Walking on tarmac that stretches in all directions. A one-story box building in the distance, long shadows and a slight stick on the soles from the heat. This is the surface that we are used to walking on. The day before it was a field, damp and squishing beneath the feet, little pools pushing to the surface. Before that, it was wood panels, in an air-conditioned court hall now used for public display, each echoed step sounding like it was shyly trying to be as quiet as it could be.
But this is in another place. In a universe of infinite space, and the finite possibilities of life within that, it is more than likely this is several places. At once. An alternative you, the same, or perhaps slightly different on a distant planet very much like this one. A whole range of alternative selves scattered throughout the cosmos. Not exactly parallel realities, but close enough to empathise, to know the whole range of choices they might have made in their lives.
A FLOOR MAT MADE OF INTERWOVEN PINK AND YELLOW CABLE TIES \ The e-mergence of niche audiences and subsumption of former subcultures make speaking of a ‘contemporary neo-avant garde’ seem like just another tree house club with flimsy laminated membership cards. Awkward too is talking of ‘redemption’ and ‘rehabilitation’, as if swanning about with a magic ‘gallery wand’, tapping hosepipes, garden pots and spades to pop them both literally and metaphorically on a pedestal. But gratefully absent from the stilted conversation are words like commonplace, mundane, humble, familiar, ordinary, workaday, discrete, banal, and lumpen. \ The den of the post-readymade (after this, ‘PR’) is where factory objects reacquaint themselves to manipulation and elasticity, where industrial processes are folded into a prism of subjective touches. \ The PR, necessarily, hovers unsteadily between times. It is retro, it is past it, nostalgic and yearning. It is bored. But it’s also childish, excited, loaded, schizophrenic, looking towards something.
A SIAMESE EGG-SHAPED MASS OF DUST BUNNIES AND BELLY BUTTON LINT ON THE COFFEE TABLE \ There’s an odd balance achieved in what looks like a careless, taken-for-granted vacuuming up and grasping at whatever surrounds it, a promiscuity that is actually nuanced, experienced. The use of materials is a careful statement of a palette of influence, a site of comment. \ This is tired, maybe impatient, with the re-looking and re-appreciation of the object- the thing-in-itself has already been released, or at least we can’t presume ourselves to try and release it, so we might as well see if another in-itself altogether can emerge somehow. Beyond sense, an unformed language and nascent critique.