MOIblog
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Atmosphere
wet and wintery
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News
- Boris is reelected as London Mayor
- France is on the brink of change
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book
Steven Willats; the artist as an instigator of changes in social cognition and behaviour
Claire Bishop; Participation
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Tip
The future is now
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month 7 Strain in the rain
- This is another patchy summary of the past few weeks, a week behind schedule, still trying to catch my breath, still trying to cram it all in and multitasking on a tight emotional rope while trying to keep it all in perspective. I have been back to London for a couple of weeks now, slowly recovering from the intensity of it all. Strangely enough Easter time is always a period of struggle, it has been for many years; not just because of the transition from one season to the next, body and mind finding it hard to emerge from hibernation but there are always external circumstances that make it all even more difficult. This year it is the moving out of my lovely French home coupled with my mother’s mental and existential struggles and her stay in hospital.
-- As soon as I arrived in France for the Easter break, to move out of my flat and fulfill my duties at the centre des livres d’artistes, things took a drastic turn. I had planned to have a last week to enjoy my French abode and pack, giving me time to process this big change and make my goodbyes to the place. Instead I was instantly moved to my parents home, a bed made for me in the guest room, and had to take on the running of the home, planning of meals, cooking etc, providing company and relief for my dad in the absence of his beloved of 55 years. I was very happy to do so of course but lacked the experience and wasn’t really prepared for it. It was also very strange to have one’s life and habits annihilated completely, as if I didn’t have any, and having to fit into someone else’s. The shock was immense and there was nowhere to escape, no time to reflect, my days having become a tight succession of all that had to be done; breakfast with dad, planning of meals and shopping for the days followed by work at the centre of artists books, followed by cooking and lunch with dad, discussing my mothers progress and the planning of our daily visits to the hospital 30 miles away, followed by work again, followed by 2 hours of packing in my soon to be ex flat, followed by cooking and diner that had to be over before the evening news at 8pm, followed by watching TV, followed by bed, restless sleep until the next breakfast with dad who couldn’t face it by himself and shuffled around noisily from 7am until I appeared disheveled and sleepy, not ready to respond to his queries or appreciate his proactive list making of the smallest tasks of the day.
I am renown for my need to be left alone in the morning, needing a long time to emerge and feel human. But that was too much for him; he needed us to fill the gap left by my mum. He also craved attention. I was wondering if she had to put up with this every morning too. But there was comfort and a few touching moments when he started to call me Paulette, my mother’s name. There was tension when he started to argue with me as if we had been married for 50 years… There was little relief from this punishing schedule, emotionally or physically, apart from the traditional family Easter celebration and Eater egg hunt that my nephews and nieces, despite being grown ups between 14 and 26, still insist on doing. It was hilarious to observe. My mother was allowed to leave the hospital for the day, her first outing drugged up to the eyeballs and anxious at her change of routine but happy to be part of it. I have to stay that her appetite hasn’t suffered much so all is not lost..
-- I think I spent the whole two weeks in a state of shock, concentrating on getting it all done, both at home and at work, step by step, one day at a time. I had planned to complete my move on Easter Monday so that I could benefit from the muscle power and the energy of all family members fit enough to carry a box. That was great, it took a morning, ten people and two trips with a big van and my car to transfer it all, neatly packed and labeled to my parents basement, awaiting the summer where I will bring back to London what I haven’t given away to friends or charity. It took as long in the afternoon to empty my basement with Danielle and Gerard, two car loads of tools, home made jams and archive of old works, all that is left after my studio was burglared and cleaned up 2 years ago. I moved everything from my studio in Vauxhall down to St Yrieix 6 years ago, a big van full plus my old Peugeot 205. The only thing left would easily fit in one boot now. Vive la France! It was sad but a relief to give the keys back, a page turned, making room for new ventures hopefully and allowing my finances to regain a bit of dignity. I have a handful of offers of lovely and friendly places to stay when I come every month which is great but I will miss for sure not having my own space and privacy and being able to have visitors.
-- What was interesting was to be in France to witness the presidential election campaign, all the media circus that it entails, the behind the scenes alliances, the up and downs, the political debate on TV but also in the streets. Not at home since I had banned all political conversation in the home for everybody’s peace of mind, especially mine, being the only non-conservative non capitalist and non wealthy one among a big extended family, making my position and my views quite endangered. I would love a good debate but have learnt over the years that it is impossible to achieve in my family, voices are raised very quickly and things can become ugly, even if the food and the wine is good, and it usually is. Besides how can I have a fair conversation with people who do not take me seriously, as a citizen I mean, and think and say quite openly that I am a failure, not having achieved the kind of affluent life style that they have, or not being collected in all the museums, the only sign of recognition they might accept, not being able to understand or even accept that one may have other goals than making a lot of money in order to spend it, or run after the carrot of fame. It has been said many times in my presence and sometimes even to my face, always candidly, sometimes apologetically but without an ounce of embarrassment or even malice, that there is no future in Art or any creative or intellectual careers. I am always amased, almost amused if I wasn’t a bit offended too. My answer is always the same, what does it mean to have a future? Is the only valid future a consumerist one? Is there any future in capitalism? Surely the current economical situation is given us a clear answer? Is there any future in spending one’s time worrying about and protecting one’s fortune and privileges?
-- Anyway I was happy to come back to London and resume my life, having had to abandon it, like a snail its shell, to fit into my mother’s very small shoes. I was exhausted, emotionally drained yet so happy to having been able to be there in these difficult and changing times. I also had many conversations with my mother, trying to help her to make sense of what is happening, trying to give her a few tips on how to deal with anxieties and existential crisis, how to occupy one’s mind so that it doesn’t sink in dangerous territory, how to regain a minimum of control or enjoyment. I have had enough experience of this through the various battles, some won, some lost, against my beloved pirates. She is 85 but has never experienced complete loss of control, has never been able to even glance, let alone confront or befriend her demons, having spent all her life looking out and giving all to others instead, her attention, her friendship, her wisdom, her help, achieving a lot of good deeds for her community in the process and being well loved and respected by many. Now that she is less active and has let others take over, she is left with herself and cannot face what she sees, cannot like what she is. It is painful to watch her suffer and panic at the realization that she can’t stand herself or being by herself and that it is too late to do anything about it. She asks many questions but when I answer her kindly but truthfully she says that I am making her brain hurts. We are very close and have a deep mutual understanding that she doesn’t share with others, not with her husband or my siblings. I cannot lie to her, she would know instantly, nor do I want to. She cannot reconcile herself with the fact that it is perhaps too late and she may never resolve her issues. I keep on telling her that it is ok, she has to accept it, she will then stop suffering. Drugs can only help to an extent, she will relapse until she learns to let go and accept. She knows this now but can’t and don’t know how to accept or let go. She asks and I tell her of my various experiments, of JUNGLE FEVER and ways of letting go. She does get it and touchingly tries all my suggestions a few times, but she expects instant relief and oblivion, complaining when it doesn’t happen. I never thought I would ever have such deep conversation with her, I feel privileged but I cannot help thinking that I may react in similar ways if I ever reach such age. And I probably will not have such a close family circle around me to help and understand me. Ageing sucks.
-- Jochen’s calm and gentle presence as well as his wonderful cooking have done wonders in bringing me back to a quieter and more positive frame of mind. I feel more able to cope and face the many deadlines looming; BOOKLIVE! Approaching fast, Jason Oddy’s AHRC funding application almost ready to submit but it almost came to an abrupt end due to the strain of the past few months trying to make it happen, his patience and mine had suddenly run out; many structural changes in Farnham are making everybody edgy and fighting for their turf, I am finding myself having to yet again fend off over ambitious and ruthless colleagues who want to benefit from the fruits of my hard work without even asking or offering anything in return; JUNGLE FEVER in Düsseldorf is evolving slowly but surely, organically and collaboratively, with great respect and mutual understanding of all involved. The user’s guide content is almost complete with map and diagrams and almost ready to hand over to David for his subtle design touch; yet to bring to life is my contribution to the “ Beyond representation “conference at the end of May; the inspiration is there, few preparatory notes and a plan of action, but no time or headspace yet to sit down and let it take shape. The pressure is on, I have just received the full program, quite impressive and definitely worth the time and effort, but I have been scheduled to speak after David Bate, not the easiest one to follow for sure. I do have a lot of respect and admiration for his writing and thinking, in my eyes, one of the best in the field.
The chaos around the flat due to the major works being done to the building is slowly improving, I have new windows now and they look great, the scaffoldings are coming down slowly to reveal the extent of the make over. I have to say, beside the Lambeth Living mismanagement and cutting corners with some of the works, the constant noise and disruption, and the huge and unfair amount we are being charged as leaseholders, it is looking good; another month or so and it should be completed. The battle is still going on and we may need to go to court but we are very lucky to have among us some very experienced and proactive young professionals; I think we have a good chance to be taken seriously and get a substantial reduction to our bill of over twenty thousands pounds, having to pay in one go for over twenty years of neglect and lack of maintenance of the building. The council is trying to use the divisive argument that if we do not pay, council tenants will have to pick up the bill, which is not true we checked, but it is succeeding in creating tensions between us and them, usual tactics.
-- Highlight of spring so far, apart form the constant rain, which if not enjoyable is deeply needed for mother earth, is the discovery and the work of maverick Colon Nancarrow, courtesy of Jochen, who treated me to a whole day of it at the much loved Southbank centre who curated a whole weekend of it in collaboration with the Laban centre, “ To mark the centenary of Conlon Nancarrow's birth and celebrate his work. Impossible Brilliance: The Music of Conlon Nancarrow will feature performances by the London Sinfonietta and the Arditti Quartet, as well as the complete 'Studies for Player Piano' on an original Marshall and Wendell Ampico reproducing piano. 12 channel surround sound versions of some of Nancarrow's pieces, as well as other works composed especially for this event, in the foyer of the Queen Elizabeth Hall. The festival will also feature the installation 'Conloninpurple' by composer and sound artist Trimpin, which will perform works by Nancarrow and others.” It is not often I discover such marvelous work, unfortunately, but it makes the pleasure more intense and the process of discovery and understanding more precious. Two of the original mechanical pianos he used were used on the Purcell rooms stage.
