a pretty picture of ourselves on social media. It is alarming that this is being taught. Instead we have to be empowered by our apologies. It is madness to repeat the same experiment expecting different results.

Expand out. Be willingly vulnerable. Take your clothes off in the street and wait for a police officer to ask “Can I help you?” then say “Yes, I’m cold.”

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Week 4 – Simon Welsh – January 26-February 1 – 3/4 – Symbiosis versus competition (28 Jan)

The fig-2 project shares with the original fig-1 project a sense of freedom from conventional notions of art practice and curation, where it is more about using the available space for a creative purpose, what ever that might be in whatever discipline.

In week four, the poet, environmental activist and public speaker Simon Welsh, delivered a series of forty-two minute lectures. I’m not going to offer critical commentary on what he said, just to try to share with you what I took from his words, with apologies for omissions and distortions. “The worst tragedy for a poet is to be admired through being misunderstood” (Cocteau). Simon’s vision is abundantly positive, with mythic Blakean resonances and a kind of panpsychical holism centred on the empowerment of the individual for the greater good of all.

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3/4 – Symbiosis versus competition (28 Jan)

The squirrel when it eats and excretes, doesn’t think it’s planting an oak tree.

Corporations set out to barcode everything. Governments and the NHS exist because we can’t or won’t govern our own destinies. The outside is a reflection of the inside. Getting out of the driving seat and then complaining about the direction. But within what corporations say, how can we take ownership? To escape the paradigm of competition, look to symbiosis.

Look to higher forces that aren’t religious. When we were nomadic, we followed herds and restored what was taken. With settlement came property and ownership and then fear of losing what we have, and then the thought: should we attack first?

Competition is bred into us. School sports days aren’t run for fun. The attachment to winning  causes problems. Are there other possibilities beyond competition? People can choose their own realities, but these can be prisons.

Tim Macartney’s TED talk “The Children’s Fire” imparts a valuable message for a system whose government is obsessed with pushing selfishness and ‘independence’. It’s hard to share when the paradigm goes against it. If someone wants to talk to you, you distrust them because you suspect they probably want something.

Simon performs poems on the train, to disarm and try to de-program us, in the hope that our insularity can be shrugged off. His poems are about political freedom, a rejection of “Normative abstraction” (ie. ideology). Why should being an ‘individual’ be the same as being ‘alone’? We have to jump out of the water to realize we were in water. The water supports us, we don’t need the love of other fish. The concept of ‘agape’ is realized when the fish knows what the water is.

Abundance, sharing, doesn’t need recognition. Happiness gives itself out, when you accept yourself, as part of others, as part of everyone, everything.

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Week 4 – Simon Welsh – January 26-February 1 – 2/4 – Poetry in court (27 Jan)

The fig-2 project shares with the original fig-1 project a sense of freedom from conventional notions of art practice and curation, where it is more about using the available space for a creative purpose, what ever that might be in whatever discipline.

In week four, the poet, environmental activist and public speaker Simon Welsh, delivered a series of forty-two minute lectures. I’m not going to offer critical commentary on what he said, just to try to share with you what I took from his words, with apologies for omissions and distortions. “The worst tragedy for a poet is to be admired through being misunderstood” (Cocteau). Simon’s vision is abundantly positive, with mythic Blakean resonances and a kind of panpsychical holism centred on the empowerment of the individual for the greater good of all.

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2/4 – Poetry in court (27 Jan)

We the people are remarkably similar in thinking we are different, and this is a lever for divide and rule. Josh Fox’s fracking documentaries, Gasland, unfold like poems, exposing the ‘biodiversity scam’ and sparking unprecedented interest, forming part of a community spirit allied against the frackers’ “dark Satanic drills.”

In this spirit Simon Welsh has made films about a Frack Free Sussex: the chant went out: Belt it out of Balcombe! He organised a demonstration that attracted six hundred people. Not protesters but protectors. He received criticism for developing a working relationship with the police, though this relationship ensured the safety of the protectors and a sense of the legitimacy of the cause. This is astute because the laws have been jimmied to make it hard for us to sustain a voice.

Public Order Act 1986 Section 14 allows the police to dictate the size and location of public assemblies, to atomise movements in a physical way on the ground.

The Queen is at the top of the constitutional power structure, but is she pro-fracking? “The Crown” says fracking is okay, but this could mean “The City” as it often does. The hymn God Save The Queen is “a black magic prayer to keep us separated from our divinity” to divert us from knowing that we are the custodians of our country, our planet, and keep us from empowerment.

Section 14 is a prayer too. While the police tried to read it to Simon Welsh, he sang, to drown it out. He was arrested anyway, and frisked in Crawley police station. A gay man, he brought humour to this invasive procedure, and the frisking officer blushed, then became the butt of humour among his colleagues. He experienced an empowered feeling at the same time as he was having his rights taken away. In the cells he wrote a poem. He was advised to use it as his statement, to say in his defence that he had experienced “temporary heart consciousness”

In court, the poem was his extraordinary defence: “Arrested for singing

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