I am currently studying in my second year of BA Fine Art at Plymouth College of Art. My interests are in wild open spaces, the sea, and collecting objects from the places that I spend time in. For this piece I am bringing to the Duke of Cornwall Hotel my own suitcases that come with me when I travel, and objects and mementos that have been found on the way, or come about as a result of the journey or destination. In doing so I am inviting the viewer into my own private rituals, and an intimate exploration of my process as an artist. These objects are selected on the basis of my personal preferences; for beauty, for usefulness, or uniqueness; and I feel that there is a connection between them all other than myself- the thing that makes me drawn to them. I consider this collection my ‘nomadic studio’ that travels with me and feeds into what I do in my practice, both in and out of the studio.
The work that is made from these experiences varies, but the predominant theme is probably that of intuitiveness, and feeling satisfied by what comes from this process. By removing these items, or taking ‘souvenirs’ from their original surroundings, I am able to take traces of place with me that can continue to inspire my practice even when the place is long left behind.
There is a performative aspect to this piece, in my returning to my belongings and altering or engaging with them in some way; in owning them.
Thursday, 3 November 2011
Wednesday, 2 November 2011
Bas Jan Ader; Broken Fall (Organic) (1971)
Bas Jan Ader was a curious Dutch artist about who still relatively little is known, even by those who were close to him in his lifetime. He left behind a small body of unusual and gentle work before he disappeared at sea in 1975, aged 33, and only really gained any popularity 20 years or so after his death. His most famous body of work is probably in his 'falling' films; short film (or performance?) pieces that record the simple action of falling, in varying surrounding and situations. Of those, the film that I am most interested in is Broken Fall (Organic).
As they all are, this is a short film piece, about 2 minutes, and consists of Ader clinging to a high branch in a tree directly above a stream. You watch him struggle and kick, and swing his body as he tries desperately to hold on and keep himself strong and stable. But he gives up. A minute in, he stops struggling and allows himself to just succumb to gravity, and to his own weakness. You watch his joints loosen, and his body becomes long and fluid as he relaxes. And you wait for him to fall. It is a short film, but in those last 30 seconds you, as the viewer actually will him to fall, will him to end it. But he doesn't do that either. He doesn't struggle, but he doesn't let go, he just waits and accepts what is happening to him, passive.
As you watch you feel the sense of inevitability; the branch will break, or he will let go; the sense of hopelessness, and powerlessness against forces beyond your control. It's not exactly defeat, but you do feel something; his acceptance for what he can't fight, or won't fight; the predictability of everything if you just allow things to follow their natural course. In this quiet and quite introspective film- I think on Ader's part and also on the viewer's- you can physically see this man's exploration of the relationship between his body and its surroundings; with the place that it inhabits.
Of course, he eventually falls as we knew he would, and the film ends thus. There is no sound, no text apart from the short title at the beginning, nothing fancy about this film- just a single continuous shot of Ader. And that’s all you need to really take something from it- just being able to watch him as he subjects his body to this mistreatment. There is also nothing glamorous about this piece, or about his body or the way he moves. But there is certainly a melancholic elegance; a quiet thoughtfulness that continues on through his other falling pieces, and indeed throughout his work in general, and the feeling that it’s okay to be powerless, because that’s all we can be really.
As they all are, this is a short film piece, about 2 minutes, and consists of Ader clinging to a high branch in a tree directly above a stream. You watch him struggle and kick, and swing his body as he tries desperately to hold on and keep himself strong and stable. But he gives up. A minute in, he stops struggling and allows himself to just succumb to gravity, and to his own weakness. You watch his joints loosen, and his body becomes long and fluid as he relaxes. And you wait for him to fall. It is a short film, but in those last 30 seconds you, as the viewer actually will him to fall, will him to end it. But he doesn't do that either. He doesn't struggle, but he doesn't let go, he just waits and accepts what is happening to him, passive.
As you watch you feel the sense of inevitability; the branch will break, or he will let go; the sense of hopelessness, and powerlessness against forces beyond your control. It's not exactly defeat, but you do feel something; his acceptance for what he can't fight, or won't fight; the predictability of everything if you just allow things to follow their natural course. In this quiet and quite introspective film- I think on Ader's part and also on the viewer's- you can physically see this man's exploration of the relationship between his body and its surroundings; with the place that it inhabits.