He was one of the first composers to use musical instruments as mechanical machines, making them play far beyond human performance ability, in this instance the player piano we are more used to see in westerns. I must admit the enjoyment of the music thus composed and played is immense, because perhaps it is impossible for a human being to play it, but also because it remains a deeply human and humane experience at the edges of what is possible but without ever pretending to be able to achieve the impossible. It is deeply intricate and subtle work, yet incredibly joyful and accessible, at least on the surface. I cannot possibly do justice to the work or the experience of it in a few words. But it is joining for me the small list of powerful encounters I have had with great works by great people, be it words, sounds or visuals. The Arditti quartet rendition of some of the compositions with impossible rhythms and timing, the score for mechanical piano having been arranged and split across four instruments, was a feast for all senses, we were on the first row and never had I noticed before all the little rituals and gestures that take place between man and instrument but also between players trying to keep up with each others and the score. I would so love the members of my family who think there is no future or life in the arts to be able to experience feel and enjoy such non-materialistic exploits, or at least try. Some of the scores were hanged at the back of the stage as a backdrop, wonderful objects too. Monday 7th May 14.36pm
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Atmosphere
Spring has sprung, unsettled
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News
- Same old but drastic News
Aung San Suu Kyi elected in Burma
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book
Steven Willats; the artist as an instigator of changes in social cognition and behaviour
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Tip
We are powerless against the ultimate
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month 6 I may be some time …
- Time is racing ahead and I never had a chance to put March to paper, until now beginning of April. So much happened, so much to say, so many words in my head being replaced by newer ones, it is time to sit down. My new glasses have won me over finally; I even think they look quite good now. It took one second for the struggle to be over, finding a photo of me wearing an awful pair of glasses around fifteen years ago, to remind me that I have always had a strange taste for glasses and many complaints from close ones; I used to be proud of my poor choice and finding it stylish rather than misguided. The only difference now is that I have perhaps lost the confidence to wear it off, middle age insecurity sneaking in... Meanwhile Syria is still bleeding, less so in the media, replaced by other more selling news, not necessarily more pressing; like Georges Osborne new budget for the well off and the young, or Aung San Suu Kyi first election campaign in Burma and ensuing victory, one of the few good news, or the worrying Gas leak in the North sea, courtesy of TOTAL this time, BP must be relieved. Europe’s bankruptcy doesn’t make headlines anymore but is still a massive issue, yet European heads take little account of it, debts are still rising, Greece, Portugal and Spain still on the verge of collapsing, not far ahead form the rest of those who haven’t done so. Yet there are rumours that both Ireland and Iceland are recovering quite well from their early downfall, and Spain, not being in such a bad way since their manufacturing industry is still strong, as opposed to the UK or France. Sarkozy’s presidential campaign is in full swing, though how can he convince anyone after 5 years of not fulfilling the promises he made in order to be elected. This doesn’t seem to disturb him, his rating is still the lowest of any outgoing candidate but the worse is that I hear everywhere that nothing is really his fault since nobody can actually solve the economic situations since the economy and the banks rule us. Such a strange argument to make, ignoring the fact that he has been instrumental in maintaining the status quo, in order to protect the interests of his peers. It has been announced in the papers this week that through various tax and other financial loopholes the top earners only pay tax on around 50% of their earnings, still complaining at their high tax band which is of roughly the same percentage. How disgraceful.
-- Politics is still banned at the diner table in my family; I think there could be blood if I hadn’t done so. While I love and respect most of my relatives, I find it hard to digest some of their arguments, reasoning or accusations of certain candidates, criticising their income or lack of governing experience. Not that some of them are not justified of course, those arguments apply to all candidates, to all politicians or those in powers who through multiple jobs or pensions, accumulate a fortune every month. It seems to be justifiable for the conservative but not for the socialists, if there is still such a thing. And when one candidate is actually cultured, articulate and knows what he is talking about, like the outsider Jean-Luc Mellenchon, who is now heading the communist party, but speaks his mind and critique both sides equally and freely in an educated manner, he defies usual stereotypes of badly spoken, rude or ignorant working class politicians and is accused of being a Bolshevik dictator.
-- The only way I can recall all that has to be said about this month, is by looking back at the images I took along the way, introducing perhaps a new way of recording my everyday, now that I only do monthly entries; a performing of John Cage’s song books at café Otto, by some members of the Scratch orchestra and others, Jeremy Deller exhibition at the Hayward, my mother’s health, BOOK LIVE conference, birthday celebration…. Starting with fog in London, a rare thing these days contrary to French belief, premise that spring was on its way, always too early for my liking and catching me by surprise. I never have enough time to settle into hibernation for long enough, by the time I am usually ready for it, winter stops. I also find spring difficult and too abrupt for both mind and body. At the same time I enjoy the fast awakening of Nature and the colors and smells it brings with it, hyacinth, crocuses, magnolias, daffodils, trees burgeoning in slow motion, a pleasure to watch the unfolding and to enjoy early morning fog on the way to Farnham, the way it both abstracts and highlights part of the surroundings while muffling all sounds, before bringing sunshine and blue skies. The usual unusually hot few days for the season before cold weather resurfaces, helps me to bear it all. The mood is low, unsettled and stressed but jus about controllable. It has been an emotionally loaded few weeks between one thing and another.
-- My mother’s depression is getting worse, not helped by the various chemical treatments she is being prescribed. They have serious side effects, like shaking, sweating, drowsiness, insomnia and mood swings and don’t have any effect on her anxieties and feelings of helplessness. It is so sad and frustrating to hear her get worse and lose more ground everyday without being able to do anything. She keeps telling me that she is completely lost, dead inside, and can’t find a meaning to her life anymore. I reply that she is lucky to have waited to be 85 to feel that way, many spend their whole life out of control and also that there is nothing wrong with being lost for a while. The difficulty is to accept it and not panic. This is at the bottom of it all, she cannot accept it, find it impossible and unbearable not to be in control. My father is bearing it as well as he can and being extremely patient, caring and supportive but we are all losing hope, her included. I am sure the doctors are doing as much damage as they are helping; she is putting all her hopes on chemicals, expecting miracles that don’t materialise. Her psychiatrist is only interested in giving her drugs, not in making her talk or analyse what is going on. I am quite sure that a placebo would have much better results and no side effects. It was getting so bad that she was taken to a mental hospital so that they can keep a close eye on her and try various other ‘molecules’ as they say. It was a choc to all of us, we never thought it would go that far. She hates being there but hates being at home also, she is drugged up to the eyeballs, yet still can’t sleep at night and beg for more drugs. It is a vicious circle and it is doing my head in. I am starting to contemplate the fact that she might never come out or recover. I was dreading seeing her in hospital, it was a bit of a shock but a pleasant environment, small bungalows with individual bedrooms in the middle of a lovely park. It was even more of a shock to have to move in with my dad to take over her role and make his life a bit easier, a brutal yet touching change of dynamics between us trying to adapt to what might be a reality sooner or later; even if my mother recovers, nothing will ever be the same and they will no longer be able to be the sociable and happy couple that everybody praised and admired for their youthful attitude and active life. We are all powerless against the ultimate and the slow decline that comes before, however frustrating that may be. She may never be again who and what she was, she is aware of it, we are aware of it and we have to face the consequences and adapt.
-- The planning of my big birthday celebration was another emotional rollercoaster, bringing to the surface all the weak points of my fragmented life in between two countries. I was hoping to bring it all together and celebrate it here in St Yrieix so that I may bring together family, and close friends from the UK, France and other places, around forty people for a weekend at the beginning of august. I almost took for granted that my sisters who live locally in big country houses and are used to host big gatherings, would be happy to take part and help me to make it happen, one evening in one place, the next day in the other. How wrong I was. It was a bit of a shock to be refused flat, no good reasons given apart from not being bothered and definitely not sharing my enthusiasm for using the occasion to bring together friends and family. They have met quite a lot of them over the years, always welcoming them in their home and enjoying the experience of meeting a different kind of people to what they are used too. The response was clear and unanimous and upsetting since without them I cannot do it. It is also hard not to take it as a form of rejection of what or who I am. I did think that in the past 6 years of spending a lot of time in France, we had built strong bridges and learnt to appreciate, respect and understand our differing ways but this is clearly not the case. They promised to come wherever I wished to celebrate this symbolic passage but had no intention in helping, knowing full well that without their support I could never bring everybody together, I have neither the means or the place to do so. Next best thing, after recovering from the hurt and disappointment, was to find a big place to rent for the weekend in Suffolk or in Sussex, big enough for people to camp and others to stay indoor. I found 2 or 3 suitable ones, unfortunately in the summer they are only available by the week and that was unaffordable. Besides, all family members found reasons or excuses for not liking the idea or not being able to come; family holidays already planned, the Olympic games etc… Second disappointment, easier to digest than the first one and one that prompted a radical move; I decided to rent a cottage in the Scottish Highlands, in Reiff, where I went last summer to visit Diyanne; it will take place first week of September, finishing with a weekend in Stornoway where Peter Uperth is organizing a special John Cage anniversary celebration at Ann Lantair art center, where I did the ‘is a thing lost if you know where it is ‘ project with Ian Stephen last year. I can’t think of a better place to celebrate the passage of time than at the edge of the world. Diyanne suggested a big fire on the beach and fresh herrings; she is starting to collect wood. The cottage is big and luxurious, almost on the beach. Strangely enough it happens to belong to a friend of James and Karen. Between Diyanne’s place, the cottage and other nearby B&B I can welcome 12 to 18 people at one time, so far 8 have confirmed. It doesn’t matter if only 2 or 3 people can make it, I know they will find the place spectacular and in a way I just want the others to know that I would want them to be there. Happy end of saga but still mulling over the feeling of rejection and licking my wounds. My family was wonderful and did so much for me when I came back to undergo major medical treatment for 10 months, seven years ago, no hesitation, no effort spared. But they are not prepared or interested in celebrating with me, help or no help required. As if they could only cope when I am in need or weak. How peculiar. I did manage to voice my hurt and disappointment, it didn’t go down very well but it had to be said.
-- Jeremy Deller ‘Joy for the people’ exhibition was a real joy and an inspiration. I was concerned that he wouldn’t manage to make the show as interesting and exciting as his projects, since most of the work takes place elsewhere than in a gallery. But it works beautifully, as a retrospective, it is all there, but thoughtfully and generously retold and modestly too; definitely not looking like a dead archive, each work being documented or reconstructed in a different way, keeping most of the potency of the original. My favourite two being the acid brass band and the accompanying diagram connecting the two music genre socially, politically and absurdly. The other is the famous re-enactment of the battle of Orgreave, the Artangel project, filmed by Mike Figgis. An absolutely fascinating and gripping document and monument to a piece of British history, the miners strike and the ruthless way Maggie Thatcher dealt with it; play acted by the original participants on both sides, nearly 20 years later, though acting is not the word, since the struggle, the anger, the injustice and the violence looked very real even knowing it was a re-enactment, seeing the horses charging, the miners running and being pursued, the stones flying, even the beatings with soft batons looked real. It only made the original struggle even more outrageous. This and the recollection of both strikers and policemen, of the events, of what followed in their personal life and how they feel know in retrospect. I was wondering if Meryl Streep has seen this film as part of her research into playing the iron lady, and felt even more happy to have refused to go and see her portrayal, Oscar or no Oscar. What is great about this exhibition is that it was so not egocentric and narcissistic. Jeremy Deller’s touch and voice and sensibility are always present but it is always as a tool, an enabler, it is never the focal point of the work. I kept on being reminded of Tracey Emin, for some strange reasons, perhaps because this was the last show I saw at the Hayward, and also because some of his banners and stitching work resembles, at least on the surface, Emin’s blankets. But mostly because they are on opposite side of the Ego spectrum, one is looking outward, the other inward, Echo and Narcissus of a certain kind. I need to go back a few times to see it all, and for once I need to see it all, and see it again.
