KIng Edwards Hall
A quiet Sunday afternoon saw me back again in another space. Taking nothing but a pile of books, with the King Edwards Hall hired for just one hour, I set about an exploration of the space. Belfast in the 1970's was a dichotmoy. While violence raged in city streets, I whiled away long hours in a quiet suburban neighborhood just miles away. As my mother routinely 'dozed' in the early afternoon, I was allowed to take the books down from the bookshelves and construct stepping stones, circles and 'stairs' to entertain myself. While she slept I would lay them out around the room and set out to explore, stepping from one to another.
As a young child those hours would drag. Now however an hourflashes by and you can do little that is concrete, complex or lasting in that time. In this context, I like that.
At this point I am currently reviewing applications for the next Reside artist. Six months has whizzed by and perhaps on some levels what I have achieved may seem frivilous or lacking in substance. In a way that is what I have been searching for. I have found these few experiences, these single hours in single spaces, materials pared down, no demand for an end product, extremely playful and liberating and that approach is feeding the rest of my practice. I hope not only to hold one more session in this particular space and invite others in, but as the baton is passed onto the next artist I hope to continue one hour, one space, taking it back into my home but onto the internet through live streaming, engaging directly with the audience.
I'm afraid reading has suffered somewhat this month as I was busy preparing for exhibitions but I managed to dip into the Fold by Deleuze which was largely impossible to decipher except for one moment of clarity when everything seemed to sing (I was in the hairdressers). I also managed to complete Mrs Bridge which was everything I hoped it would be.
As an after thought, and watching the video above, I couldn't help but remember the Poem for Marie by Seamus Heaney which begins, 'Love, I will perfect for you the child , who diligently potters in my brain....', written for his wife, recalling childhood constructions, not really related to my undertaking, but beautiful none the less
Seamus Heany Poenm: Digging
As an after thought, and watching the video above, I couldn't help but remember the Poem for Marie by Seamus Heaney which begins, 'Love, I will perfect for you the child , who diligently potters in my brain....', written for his wife, recalling childhood constructions, not really related to my undertaking, but beautiful none the less
Seamus Heany Poenm: Digging
RSS Feed