Of course, he eventually falls as we knew he would, and the film ends thus. There is no sound, no text apart from the short title at the beginning, nothing fancy about this film- just a single continuous shot of Ader. And that’s all you need to really take something from it- just being able to watch him as he subjects his body to this mistreatment. There is also nothing glamorous about this piece, or about his body or the way he moves. But there is certainly a melancholic elegance; a quiet thoughtfulness that continues on through his other falling pieces, and indeed throughout his work in general, and the feeling that it’s okay to be powerless, because that’s all we can be really.
Tuesday, 1 November 2011
On Place
Place. Dean, T. Millar, J. (2005) Thames and Hudson.
Jeremy Millar: So how can artists begin to deal with it as a subject then, this thing that is so unknowable?
Tacita Dean: Because they can work in a way that is associative and non-verbal. They can use media and techniques that can describe a place tangentially, for example with sound or narrative, or through history or invention. The artist can evoke a place that will always only exist as a memory of another place in the mind of the viewer, because I think you need to have visited a place before you can really know it, and then only you will know it in that way. That is why place is so personal and intangible, but at the same time universally understood.
Jeremy Millar: So how can artists begin to deal with it as a subject then, this thing that is so unknowable?
Tacita Dean: Because they can work in a way that is associative and non-verbal. They can use media and techniques that can describe a place tangentially, for example with sound or narrative, or through history or invention. The artist can evoke a place that will always only exist as a memory of another place in the mind of the viewer, because I think you need to have visited a place before you can really know it, and then only you will know it in that way. That is why place is so personal and intangible, but at the same time universally understood.
Monday, 31 October 2011
Come to Ours- The Fireplace Gallery
Sunday just gone, Didge and I went to the tea + cake opening of Hunt and Darton's exhibition at the microcosmic Fireplace Gallery here in Plymouth. The exhibition itself was very interesting- a dissective, tongue-in-cheek look at equestrianism, complete with horse shit and the Black Beauty theme emanating from a tiny tape recorder on the floor; but actually much of the experience was in the gallery itself.
The Fireplace Gallery is exactly what it says it is; a gallery... in a fireplace.
In order to see the exhibition, which is in the gallery owners Neil Rose and Hannah Jones' bedroom, you need to get down on your hands and knees and peep into the disused fireplace; a curious experience in any case. But even more surreal and charming yet, this theme continues through the house. After spending our time in the gallery exploring and discussing the piece, we were given a tour around the 'gallery shop', set up in the hallway of the ground floor flat, which sold all manner of goodies including gymkhana rosettes, postcards, original artwork, and gold (style) waffles.
Then on again we were led into the cosy living room, which was dominated by a table spread with every kind of cake imaginable, where you could discuss the work, life, the Universe, and everything.
Unfortunately we weren't able to stay for as long as perhaps we would have liked- Didge had other engagements, and I was feeling generally grotty- because there was a lovely atmosphere, and certainly a lot to talk about both with the work, and with the gallery that's currently hosting it.
This is not the last chance however, not for us or for you. There are still 3 (I think.. don't quote me on that) shows still to be shown. Each artist occupies the gallery space for two weeks before it is changed. You can book in to see the gallery on Sundays- and the first Sunday of each show is a tea + cake event.
More information about the Fireplace Gallery, and about other Come to Ours events here:
Come to Ours
and Fireplace Gallery.
The Fireplace Gallery is exactly what it says it is; a gallery... in a fireplace.
In order to see the exhibition, which is in the gallery owners Neil Rose and Hannah Jones' bedroom, you need to get down on your hands and knees and peep into the disused fireplace; a curious experience in any case. But even more surreal and charming yet, this theme continues through the house. After spending our time in the gallery exploring and discussing the piece, we were given a tour around the 'gallery shop', set up in the hallway of the ground floor flat, which sold all manner of goodies including gymkhana rosettes, postcards, original artwork, and gold (style) waffles.
Then on again we were led into the cosy living room, which was dominated by a table spread with every kind of cake imaginable, where you could discuss the work, life, the Universe, and everything.
Unfortunately we weren't able to stay for as long as perhaps we would have liked- Didge had other engagements, and I was feeling generally grotty- because there was a lovely atmosphere, and certainly a lot to talk about both with the work, and with the gallery that's currently hosting it.
This is not the last chance however, not for us or for you. There are still 3 (I think.. don't quote me on that) shows still to be shown. Each artist occupies the gallery space for two weeks before it is changed. You can book in to see the gallery on Sundays- and the first Sunday of each show is a tea + cake event.
More information about the Fireplace Gallery, and about other Come to Ours events here:
Come to Ours
and Fireplace Gallery.
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