-- BOOKLIVE! Symposium in June is progressing nicely, the structure of the two full days almost ready, no small exercise trying to do something coherent with the depth and breath of submissions and the various constraints of presenters. I am almost there and should be ready for the second round of advertising, the first one being just before early bird registration opened on 1st of April, no April fool. Now we know for sure we have something good to offer, at least on paper and based on the reputation of some of the names included in the lineup, the anxiety has shifter toward having enough of an audience. I wonder what it will be next. JUNGLE FEVER wish you were here, is also progressing well in the direction I intended it to. The content of the universal guidebook is almost complete and starting to resonate well. I am thrilled that David Rule is on board for the design and the layout as well as for finishing the packaging of the evolving series of postcards and snapshots of previous destinations. I am in discussions with Antoine, Marcus and Christoph for the first outings of the projects in Dusseldorf and Munich, based solely around the guidebook displayed in a prepared space, without my contribution as a tourist guide so that visitors may take part, or not, according to their response to what they read. As I said to Antoine on the phone I am equally thrilled and petrified at the prospect, since I cannot think of any better qualified or generous participants and contributors to JUNGLE FEVER than himself, Sandra, Christof, Marcus, André, Joachim, and a few others in the Wandelweiser entourage, at the same time I know they will also be the sharpest critics. I am welcoming this but wondering also whether I will be able to take it. Inch Allah. I am also spreading JUNGLE FEVER spirit to May day celebration for Natasha’s and Afshin festival around the centenary of the Bread and Roses strike; I am proposing a ‘JUNGLE FEVER wish you were here on strike’ experiment where people are invited to come with their object or subject of discontent, to develop collectively various striking moves, shouts and banners before taking to the streets. This is a patchy summary of March, almost two weeks behind.
Monday 2nd April 10.32pm
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Atmosphere
Arctic weather followed by warmth
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News
- Sarkozy has officially started his presidential campagin
Whitney Houston dies in her bath
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book
Howard Slater; Anomie Bonhomie and other writings
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Tip
‘ It is dangerous to step out of line, and lethal not to. (Lis Rhodes)
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month 5 Icy valentine and deadline
-- I am just back from ten days in snowy France. For once the weather waited for me to travel before hitting Europe hard and disturbing trains and planes traffic. The morning after I arrived I opened my shutters to a snowy landscape, at least 10 cms thick already and still falling, low skies and very little visibility. It was magical and very quiet, the snow absorbing all sounds and the roads being unsuitable for driving. My car wouldn’t start anyway. I had to walk everywhere, the only one to do so the town was empty. I loved it but got strange looks from the few cars struggling on the road. I felt I was in the Alpes and really loved the white emptiness of both town and countryside. I always get excited by the snow somehow, even now as an adult, something uplifting and exhilarating about it. After a couple of days the temperature dropped to minus ten and stayed that way for over a week sometimes with heavy wind. It became much less pleasant and incredibly tiring. The extreme contrast between the heat inside and the unusual arctic cold outside was hard to take, difficult to sleep at night, either too hot or to cold, unruly hair because of heavy electrostatic, and the skin becoming very dry and itchy. Realising we are really not suited to and prepared for such weather. Strangely enough, now back in London I feel unusually warm. I also panicked all along about my flight back being cancelled. Days are also getting longer, so much more noticeable there with the one hour difference.
-- Meanwhile, it was all about multitasking between chores at the cdla, launching the new exhibition of the book and magazine works of the artist and publisher Jean François Bory, the first one to publish in French a book on Raoul Hausman. I do really like his fantastic self published black and white magazine ‘L’humidité’, around 25 issues in almost ten years that he edited sometimes in collaboration with others, full of photographs, collages, visual poetry, drawings; some issues are thematic, some monographic but always fantastically designed, and bringing together the work of many in the concrete poetry and artist book scene, thus providing a great vehicle for communication and dissemination for the avant-garde of the time; Boltanski, but also Roland Barthes, Vito Acconci and Gina Pane. Quite clever also, he always managed to include a few of his own works on paper or photographs of his sculptures as well as reviews and essays on them written by other artists and writers, Barthes have contributed a few. And as usual for the time, mostly men contributing works, some great works indeed but quite a few with strong sexual content, tits, bums, erect penii, anuses and other revealing pornographic imagery of women being subverted or collaged. I still don’t understand or actually know what was or is the conceptual or artistic justification for so much of it, or how silly it mostly is, far from George Bataille literary and personal exploration of pornography. I also started to promote our resources and research facilities and our wish to support or collaborate with scholars, researchers, academics, artists, engaged in research projects on any aspect of independent publishing. It took me a long while since the summer to identify and gather data on all academic and non-academic institutions and individuals around the world who might be interested. Then magically enough it only took a few minutes to disseminate the information via email and a day to start receiving expressions of interest. Global communication managing to compensate for how isolated we are in deep Limousin. This virtual world of ours is not all bad after all.
-- While doing so I had my university mailbox open and watched with delight submissions for BOOK LIVE! dropping in every 5 minutes of so, since the deadline was approaching fast, sometimes recognizing the name of the sender, excitement and relief mounting in equal amount. We received over 50 proposals and some are still coming in late, exceeding my expectations in terms of quality and quality but also diversity of content and originality. I know now that we will have a lively and inspiring two days ad that the ensuing publication will bring together essential texts and projects from key players in the field sharing their experiments with digital technology and their understanding of the current evolution of the book. I am actually surprised how many proposals are concentrating on reading practices and rituals, many more than on book production or dissemination. I am also happy that we will also have some collectors involved and be able to represent perspectives from America, the UK, France, Spain, but also Eastern Europe and possibly the Middle East too. Selection is going to be difficult since we only require 15 to 20 presentations. I am also trying various ideas in terms of the structure of the 2 days, going for a linear historical timeline, starting with pre book culture of the middle ages and finishing with the latest e book experiments, or a linear production timeline, from thinking to writing to designing to publishing to distributing, reading and collecting books or according to textual, graphic or photographic book works. Anyhow I am finding the process very interesting and really enjoying reading so many ways of speaking about the book. We have a lot of reading and reflecting and discussing to do before a clear program emerges in 10 days time.
-- The rest of my time was taken by more domestic matters, starting to organize my moving out in early April. Organize transport, friendly helpers, alternative temporary accommodation for the future, I am happy to say that I have had six generous offers of places to stay for my short almost monthly visits, either with family members, two sisters and my parents living nearby and a couple of friends in or near Limoges. Still not sure where I will be living my car when in England but I will at least have a roof over my head. I have started to discard enwanted or suprplus books, clothes and furniture, finding new owners in my entourage for what I think is worth keeping, I am really pleased Samia is inheriting a few nice pieces, that I will see when I visit her in Paris, Danielle and Gerard, the gorgeous 70’s full length mirror I bought from them a few years ago. They are giving me in exchange a very nice round wooded table that I will bring to London in the summer with the rest of my books and bits and pieces from my studio’ old work, plan chests etc..
I happily got back into the daily routine of lunch with my parents followed by a quick Scrabble afterward. My mother is once more dipping into depression and looking to me for relief and moral support. She has taken up morning exercise as I suggested a few months ago and it has definitely improved both her posture and her physical strength. But her mind is still really troubled, not coping well with ageing and the prospect of losing my father and finding herself by herself. She is now panicking every time he goes out that he may fall or have a car crash etc.. It is both sad and touching to see, frustrating too since there is not much I can do to stop the effect of time passing. I am trying to help her to find ways of accepting it all rather than fight it or feel anxious or vulnerable. I am getting her in the habit of writing everyday, her thoughts, her fears, everything that comes to her head. She is not convinced of the use yet but she is doing it, and offering to read it to me. it seemed to please her and make her fell better to share it with me so I said yes, I was curious of course too. I was impressed and moved by the honesty and simplicity of her words, and the depth of her despair, not really a fear of death, on the contrary, fear and frustration at not being able to cope with life as she used to. Shamefully, the artist in me was already considering what I could do with her diary.
-- I was also reminded of my own vulnerability and chronic state of being with my yearly complete hospital check up, as opposed to the regular tests to make sure my pirates are not planning or in the middle of a fully blown sneaky invasion. I am either used to being occupied and the consequences it has on my body and mind or the said ageing body is super strong or resilient, since I do feel good and far from the sick being needing if not urgent at least imminent treatment, as the specialist took pleasure reminding me, with a smile perhaps but quite firmly, as if she was taking my optimistic and healthy attitude as a challenge to her own purpose in life. She is recognized as one of the best in the field in France, recently made a professor, I feel very fortunate to be under her supervision for the past 6 years. But I realised that we had different goals and attitude towards the occupier, I want to live as well as I can for as long as I can, pirates or no pirates, she is on a crusade, she is at war, she sees occupation as a short term inconvenience and not an acceptable permanent solution. I have been stable and functioning fairly happily for the past 10 years, in harmony with the invader, I am way past the half way point to the final curtain, I see no reason why it should change suddenly if I take care of myself, or to go to war at heavy cost to my body, mind and the health services in order to prevent it. And at least I know my enemy and can focus on it, rather than finding other reasons to get anxious like most of us do, since we have been conditioned from birth to avoid freedom (from worries), finding it later on too overwhelming or scary. It is good to know one’s own limits.
-- Speaking of battles and limits, last time I transgressed mine and undertook a major war against my pirates, it allowed me to follow for the first time in 30 years, the French presidential election campaign in 2007, the one that opposed Segolene Royale, first ever woman candidate in macho France, who borrowed Barbara Kruger clever word plays and strong graphic aesthetic (B & W with red slogans) ‘LA FRANCE ROYALE’ for her presidential poster. I must admit that the cultural reference and subtle pun escaped most of the population, not that literate in terms of contemporary art or visual semiotics; this discovery was the prompt for my REPUBLIQUE FRANCAISE’ project where I looked very closely, literally and metaphorically, at the posters of all 11 candidates, deconstructing them into a series of pictures of eyes, mouths, words, backgrounds and words that I used to construct new political messages and alliances. To my surprise even local MPs, senators and other politicians failed to recognise the fragments of even Sarkozy and Le Pen. I am planning in revisiting the project and the idea 5 years on, now that Sarkozy, current president, has changed wife for a younger model in all meaning sof the word, Carla Bruni, after being dumped publically before and then after his victory, became a father and above all failed to deliver most of his promises. As a consequence he is today the most hated French president going for re-election, achieving the lowest poll ratings, of all times. Yet he cannot give power up, announcing on one of hi public outings, that he would prefer becoming a monk rather than having to stand down and have to support another candidate; a flippant comment but a revealing one for someone who did all he could to have an audience with the pope and proclaim himself a believer at the beginning of his presidential career. Well his new approach is to now proclaim himself as a sea captain who cannot possibly abandon ship (France) in such stormy weather, forgetting to add that he is partly responsible for the current situation, in Europe at least thanks to his longstanding platonic alliance with wealthy cousin Merkel and their lack of radical decisionmaking. She has recently publically supported him as the best choice for France, not in her role as head of a political party but whilst on prime minister duties, not that many complained about the fact except from ‘ Liberation’ left wing newspaper who published an hilarious cartoon of Sarkozy and Merkel in the famous painting of Gabrielle d'Estrées and one of her sisters in the bath from the late 16th century, depicting the former pinching the latter’s nipple, a strange gesture in itself, Gabrielle was the mistress of the current king Henry IV, this was less strange since it was and possibly still is common throughout history, for royals to have mistresses. What I find quite interesting in the caricature is the subtext that there is no possible ambiguity between Sarkozy and Merkel’s relationship, how can there be since she is not a looker, they can only be related, yet not quite acceptable despite their standing in society; absolutely brilliant.
-- Another subtext of the current election campaign, is that the socialist candidate François Hollande, who has a good chance to win according to polls, is the ex husband of Segolene Royale, who lost agains Sarkozy five years ago, they were still married at the time and as the head of the Socialist party he was actively supporting her, as were their four children, the image of a united and modern family, since she was the candidate not him, was part of the campain. He left her soon after her defeat, though there were many rumours that he was already with a younger model but they were keeping up appearances unbtil after the elections. Five years later, the rumours proved to be true, they are separated, she has lost the contest for being the chosen socialist candidate, way behind the four other candidates and she now has to support him in his campaign and seem to be doing so with apparent grace and a smile. Despite everything people say about her, I do not know many politicians or other people who could bury their pride and behave so honorably; certainly not Sarkozy anyway. Before I finish with politics, I have banned the subject while in the presence of my family. It is difficult to resist the temptation to argue, since they are all conservative and sometimes come up with outrageous arguments. I would like to think they are doing so by informed choice, but it seems to me that it is more by birth and as a matter of principle, most cannot imagine ever voting socialist, despite the left being called ‘ La gauche champagne’, on a similar model than Tony Blair ‘New Labour’ of yesteryear. He changed forever the meaning of the word ‘New’, not his only legacy unfortunately. Last year Lambeth council borrowed it when trying to explain why leaseholders service charges had suddenly gone up by 30 to 60% despite no extra ‘services’ or maintenance being undertaken; they had a ‘new’ way of calculating the cost and as such they were acting lawfully.
-- The power words have to mean whatever we want them to, and the talent some have to use words to cover up what they mean or get their way regardless. Most institutions are rules that way, and most people who have power got it that way too; Lambeth Council for exemple. As a leaseholder and part of a group, we are currently in a legal battle, contesting being charged over twenty thousands pounds for windows and door replacement, over 2/3 of the amount charged to us is being spent to replace roof and pipes and catch up on over twenty years of neglect and lack of repairs to our beautiful 1930’s building. I am finding out that procedures for complaints and legal challenges are complicated and lengthy but don’t amount to anything else than a battle of words; the council has the duty to ‘consult’ with us regarding any major works but consulting means informing, and acknowledging our comments and reactions in writing. It doesn’t involve taking them into consideration or involving us in the decision process. The power of words to also be used properly and say what they mean and mean what they say, like in the case of Lis Rhodes. I have just been to see her exhibition at the ICA, alongside ‘IN NUMBERS; serial publications by artists since 1955’. I can safely say that the ICA is back on track after a few years of struggling to survive and find its place. Or perhaps the 2 exhibitions both dealing with works and artists from the 60s and 70s, the hay day of the ICA has awaken the spirits of the place. It was a pleasure to see again, behind glass unfortunately, great works such as SEMINA, Material, 0 to 9, FILE and Eleonor Antin’s 100 boots, and to discover some I didn’t know like Permanent Food and Diagonal Cero. As to Lis Rhodes, she taught me when I was at the Slade in the mid 1990’s, I really enjoyed and appreciated her sharp and uncompromising comments. I must admit that at the time I dind’t fully get or relate to her work despite being aware of its context and history. I enjoyed the challenge of sitting through a screening, the way you learn to negotiate and appreciate durational or improvised film or music but the language dimension escaped me completely. Yet I was already playing with words, she also introduced me to the work of Gertrud Stein. I am a slow learner. So I really looked forward to revisit her work almost 20 years later. I was with Jochen and both of us sat still through every film projected, completely engrossed, led by her words. Altogether sharp and lose, poetic and politic. Image and text for ever evolving, repeating, permutating, starting again, independently of each other, sometimes coming together too. It was such a pleasure, I remembered it all quite well but I am finally getting it, I am finally in it, happily trapped in between words and images, and loving it. It hasn’t aged and I have matured. The most recent work, as a double screen projection made from footages of various protests and disturbances mixed and collaged together took a while to get into, because of the two screens, but was equally mesmerizing and also poignant. It deserved repeated viewing to have enough time to fully absorbs some of the words. I bought the catalogue which is small and looks perfectly unassuming, and has the same sharpness and economy of words and visuals than the film works.
-- What a perfect way to finish the month of February, and spend a leap day. I do remember indeed what I did four years ago, quite unforgettable since I did what women are only able to do that day, according to a silly old Irish legend about a deal made between St Bridget and St Patrick. The way I did it is as memorable as the fact that I still haven’t had an answer, and strangely enough I am not really waiting for one. It was the act of asking which was important to me. And we all know that yes can me no and vice versa. Like when I ask people whether my new glasses suit me, I can easily tell when yes means no, when in fact I am only looking for confirmation of my doubts and insecurities about how they make me look. They are classic vintage 1970’s frames given to me by my god friend Gerard, they belonged to his aunt. I thought and was hoping that they would look original and slightly different on me when actually they blend in completely, we match. First sign of this is when the optician first put them on my nose and I turned confidently to the mirror, what a disappointment. Second sign is when they received unanimous approval in France, the first time this happen in 20 years of wearing glasses, and it is usually the opposite. I look and feel undoubtedlly middle age. I am hoping that something will give, and it certainly wont be the glasses. Spring is on the way and Syria is bleeding.Wednesday 29th February 22.22pm
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Atmosphere
Winter at last
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News
- KODAK has filed for Bankruptcy
- Internet on strike for 24h
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book
Jonathan Culler; The Semiotics of Tourism
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Tip
silence is more convincing than speech but harder to keep up.
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month 4 Slow start fast moves
-- January is almost over and it is the first chance I have to sit down and do this. There have been a few failed attempts, some notes taken, but there are always more urgent things to do and the task at hand grows every time I postpone it. So here I am, chained to the sofa, trying not to think of what else I could be or should be doing. It is now or never, since giving up is not an option, at least not yet. My voiceless beginning of the year in Paris feels very far behind. I remained silent for a further week or so after my return to London and I still sound a bit croaky, as if I smoked 2 packs of Gauloise a day. I did enjoy the experience and the effect it had on people around me; some felt compelled to whisper to tune in to my sound levels, conversations became quite sparse and silence became the norm for a while. I think it made me look vulnerable and powerless, not that I felt that way at all. A few people at work even said that they really enjoyed this new me, it was a welcome change from my usual strong headed and argumentative attitude. I must admit that I entirely agree with them, I was also enjoying my temporarily more passive and laid back attitude to life. It was much less tiring and stressing. To my great surprise it seemed to be more effective too! Not that I achieved much more than in my usually more confrontational mode, but as much for sure and it was more pleasant for all involved. This was a great discovery for me, a humbling one too. I am not sure I can keep it up for long now speech is coming back. I am trying though. I don’t think it is connected but within a month I have lost a crown on each side of my mouth, at the back fortunately. There isn’t much that can be done unfortunately unless I have a few thousands pounds to spare for implants, why are they so expensive, I couldn’t get an answer. I have lost quite a lot of bite but gained nicer cheekbones. My dentist has a sense of humour…
-- The Euro is 10 years old this month, yet hardly able to stand on its own two feet. No celebration at all since its situation is so unhealthy. Now the holiday season is over, during which bad news were kept to a minimum, it might have prevented people form spending what they don’t have, it is all starting again, the Euro zone is sinking a bit deeper. It is getting worse. France and a few other countries credit rating have been downgraded. It made me happy to imagine Sarkozy’s face, he who sees himself as Europe’s savior, with the help of Angela, her money and his big mouth, since France doesn’t have a penny to spare. It is damaging his credibility and his reputation so close to presidential election.. Strangely enough French Prime Minister Francois Fillion is now saying, that it doesn’t really matter or make much difference, using exactly the opposite argument when other countries like Spain and Portugal were downgraded. Poor Portugal is now beyond salvation, its debt not worth the non-paper it is written on. England has nothing to be proud of, despite all the drastic cuts and savings since Cameron is in power, the UK debt has reached 1 trillion pounds this week, an average of 16 thousands pound per citizen, 64.2 of the GDP, According to the B.B.C., up from 59.4% a year ago. The US national debt is close to 75% of GDP. What is going on? Mind you I am not far behind I think my personal debt is way over that, yet my bank is still sending me tantalizing offers every month. And I do not have the option of quantitative easing. How wonderful that would be… The bank of England has injected 275 billions pounds since 2009.
- Last week the Internet went on strike for the first time, a virtual strike, the largest online protest in history to stop SOPA and PIPA, the 2 Internet censorship bills about to be voted by the American congress. It has worked since the vote has been postponed indefinitely. Now despite being semantically wrong since only people can go on strike, not a virtual structure. But it proves the power and the place this invisible force has taken in today’s world. Even in the Archer’s, life stopped for a week since internet cables were sabotaged by cable thieves creating havoc in the whole community.
-- The year has started, like every year, with two birthday celebrations, Eva in Saltdean followed by James in London. Eva’s in holiday mode since they now live in a great house in Saltdean in between the Southdown’s and the sea, occasion to profit from the warmth of their hospitality for a weekend; each visit gives rise to the same rituals of long walks on the beach or on the downs, coffee in the sun by the lido, late brunches and much banter and laughter. The party was low key but high in calories and sugar content, there were many deserts brought by all, they all ended up at some point on Eva’s body in an impromptu little performance. The company and the sea air brought me back to life after my sick beginning and I came back to London finally ready to face the coming year and its many challenges.
James’s birthday was the occasion to launch his temporary shop at ‘ Le garage” across the road form brockwell park. He has it for 6 weeks, opening every day, hoping to get rid of a lot of his stock of antics, books and objects of all kind which occupy most of his big house and 2 storage arches. He does have some wonderful things, not always affordable but some true gems which are hard to resist. He has called the shop ‘the society for protection of unwanted objects’, Karen painted a beautiful gold sign for the occasion. I manage to be reasonable and only succumb to a beautiful Moroccan dish and an old small book on Ipswich. The shop attracted a lot of people, I am sure he will be successful, once he accepts to let go of things. It was very funny to observe him struggling a little every time someone was interested in buying something, hesitating, not being sure of the price, haggling for a pound or two, doing everything to delay or prevent the sale, very touching indeed. I will visit towards the end, one or 2 lamps and a small table that won’t go away from my mind. Some more lovely cakes and bubbles, candles and a little speech to conclude the occasion. It was my first social outing since being ill and I felt rather fragile and wanted to keep enough energy to drive to the seaside the next day for Eva’s celebration.
-- It might have been a slow start in some ways but in others multitasking and fast thinking was required. First semester assessment of third years in Farnham, voiceless and tired Some good works overall of much better standard than last year’s cohort but many fails also, more than I have ever experienced in over 10 years teaching in Farnham. This is worrying in itself and we need to address it, not that we have much time to do so right now with preparing 2nd semesters modules, trying to accommodate 20% more students on already stretched budget and resources, and rewriting the course and many units for the coming course review in March. It is not so much the rewriting that takes time but the discussions and negotiations that take place, there are so many changes to make, it is an interesting process and a creative one too but on top of everything else, it doesn’t allow for much room or time to maneuver. Then there is the Book Live! Conference, extending the deadline because of the festive break and starting to sort the proposals received. I am relieved; we have had some very interesting submissions, enough already to offer a good selection and range of presentations and ensuring a good debate. Some more are coming too. Then there are the professorial meetings preparing for REF 14, having to look closely at and assess all research outputs submitted, only 3 or 4 stars research is eligible for submission; of international excellence and merit. I am learning a lot about the whole process and how to best describe or frame the research potential of projects in the required institutional jargon. It is a very useful skill to have.
-- Then there is progressing along the Research I am doing to progress the JUNGLE FEVER project and finish the documentation. This included a lot of reading, perfect season for it. I am looking at cultural and social theories on tourism, from early writings by Hans Magnus Ezensberger, a theory of tourism to Dean Mccannels' the tourist, Jonathan Culler's The Semiotics of Tourism, René Scherer’s Utopies nomads etc…. This is such a treat, the pleasure of reading and researching a topic I do not no much about, taking notes, letting new ideas sink in. The project evolved so quickly last year and the first public outings were so close together that I never had the time to do this beforehand. On reflection I am not sure it is a bad thing. While I became rather confused and overwhelmed by the success of the project, by success I don’t mean financial success or critical acclaim, but success in terms of achieving what I was trying to do and doing so for the pleasure and benefice of all involved. In each destination travel beyond one’s personal borders took place for all, myself included, resulting in some great friendships, memories, snapshots and home movies. And the project evolved in unexpected directions; from indoors to outdoors, starting looking at personal exploration of historical and political sites. I managed to create and provide an enjoyable alternative to a packaged holiday and global tourism and in the meantime while opening up new horizons for the project. So many new horizons that it became difficult to frame or decide what was the project and what wasn’t or what it was about.
-- Now I have something to apply all my reading and findings to. Reading about the history and the various attempts at theorizing Tourism is also very enlightening. The fact that in the 1950s the mass tourism of today was already predicted by people like Hans Magnus Enzensberger and Gerard Nebel who said; ‘ The European disease breaks out in a row of abscesses. A country that has given itself over to tourism conceals its metaphysical substance – it shows its façades but no longer its daemonic power.” How true of today places like the Costa del Sol in Spain and other packaged holiday destinations. The words he uses are so dramatic; it is a pleasure to read. Hans Magnus in a more gentle way is even more prophetic; “ the yearning for freedom from society has been harnessed by the very society it seeks to escape. An industry has been established to manufacture deliverance from the industrial world; travels beyond the world of commodities has itself become a commodity “. That was written in 1958, how completely accurate was he. Another notion I do find thought provoking, I can’t remember right now who it was who wondered whether we created Tourism or Tourism created us. Anyway this only the tip of the iceberg of my findings on the subject. What I find rewarding is that it is not such a big iceberg, not that much has been written on the subject so it is relatively easy to find one’s way and make up one’s mind. Having said that, it means there is so much to do on the subject. Especially if I start from the premise that the world is a manufactured playground and that we the artists and thinkers are the ones best prepared and experienced to show the rest of the world how to explore it creatively, freely and responsibly, in other words how to escape one’s condition and every day life at will and without looking elsewhere.
-- Lat weekend this is exactly what I had the chance to do, taking part in Oliver Froome-Lewis project, ‘Spatial translation’, bringing together 4 architects and 4 photographers to explore, contrast and compare their understanding of public spaces. He took us all on a day trip through London, around 10 miles, starting at 9.30am in Archway and more or less in a straight line, at least on the map, walking down to Battersea park, finishing at the peace Pagoda around 6pm. He gave us a map of the itinerary, we had as sole instruction to document our journey en route, in photographs and text if we wished, walking altogether as a lose group. We could if we wanted make plans to revisit certain locations at a later date. We were all quite puzzled yet intrigued by the experiment and his lack of precise directive. It was cold and very windy but bearable and the sun came out on a few occasions. A really enjoyable and unusual experience, if not exhausting, to walk all day leisurely all day as a group but with no other aim than to walk the walk and document it. It brought back many memories from different chapters of my life in London, same for the other it seems. At the same time it connected familiar places in a new and often unexpected ways. I did discover one or two new places also. What I enjoyed most is to be a detached observer of what was going on along the way, almost as if I was watching a film in 3D, various scenes and little rituals unraveling in front of my eyes. I can’t say I was that entertained or excited by what I saw, it all felt quite surreal or over the top, and I found it hard to relate any of it to my own life. Like for exemple watching people on a Saturday morning in Regents Park, being bossed around and shouted out willingly, even paying for it, apparently for fitness sake. It seems to be fashionable and popular thing to do; it is called British military fitness. Serving or ex members of the arm forces train you and they promise to rapidly increase your strength, speed and stamina. And they do this by abusing you verbally and pushing you to your physical and mental limits. How mad is that? Another exemple is seeing in Mayfair in a shop window among other luxury items of home furniture a gold plated and porcelain ‘woman as a toilet’, bare chested, arms raised and folded suggestively above her head, mouth pouting half open, strategically placed within reach of a pissing man crotch. I was fascinated, shocked, amused, disgusted. As a piece of art by the Chapman’s brothers or Damien Hirst (a giant version) I would find it over the top and sensationalist but it could work. I think even Allen Jones who is responsible for the larger than life size? ‘Hat stand’, ‘Table’ and ‘Chair’ didn't dare to go there for Art sake. But to think someone, a man presumably would chose to pay a fortune to have this installed in his toilets, and on top of this subject his wife or partner to use it also. I find it pretty hard to take in. When discussing it with a few men, they had another point, let say more technical; they wondered how one would pee, if aroused by the sight or proximity of the inviting mouth or breast.
I am looking forward to see what each one of us will make of the same journey, what eight images they will select and what impressions or conclusions they will draw from the experience. I have come up this weekend with a working edit and a few conclusions, which did surprise me at first since I didn’t pan for it to happen. But in the end it is conquering with what I have been reading on tourism and linking nicely with what I am trying to go beyond with Jungle Fever. The photographs are chose intuitively out of around 40 all portray the city as a sort of fantasy world full of carefully constructed signs that often seem arbitrary or misleading since they bear little resemblance with reality. Altogether they transform the city into a theme park. People seem quite content with these manufactured illusions. They even create their own.
Sunday 29th January 21.50pm
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Atmosphere
voiceless blues, gales at times
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News
The end has been and gone
- Stephen Lawrence attackers finally sentenced
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book
Howard Slater's Anomie/Bonhomie, published by Mute
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Tip
Being voiceless and speechless are not quite the same.
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month 3 To be or not to be (in) again
-- I have survived the end of the festive season, quite unscathed apart from losing my voice at the start of a long awaited and well deserved few days in Paris, voiceless and quite poorly. Luckily Samia turned out to be the best carer possible even managing to pretend that she enjoyed it. Not much was achieved in terms of exhibitions or the usual long walks with numerous coffee stops and much banter, apart from ‘Betes off’ at La Conciergerie, a few fantastic pieces but rather theatrical as a whole, apart from Karen ‘s photograph ‘ the passage, villa Savoye. That was replaced with great food and a few classics on dvd; Harvey with James Stewart, Fellini’s the white sheikh, Sokurov’s fantastic Russian Ark, I so wished I could have been there to witness the one and only take; wouldn’t it be great to imagine a camera recording the movement of the first camera’s and the aftermath of its roaming through the hermitage, tableau after tableau, and finally Julie Delpy’s the countess.
-- I came up from St Yrieix on the 31st to spend a few days with Samia before coming back to London. Christmas had been a merry and joyous family occasion, not much tension for once, we were all on best behaviour since one of my nephews, Mathieu, had invited one of his student friend, Sukrit from Pondicherry, stranded a long way from home. Much champagne and good wine was consumed by all from quite early on, a father Christmas costume was passed on throughout the evening, each volunteer, male and female, bringing their own touches to the role. The highlight of the evening was a surprise inauguration of the gorgeous fireplace in my sister’s gorgeous house, which has remained unused since they moved in 8 years ago, to much of my disappointment and my many complaints every winter. It has finally happened, the whole atmosphere of this already beautiful house is transformed, it now feels alive and complete. I did spent a few evening afterwards, staring at the flames after finishing various festive remains of salmon, foie gras, cheeses, wines, champagne, caviar even, enjoying it all while moaning at the silly cost of it all, like every year. The rest of my time was spent catching up with things at the centre des livres d’artistes, documentation of Helen Garcia installation in town and on site, projects for next year, website update, promoting our research and residencies facilities… Also catching up with the few friends I have there that I hadn’t had the chance to see the previous month, and most of all starting to clear up, sort out and pack some of my belongings. I have now handed in my notice and have to hand back the keys in three months times, just after Ester. I am not keeping much apart from books and one or two pieces of furniture and carpets. I want to give the rest to friends and family, I am enjoying the process of identifying who might like or want what. I have to find storage for what is left from my studio breaking of last year, now waiting in my basement, until I decide what to do with it all, bring it back to London or else.
-- I also took the time to go and visit my two beloved godsons, Nicolas and Roman, who now live in Bergerac with their uncle, since the death of their mother 5 years ago. They have lost their father too in September, he had been ill for a long while, it wasn’t a complete surprise and they were not that close to him, he was a difficult man and never much of a father figure but it is still difficult nevertheless, at 19 and 16, perhaps even more since guilt comes into play. They are lucky to have strong family support and love and some very good friends, I do my best also from a distance, never enough it feels. It was great to spend some times with them, just being together, sometimes reminiscing on their childhood, common memories and good times with their mother. Rather than imposing them something to do, I followed them for a day and an evening, meeting their friends, taking them out for drinks in their favourite music bar, catching up on their present, their stories, girlfriends, music…. One is into rock and punk music, docmartins shoes, jeans, perfecto, the other is a post punk/anarchist/squatter with a beard, wearing sarouel pants, knitted black cap, a palestinian scarf hanging from his pocket, not a hippie for sure but his own strange mix of a kind. Stories of his squatting life in Bordeaux is bringing back memories of my own, it was great to compare experiences and be able to give him a few tips, making it easier to talk about more serious matters, helping him find something constructive to do in terms of studying or travelling or gathering experience through volunteering abroad, coming to send a few months with me to learn English, instead of hanging out and feeling rather lost and confused. Not sure I have succeeded there, we made a few tentative plans but nothing concrete yet. Roman seems to have good plans, want to go into journalism in a couple of years time, share a flat with a friend in Bordeaux during his studies, not interested in squatting, liking his comfort too much. I really do feel for them and try my best to be there. I am realizing what a privileged connection I have, this is filling me with as much joy than anxiety. It was very funny walking around with both and a young Esmeralda look alike but quite full figured, dressed with layers and layers of scarves, long skirts, dreadlocks, a generous cleavage and carrying two juggling batons. Bergerac is a small town ,very provincial and conservative, they were stared at with disgust and distrust, I was looked at with shame and contempt, probably mistaken for the mother. It reminded me of my age of course but more to the point of my late teens when I was myself a bit of a punk in provincial Limoges then Paris. I, too, walked around proudly or carelessly, sometimes with my mother or other members of my family. I know now what they had to put up with. I was sad to leave, this was to short to really make a difference, and not knowing when I could return but plans were made and I will try my best to keep in close virtual contact until then.
-- For new year eve, despite feeling my lingering cold worsening and after a bottle of champagne, Samia, Thierry and I went walking along the canal, from Pantin, all the way to Belleville. The streets were glistening with rain and completely empty, it was quite magical, we could see people celebrating at home, a few parties. We stopped for merguez and chips with traditional mint tea in a great Morrocan café at la Couronne, not entirely traditional but I had had a fixation on it since we left the flat, then walked back after midnight stroke, witnessing much drunken euphoria and shouting of happy new year to the world and to us from most lit windows, some sounding as if they were being strangled, quite unpleasant to hear. We did respond of course, if not more melodically, perhaps how I lost my voice and what was left of my health the next day. No regret though, another bottle of champagne was waiting for us when we got back from our ten kilometers walk, and I found on the way the image for my 2012 wishes. Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité.Thursday 5th January 2012 20.12pm
To be or not to be (in) again
-- America’s occupation of Irak is officially over. Mind you it had been a while that , in preparation for this day, the media stopped reporting daily the number of deaths and casualties at every news bulletin. It now has been replaced by the EUROZONE crisis. Obama seems confident that Irak has been saved and can now survive alone. Not sure ho wmany do believe his hollow words. I certainly don’t. I am not sure Irak is better off now then then. I read today an interesting theory. If Bush had been more educated and had read / known about previous invasion of these regions then he would have known that hey had little chance of winning. But he didn’t know so he went in with confidence and little doubt. Trees have finally bared their sinuous urges, I so love watching them in all their naked glory. But days are very short, light non existent and I have caught another cold and bad cough, just in time for the end of term and the festive season. Mood is low.Friday 16th December 18.23pm
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Atmosphere
wintery blues, gales at times
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News
- Russians street protests against rigged elections
- UK is out of Eurozone negotiation,
willingly or unwillingly that is the question
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book
Stefan Szczelkun, Agit disco
Gerhard Richter, images of an era,
published by Bucerius Kunst forum
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Tip
You can never please everybody
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To be or not to be (in)
-- To be or not to be indeed, or as translated by Voltaire in French “ arrete, il faut choisir et passer á l’instant / De la vie á la mort ou de l’etre au néant “ which I would translate back as “ come on, we must chose and live in the moment, life or death or from being to nothingness. This fantastic translation is less poetic or dramatic then the original but more to the point perhaps, in the way that it relates more to how one gets there as opposed to where or what one becomes; it was allegedly borrowed by Sartre for the title of the book we know. This becomes quite revealing when applied to UK just being veted or voted out of Euro negotiations or vetoing itself out, depending whom one choses to believe. Does it really matter how it happened or whether UK is in or out? Will it make much difference to the urgency of the situation or the drastic decisions that need to be made. The UK and the average people will suffer equally and the ones in power, ie financial institutions, will continue protecting their interests. None of our leaders have the guts to sacrifice their political career to do so, whether Cameron is in or out. At least now he has the perfect excuse for not doing so. It was touching this morning to hear him confessing to Andrew Marr on radio 4 that the UK were now all alone, adrift in the Atlantic and that other European nations failed to understand how insecure a position that was. His brave hero mask collapsed to reveal a wounded, rejected and misunderstood soul. Meanwhile Sarkozy’s face, under the strain of responsibility, is looking more and more gaunt, his ears starting to look quite disproportionate, reminiscence of snow white and the seven dwarfs might be too offensive, lets go for beauty and the beast instead. I do hope his baby daughter inherited her looks and his brains and not the opposite. It is pantomine season afterall and they are all playing their roles perfectly, Punch and Sarkozy and Judy Merkell beating up Cameron and whoever is too weak financially to put a word or a foot in. We the audience can call out, shout, laugh, scream, nothing will deter them from their well rehearsed script, power puppets that they are, tied to the hands of global economy masters they sold their souls to in exchange for wealth and power.
unicorn
-- Meanwhile, public workers have been on strike here in the UK, that includes myself, to protect wages and pension deals, St Pauls surroundings are still occupied by well organized anti capitalists activists. The Wall Street occupy movement has spread through America, San Francisco, Denver, Salt Lake City, St Louis and many other cities. It has also spread to Canada, Iceland and other cities in Europe. Russia is seeing the biggest street protests in over a decade to contest the results of the parliamentary elections, that despite being rigged barely managed to give a 50 % majority to Putin’s party. Even president Medvedev publically acknowledged some form of malpractice. Meanwhile the Euro crisis deepens, economists have never been more in demands to give their opinion or solution to the situation; all agree on the causes and on the facts that a double dip recession is upon us, but none have any radical solutions, since they are all based on the current system of continuous economical growth and consumerism, which is clearly failing and obsolete. This is the end of of globalization, we cannot get more global or bigger. It is time to explode or implode into micro pieces and start again, the only choice is to do it willingly or to wait for it to happen naturally, which it is bound to, like an inflated balloon exploding in a thousand pieces with a bang. It is clear to all of us, the people. I am not an economist but I know when things don’t add up anymore and it is clear to me what needs to happen; I can go on until I am bankrupt, then crash. But I do not have anybody to bail me up, so the only solution is to downsize and re balance my budget.
-- I have been doing just that for the past few months, cutting on expenses of all kind, trying to clear a growing overdraft, twice as big as my income, and a credit card debts pushed to the limit; the results of getting my kitchen and bathroom done up coupled with two disastrous years of what I call legalized thefts; studio break in in France with little insurance compensation due to circumstances, in London car towed away illegally, flights and trains journeys cancelled and not reimbursed, stolen camera, laptop, tomtom combined with bad insurance deals, dodgy parking or speeding tickets etc… I am not much of a spender but I could easily become one, since despite the state of my finances, both my bank and credit card company keep encouraging me to spend more sending me all kind of unbelievable offers, This is outrageous, after the subprime crash of recent years, they haven’t yet learnt their lesson. More to the point why are they still allowed to keep on pushing us to live above our means. This month I have had to take a few drastic decisions. I am giving up my place in France, it is not adding up anymore, rent, insurance, rates and council tax, transport back and forth, it has all gone up by over 40% in 5 years while my income has barely gone up by 10%. Something have to give. I am giving myself 3 months to do so, finding where to dispose of or store what I have accumulated, furniture, books, bring some back to London etc…. an equally exhausting and exciting prospect. I will miss my home there, so peaceful and comfortable yet low maintenance, no telephone or internet, the views on beautiful trees that I will miss observing going through their seasonal cycles, quirky nosy but warm hearted neighbours who have completely adopted me and feel sorry for me for travelling so much… Exciting because I have to break the full on routine that keeps me going for five years in between two countries, two homes and two of pretty much everything, leaving not much room for the new or the unexpected. I am keeping my ties with the centre des livres d’artistes for now and will stay with various members of my family or one or two friends. I feel lighter already. To be or not to be (in), a decision is all it takes, the rest follows.
-- Meanwhile multitasking continues and life goes on. Helene’s residency at the cdla finished, the show went up but from what I heard things didn’t go too well, quite a few misunderstandings and clashes of characters took place as soon as I was gone, in typical French style, each party having to let the other side know and feel in no uncertain ways what is what, who is what, and who is right. I do feel bad and somewhat partly responsible. This is not a good start and I am not sure lessons will be learnt. Here in London, I feel in full hibernation mode, I have avoided so far the depth of winter blues, spirit is neither high or low but energy is lacking and I would spend my days in bed reading If I could. Deadlines and commitments are in the way, and the high level of noise and disruption disturbing my usually quiet home, surrounded by scaffolding on both sides and busy, curious and loud builders from seven am onward, curtains have to remain shut to fend off their preying eyes and sarcastic comments. It is quite unbearable and I have another few months of this and a huge bill at the end of it, courtesy of Lambeth council who think they can charge me 21 thousands pounds to replace my windows and refurbish the roof and facades of the whole estate. Another case of legalized theft that a group of us leaseholders are contesting.Yet another unfair battle on our hands.
-- On a brighter note, Christmas lights are on everywhere, and while I dislike this particular family festivity and its excesses in terms of consumerism, I have always enjoyed the shimmer and brightness of the decorations which help compensate from the poor amount of proper daylight so close to the winter solstice. I can finally feel the weight of a small camera in my bag, now being the proud owner fo a Lumix LX5 to relace the LX1 stolen form the not so ethical society Conway Hall. It feels as familiar as my old companion, but I am slightly intimidated and put off by its faster and flashier performance. The call for paper for the BOOK LIVE! Conference I am organizing in June in collaboration with Richard at South Bank Univiersity, is finally out. I never thought it would take so long to do so and be so nerve racking too. After working for so long on the wording of the rationale and the research questions they started to appear very broad and generic and I became very anxious. Good feedback and expression of interest has done little to ease my doubting mood. It is strange how I am always prepared to take criticism to heart but not praise or positive feedback which I always take for polite gestures or figures of speech. I am still excited at progresses so far, Joan Fontcuberta and Sharon Gallagher ( D.A.P founder and director) for keynote speakers and the full twelve hours of John Cage Empty words by wandelweiser and Sylvia Schimag, and the possibility and the prospect to shape and curate the whole event according to responses to the call for papers, presentations and durational readings. How exciting to have this opportunity; well worth I guess, the stress and doubt that will for sure be part of it until it is over.
-- There are two highlights this month, Heart and Soul 25th anniversary in the South Bank ballroom last Friday night, hundreds of people dancing away to great tunes, a few great bands, various fancy dress stalls where you could become whoever you wanted, a few karaoke machines and playstation dancing games, great atmosphere, fantastic grooves and moves, I went to meet Roz after the Postmodernism exhibition at the V@A. What a welcome contrast. The exhibition was good, perhaps because predominantly about design and pop music, rather than ‘contemporary art’ of the 80’s; it contained as much careless pot pourri and mixing of styles and genres that the YBA’s works for exemple, but without the usual D.I.Y aesthetic and flippant oneliners. There was great craftmanship and I loved revisiting the likes of Grace Jones, Klaus Nomi and Blade Runner. What felt strange was seeing a big part of what I refer to as my recent past having become cultural History and to see what had made it and what had been left behind, trying to identify what the criterias might have been and according to whom; good taste for sure, luxury items rather than cheaper models, craftsmanship and conventional good taste, overall very conventional and middle class. The fact that this was taking place at the V@A was certainly a factor. I imagine a similar survey at the centre Pompidou or MOMA or Palais de Tokyo, surely the selection would have been very different. I was also wondering if enough time had past yet for postmodernism to decant and become part of history. When does memory become history, doesn’t it need to be eroded and recalled a few times before it can be molded into something historical or disappear into oblivion. Heart n Soul provide artistic opportunities for those with learning disabilities, artists can explore, express themselves and learn. To celebrate this special milestone, they were hosting their annual Beautiful Octopus Club night at the Royal Festival Hall to celebrate 25 years of great work. Roz was there with a few colleagues and all her disabled clients form the community place she has been running for years in Tottenham and for which she has develop many creative ventures, such as discos, recording studios, rap videos etc. I couldn’t believe my ears nor my eyes. Everybody was dancing regardless how severe their disability, physical, mental or psychological, not all moves were intentional or unrestricted but all were completely unhibited. I never thought I would see so much fantastic dancing. I was the one feeling self conscious at first, but some of Roz’s group quickly put a stop to that, taking my hands for a dance or simply smiling at me. I had such a great time. Roz told me that these discos are always fantastic. She has some autistic and disabled clients that have become great djs and dancers and are in great demands for private parties in their family and neighborhood circles and could become very successful in the wider world if they had the right business support.
-- The other highlight is going to see Gerhard Richter at Tate modern. A fantastic exhibition, painting at its best; for me an experience comparable to Ed Ruscha at the Hayward last year or Rothko at Tate Modern in 2008. All very different of course but comparable mastery of the medium and equally sublime at time. Though I am not completely taken by Richter’s abstract work, only towards the end of the exhibition does it start working for me when combined with his figurative work, like for exemple in the twin towers painting. I like the markmaking which feels as tactile and sensuous as his figurative works but the humanity, melancholy, poetry are sometimes is gone. Only one of his sculptures work for me, the square structure with taught wires and panes of glass which become alive when you walk past it, sending you back multiples combinations of its reflected self, reminiscent of the various ways his blurring brush strokes temper with the reality or essence of the object or subject painted. Nothing original in my taste, what works best for me are, the candle, the chair, the toilet roll, betty, in all their complex simplicity. Same for the Bader Meinhof series, their removal from history, the repetition of certain images, really brought me to the fate of each individual, as victims, victims of their personal choices, victims of a system. The exhibition was too big for me to take it all in, I hope to go back before it finishes early January. Film, Tacita Dean installation for the Turbine hall was equally rewarding and satisfying in its apparent simplicity, beautifully thought through, enjoyable to watch for a long time since each loop brought together evocative combinations of scenes of nature, architectural constructs and abstract shapes and colors; this despite the strange composition and scale of the projected image, neither single nor double screen, but a vertical film strip of 2 or 3 static frames denying the linear passage of time since their respective content was never sequential. This random and simultaneous narrative device kept me involved, looking for pattern and logic without ever finding any.Sunday 11th December 20.30pm
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Atmosphere
high pressure, getting stressing
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News
- Berlusconi is gone
- Violent end to Wall street peaceful occupation
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book
Umberto Ecco, this is not the end of the book
Desmond Morris, the naked ape
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Tip
There are many small ways to resist
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month 2 Remembrance and game over
-- The small publishers fair on the 11th and 12th of the 11th of the year 11 is concluding the annual two months whirlwind that usually follows summer; beginning of academic year and teaching, planning of funding and projects for the year, concluding a MOIblog cycle and bringing it all together in THE YEAR, in time for the two London book fairs, the Whitechapel at the end of september, and the small publishers one just gone, production of more volumes of my 12/12 series of archive photo books. For this year volume 2 and volume 3, waiting for godot (benches and dead animals) and alarm! French cock (farm animals and words within pictures), volume 4 and 5 are almost ready but didn’t make the deadline. THE YEAR volume 4 saw the addition of a free image supplement consisting of an image, a news headline and a personal tip for each MOIblog entry, plus an index of all headlines dated, thus acting as an even more condensed summary of a whole year. For THE YEAR volume 5, I have found a way of packaging simply and effectively both publications in a transparent cellophane envelope, making it all more presentable and protected.
-- This period is always quite exciting and full of enjoyment, a prelude to winter, winding down and hoping for some sort of hibernation which never really comes, but the idea of it always lingers at the back of my mind, as a poetic ideal; long evening by the fireplace knitting watching films or reading all the books gathered with urgency in the past few months, yet waiting in piles for my attention. I do not have a fireplace and I rarely stop doing something else until late in the evening unless so tired by a long day of travelling and teaching that I end up watching something entertaining but not too demanding on TV for an hour or two. This period is usually followed by a spell of pre-winter blues usually triggered by the realisation that once more restlessness and impossible goals will prevent me from achieving blissful hibernation. I think this is where I am now though the blues is under control so far despite the blow of having my beloved Lumix camera stolen during the small publishers fair at Conway Hall. I left it behind at the bookroom table, on the radiator behind our display, together with all our bits and pieces, not thinking too much of it, since I was one of the last ones to leave with the organisers and the space was locked up for the night, with all exhibitors books left behind. Only Conway hall caretakers and cleaners have access before we arrive at 10.30am. But sure enough my camera was gone in the morning, I was gutted and in shock, not really wanting to believe it had happened, looking everywhere at home just in case, asking everybody at the fair, checking with caretakers etc… despite the clear evidence. What was even more confusing and upsetting is that caretakers refused to use the word stolen, trying to insist that I had lost it and that perhaps cleaners would find it. The same arguments was used by staff and management of ‘ the ethical society ‘ when I tried to get them to take some sort of responsibilities since the camera was ‘taken’ during the night when only few of their own staff had access. It took around six unsuccessful and stressing phone calls and two visits before I gave up.
-The caretakers arguments was that they were sorry but the cleaners didn’t ‘find’ my camera, the person in charge of booking accused me of being careless, which I didn’t deny, and unreasonable, which I do deny, before hanging up on me in mid sentence, one said it was the responsibility of the book fair organisers and that perhaps they had found the camera, another suggested that perhaps some of the exhibitors on either side of me had ‘taken’ it, none of them apologised or showed any understanding or empathy. By the cagey, dismissive and definitely unethical reaction of all involved at the ethical society, it is clear to me that mine wasn’t the first complaint. To cut a long story short, I reported it to the Police, but it is not their job to investigate, I reported it to the ethical society, but it has nothing to do with them, they referred me back to the fair organizers. I reported it to my insurance company who said there is nothing they can do since it didn’t take place at home and the camera wasn’t itemized on my policy as an object covered while roaming. I add it to my long list of legalized theft and unfair policies. I am mourning and missing dearly the only object that I always carried with me since 2005, I am so used to its presence, that even now I notice the weight difference in my handbag, I often reach for it automatically in my compulsive urge to record the everyday, before realizing that it is not there, my disappointed hand reaching for my blackberry instead. I am checking possible replacement and will probably stick to the same, going for the latest upgrade the LX5, why change something that suits me perfectly. Yet another blow to my fragile finances and It cannot wait for Christmas, as some suggested, anyway I can’t think of anybody who would treat me with a new camera.
-- The Wandelweiser have been and gone. It sounds like the title of a film. Or as Michael Pisaro reported to me, courtesy of a friend of his, who refers to the Waldenweiser. Such a perfect name. I added that I was sure Thoreau would be proud or even become a member. I had came up with wonderweiser or wanderweiser but Waldenweiser says it all. It was such a treat to have four days of it at the ICA, sharing the bill and most evenings with Grupart, Jenny Walsh multiple personalities art and sound project. I am not sure the cohabitation was a successful one, the two collectives being quite incompatible by nature, it was hard and quite exhausting as an audience member to fully engage with both. In the end most people didn’t and little dialogue did take place. Though I did grow to enjoy and begin to understand some of the recurring motives of her mad multifaceted project, to the point of being able to identify and relate more or less to different personalities. As to the Wandelweiser, I was very interested and curious to see, hear, experience the work in a different context than the perfectly suited Die station in Neufelden, where works are able to come alive as intended and by the composers themselves in front of knowing or understanding or open minded audiences, which was far from being the case in London’s I.C.A; being in the heart of the city, ambient noises were rather intrusive, setting up and sound checks were done by a team of super efficient engineers on a tight schedule, the setting was rather conventional with an elevated stage in front of rows of seats separated by a central aisle, not allowing for much creative audience/players configuration; a set up more suited for Jenny Walsh compositions but not so much to the low level, sometimes close to silence, and more intimate or introspective Wandelweiser works and the W. being what they are, trying to adapt to situation rather than imposing their ways, they made do with what was there. So that sometimes, like in Radu’s work, the sound levels ended up lower than what I referred to as sea level, making it a very different work and dynamic between players and between work and audience. Same for Marcus piece Underholz where video projection of previous manifestations of the work and live orchestration should have been more integrated, or in Manfred’s challenging minimal piece where the constraints of the space prevented the audience from having much choice of being there or not. It didn’t mean that the works were unsuccessful, not at all and far form it. I was very curious and nervous to witness this shift of context, not sure if it could sustain the level of subtleties, complexities and poetry I have experienced in Neufelden for the past four years. I was relieved and delighted to realize that it did while also becoming quite challenging without ever being confrontational; the two often go together in experimental music. Most successful for me was Jürg’s piece which felt utterly complete, beautiful and poetic too, with a certain melancholy. It drew me in to such an extent that I felt I could understand the structure and started to take part with my breathing and silent voice, in the exchange between the clarinet and the obo which were so in tune and in time with each other that it created a continuous yet random flux of tones that one could follow and add to. It was breathtaking in more ways than one; only by getting into the dialog did I realize how difficult it must be for them to keep up the continuous rhythm of exchange, the length of the tones, the smoothness of the attacks and the low levels. Before, after and in between, there was plenty of time for discussions and lively banter as always. It felt quite peculiar to have them all here in my city and having to juggle with other commitments. The event also allowed me to reconnect with Richard Whitelaw, one of the curators and producer of the Cut & Splice festival the W. were part of. He is responsible for the first outing of VINST for San expo festival in Scarborough in 2005. I haven’t had much to do with him since. I like finding meaning in simple things so I did get a lot of mileage from one little coincidence. The Wandelweiser photograph printed in the Cut & Splice program was chosen by Michael Pisaro and also used to illustrate the history of the collective he wrote for their website; it was taken by Joachim Eckl in Neufelden five years ago; it is of a concert, a few of them sitting in a semi circle, with view of the Lagerhaus behind. In the forefront there are the back of two heads, mine and Hazel’s. It was both our first W. experience, we had stopped by for 3 days on our way to a little eastern European road trip. I had met some of them, Marcus and Christof on previous occasion there and in Munich, but never heard them play before. I was hooked thereafter, and joining them every summer since; seeing more and more affinities with what I was trying to achieve with my work. Joachim caught this first moment on camera, Michael used it to illustrate his history of the W which includes the annual wandelweiser summer meetings in Neufelden that Joachim is hosting so generously, thus making me the ultimate and permanent groupie that I have become. I use the word groupie knowingly, it is not the most generous or accurate of word but one that resonate with me better than fan or follower or friend, though I consider myself to be all of them and bloody fortunate too.
-- It was great to have Marcus staying a few days before and after the event and a pleasure to see him enjoy London and Brixton so much. We spent long hours talking about ideas, projects and dreams of grand spaces. We had an evening discussing the JUNGLE FEVER project and the prospect of making it happen in Dusseldorf. For someone who says his English is not very good, he did pretty well in giving me sharp and insightful feedback on the lack of clear boundaries of the project as it had developed since Beirut and Singapore; a pretty tough sort of tutorial session that really got my brain juices boiling for a while. I was aware and in full agreement, and welcomed the fast exchange that took place, concepts being formulated as words were exchanged, comparing respective methodologies, finding ways around, imagining and dreading what could take place in Dusseldorf. It all became very exciting and very confusing too. So much so that quite late into the night I was ready to call it quit. I was very surprised in the morning, tired after very little sleep, to discover that overnight, solutions had appeared and I knew exactly and clearly what and how to proceed for the next stage of the project.too.
-- I started writing these words, sitting comfortably in a white sofa in the beautifully designed surroundings of Marneix, my sister’s home where I am staying for the week, since my humbler abode is being occupied by Helene Garcia, the artist in residence at the centre des livres d’artistes. Change of habits, a bit of family life and great home cooking, my nephew Louis and I have experimented with home made tagliatelis and raviolis, my mouth is watering just writing about it. The weather is unusually mild and sunny, so that the mushroom season is still on. I found a few gorgeous cepes (porcini in Italian) in the woods nearby and ate some at almost every meals; pan-fried, in an omelet, in raviolis, with fresh pasta, in a quiche, with potatoes, in sauces etc… No complaints there, the past two autumns have been too wet for mushrooms. There are stories of people having found and sold over 500 kilos in the past month, (around 10 pounds a kilo). Every morning the roadsides are full of cars badly parked, left there in a hurry by mushroom pickers. There are little chances of finding any eatable ones after 10am, their absence made even more noticeable by the traces left behind; dark hole among leaves, upturned poisonous ones, broken branches, leaving little to the imagination as to the size or the numbers picked by previous gatherers. I am finishing these words back in London, feeling refreshed and in good form after many early nights in bed with a good book after a day of intense diplomatic negotiation at work; trying to accommodate the demands and ambitions of a young artist in residence, not always realistic or in tune with the ways things are done away from a big city or an art school. It was rather exhausting and stressing too at times, but in the end we got there and her project is progressing nicely. I am not going to be there for the launch at the end of the week, I am confident it will work out. Christmas is everywhere already, and has been since Halloween, every year the advertising machine starts a bit earlier, as if to compensate for the recession, giving even more chances for us to succumb. Same discussions are taking place, where to celebrate? Who is going to sacrifice themselves to welcome the whole family for an evening and a day? Can we put all our differences aside? Why do we bother? For the kids of course and ageing grandparents / parents, it might be their last. I so wished I could skip it all. I have already said that if the weather created havoc again with transport as in the 2 previous years, then I will stay in London, happy to give it all a miss, not prepared to pay a fortune to be there on time, as last year. I have ordered a new camera, the LUMIX LX5 , latest descendant of my beloved LX1. St Paul's is still occupied by peaceful protesters and their tent, Alan Bennett visited today and donated two signed manuscripts to their temporary library.. what a strange gesture.Monday 28th November 20.50pm
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Atmosphere
high pressure but good
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News
- Steve job is dead, Kaddafi too
- Eurozone is struggling to survive
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book
Umberto Ecco, this is not the end of the book
Desmond Morris, the naked ape
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Tip
To create is to resist, to resist is to create
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month 1 big leap, small steps
-- Yes a big leap for this first entry of the 6th year of MOIblog. I have decided to jump to monthly entry and to add to them as I go; a small change, possibly a drastic one, but a much needed one. I wish European leaders would do the same and finally stop burying their head in the sands of their own self-importance and hollow words, as the ostrich does when it senses danger. It doesn’t work for the ostrich so what would it work for a naked ape. Trillions of deficits growing day by day, Greece about to default, Italy possibly to follow, Spain and France are not far behind. Yet the only solution they can all agree on is to increase the bail out fund and use quantitative easing to throw down the hungry pit of our starving economies which themselves rely on our greed and obsessive consumerism in order for them to sustain growth or just survive. I call this a dog chasing its own tale, or the elephant in the room syndrome, or the naked king / the emperor new clothes or the blind leading the blind, this is an awful statement to make as it implies that being blind implies being aimless and clueless. In other words this is madness. In a way I can’t wait for the total collapse, which is inevitable, they are bound to finally catch their tales and run out of zeros soon. Any business would have filed for bankruptcy long ago. Why are they allowed to keep going like this? It might be serious since the church is getting involved, the Vatican has decided to start blaming banks and industries immoral greed for the current situation and demanding that a robin hood kind of tax be imposed on all bank transactions and a cap on the ludicrous wages and bonuses of some. This is a good move I think, providing you don’t compare the Vatican financial policy to their stand on contraception and homosexuality. I am simply wondering whether they are including themselves as part of the problem, being one of the richest state in the world, they mush be involved in some sort of ruthless investments too.
-- Meanwhile St Paul’s front yard is being occupied by peaceful anti capitalist protesters who have set up camps in order to create maximal impact and diplomatic and political havoc. A brilliant idea, now St Paul’s renovation have been completed, it is once more a major touristic and religious landmark and one of London’s pride and joy. The primary worry of those in powers was of course the possible negative impact of this in relation to the upcoming Olympic games. The church wants to be seen as being on both side at the same time, authoritarian and respected on one side, but empathising with the cause and not wanting to be linked to any violent or ugly evictions as happened recently with Irish gypsies in Essex. Mind you we didn’t here the church comment on this awful eviction and uprooting of dozens of families who had been settled there for decades for some. We can safely say that the church possibly turned a blind eye like many others. It is hard to do once it is happening in your own backyard. Footages of the Dale farm occupants were awful to watch, so much violence on both sides, so much blind brutality widely and almost proudly broadcasted as a sign of our government strength and authority. Rules are there to be respected, full stop, regardless of the context or the source of the problem. Ironic when you consider the fact that by looking at what is happening in the world of those who makes these rules, the politicians, the bankers and the economists then it seems that for them it is a case of “ do as I say, not as I do”. Imagine the chaos if we were running and managing our family affairs and our finances the way they do run countries and the global economy, or run them to the ground. Wouldn’t they be a bit more careful if they were dealing with their own wealth or welfare or security?
-- What worries me most, is not their incompetence or sense of self importance or desire to preserve the wealth and power of their kind at the expense of the rest of the world, what worries me most is our indifference, and the general apathy of the people at large as long as hey can still allowed to go on with our little consumer lives, lead by the various bait the media bombard us with in order to keep us hungry and wanting. I do rant a bit, I do complain but what I am really prepared to do to make it stop? I do my best in my own little ways, trying to live truthfully and authentically for the benefit of all, with a certain moral and ethical code and a politic of gentle yet firm resistance to ruthless ambitions and exploitative ways in all areas. But surely there must be more I can do.
-- I have just reread Stephane Hessel ‘ indignez vous! / Time for outrage, a little pamphlet he wrote a couple of years ago, ironically it became the most popular Christmas present that year. He is warning us of our passivity in the light of the current global situation in the world and denouncing violence, which never wins in the end. The book is stapled and published by a small publisher in Toulouse. It sold millions; he is not taking any royalties for it. He was a well respected diplomat politicians and well published author now in his 90’s, a hero of the French Resistance, in exile with Charles de Gaulle in London, imprisoned in concentration camps, tortured by the Nazi. He later contributed to the writing of the ‘declaration des droits de l’homme’. In this powerful essay he urges young people to revive the ideal of resistance to the Nazis by peacefully resisting the “international dictatorship of the financial markets” and defending the “values of modern democracy.” He refers to France’s treatment of illegal immigrants, the influence on the media by the rich, cuts to the social welfare system, French educational reforms and, most strongly, Israel’s treatment of the Palestinians. “When something outrages you, as Nazism did me, that is when you become a militant, strong and engaged,” he writes. “You join the movement of history, and the great current of history continues to flow only thanks to each and every one of us.” He finishes the book with this great slogan. To create is to resist, to resist is to create. He has written one or two follow up books, as the main criticism was that he wasn’t offering many solutions. In the same way that we are always expecting a remedy for all ailments or a response to al our questions, not prepared to look for it ourselves. I do think that for a start if more people became more outraged and started to look for answers themselves instead or relying on what they are spoon-fed by politicians and the media, that would be a good start. A first step always calls the next one.
-- Meanwhile, I am busy finishing THE YEAR vol 5 in time for the small publishers fair next week. I have started to do some teaching for South bank university. I went to france for ten days, the cdla is joiing the 21st century, we are going to join facebook, have a blog and a regular newletter wit artistis contribution, exciting development. I have been tea-total for a few weeks now after my liver and beloved pirates decided to let me know in no uncertain terms that I had been ignoring them for too long and it was time to stop and clean up my act or else…. This manifested bad a few long days of intense nausea and much puking. It was fair and I got the message loud and clear and had no trouble going back to the lifestyle that was negotiated with them a few years back but abandoned for the past year or so, in need of a break. I have to say that so far body and mind are really happy to get back to what do them most good. I have had visitors staying every week this month, Debby from Leeds, nephew and niece Maud and Gregoire during half term, Eva and Maz from Brighton for a London weekend and Marcus from Düsseldorf for the Wandelweiser special at the ICA, wonderful to see so many of them in London, so soon after Neufelden, wonderful to have him here for a few days afterwards. I did a second reading of Story of O for Eva and Maz salon event in Saltdean, much more enjoyable and successful than the first one for Polyply in London, as I was able to put to the test Antoine’s and Sandra’s feedback and advice form this summer.Sunday 5th November 01.12am
