santiago's dead wasp

everything's great! review

2012-01-28T22:01:00.000Z

Sometimes you get so excited by something you don't know how to react. You want to laugh, run round in circles, sing, jump, tell everyone about it - if only you could articulate one word after another, fall on the floor, shout, wave your arms, laugh and run a whole lot more.

That's exactly how I feel about EVERYTHING'S GREAT! the exhibition from my friends Gary Fisher, Jennifer McDonald, Helen Shanahan, and Louise Woodcock that opened today. I've been buzzing since I saw the work in situ - exploding all over the place. I have no clue how to order the ideas in my head.

But before I try I really must emphasise that you should go to this exhibition. You absolutely have to experience it in the flesh to appreciate it properly. It's in Rochdale, in a vacant retail unit in the Wheatsheaf Shopping Centre. It's open until 4 March, but don't waste time - the sooner you get to see it, the more times you can return.

Right, next, a couple of overheard responses to the exhibition from first a small child, and second from a young teenager:

Urgh! I'm not looking at that. I don't know what it is.

We'll be two minutes. We're just in the Wheatsheaf looking at some freaky stuff.

That gives you some idea of what's on show - but also the fact that the work's attracting the attention and time of people who might not otherwise be interested in art.

And there were a lot of people came through the exhibition today. What's more most of them didn't just come in and run away again. They walked round the space and talked about what they were seeing.

The energy and engagement at the opening was brilliant. I don't think that was just the novelty of something new, I think a lot of it was enabled by the art.

I guess the next thing is to run down my frantic list of notes and expand on them if I can. If I can't I'll just throw them down as a list and you'll still get the idea.

- Also I'm currently having a conversation online, a conversation by text, and I'm listening to The Fall's most recent record. All of which perfectly suits my manic mood, and should help convey how the exhibition feels. It's overwhelming.

There is a sense of fun about the exhibits - a joie de vivre that's unfortunately rare. They have a sense of humour.

But - and I'm a little wary of raising this in case anyone takes it as a reference point - the art isn't kitsch, it isn't pop, it isn't 'after' Jeff Koons. It comes from a more contemporary sensibility, and in response to the location, the available materials, the current political and economic climate, and from the respective practices of the artists which have had time to develop.

And the art isn't taking the piss. It doesn't come from a position of pretended superiority. It comes from a place of warmth, and enthusiasm, and love.

The artists are engaged with the world, and with the art world. All have broad practices that incorporate visual work, installations, and sound. Gary is a sound artist, Jennifer, Helen and Louise are core members of Womb. You may have read something about them here before.

The art too is engaged. It's engaged in a way I find tremendously exciting - and it's only now occurred to me why that is. Unlike the 1980's cliche of art engaged with politics by saying 'Fuck you!' or 'Down with Thatcher!' this is a much more devastating engagement.

Rather than giving politicians and anonymous corporations any attention this is art than dances and sparkles despite them. It says 'Fuck you!' by living brightly on its own terms. Surely being ignored by people and art that burn more beautifully than you could ever imagine is far more of an insult that being cast as an oppressor.

The art is bright and vivid, alive. Individual works - Helen's geese, Jennifer's commode, Gary's lamp, Louise's lion - are striking, but more than just their surface. Collectively the pieces bring even greater life to the others.

The space vibrates and sparks, and there's always more to see.

Hang on. I forgot to say that I can't remember ever being as excited by an exhibition as I am by this one. I mentioned it on Facebook, and to a few people, but I don't think I wrote it here. Let me say it again, so there's no doubt:

I can't remember ever being as excited by an exhibition as I am by this one.

That's better.

Next in my list of notes are a bunch of disconnected words. Like this: Colour // Imagination // Child-like // Subversive // Playful // Funny + Serious // Made me incredibly happy //

It did too. I was beaming all the time I was there, all the time I was on the train traveling back, all the time I walked back across town, and even now nearly five hours after I left. I must have looked proper mental.

The colour is self-explanatory - see the pictures here. None of them as good as I'd like, but I'm going back. I have to.

But it's colour as emotional and intellectual colour as well. A three-dimensionality to the work that I think is especially apparent since you have four people with distinct sensibilities bouncing off each other.

Imagination in the repurposing of discarded items in a discarded space. Imagination in seeing potential and exploring that. Imagination in realising you can sometimes make the strongest statement of all by not going out of your way to make an 'important' statement.

In my own personal worldview being child-like - that is, viewing the world with an innocence and enthusiasm - being playful, and the joie de vivre I mentioned earlier, are all vital to living a mentally healthy life.

They go hand-in-hand with openness, with love, with imagination, with an willingness to try new experience.

I see all these as positive attributes. And I see them in the exhibition.

What does that leave? Oh, subversive. Do you really need me to explain that?

Well okay then. Go back to the overheard quotes earlier. Look at the pictures. The art is visually massively appealing. But at the same time when you get close to some of it, it becomes more disturbing, unsettling, or just potentially unpleasant or upsetting. I don't find it troubling, but I can see it will repulse some people - hopefully at the same time as attracting them.

I mentioned to Jennifer and Louise that it would be interesting to see the collision of this sensibility against the contrasting sensibility of Womb. The music has become quite heavy and dark, intense in an introspective and purposely transcendental way.

Imagine what might come of the tension between that physical, meditative intensity, and the lurid, witty extravagance of these works. Make it happen.

Excuse me...

Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!!

In fact...

Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!!

That's better. Just had to let out some of the joy before my head exploded.

Phew.

This is a genuinely thrilling and exciting show that transcends its circumstances. It lifts these four artists from the talented and potentially lasting into the downright fucking brilliant.

The self-same elements in the same location in the hands of lesser artists could be utterly depressing. Or seem unambitious or a little sad. But they don't. The thought didn't even occur to me while I was in the space. The art lights the space, it lights your brain - it's incredibly special.

I'm still buzzing, still happy. And that's happy as in happy happy. Not happy tinged with any sad or nostalgic or jealous emotions. Just pure unalloyed happy - HAPPY! - all on its own.

Which isn't to say the work doesn't explore dark or troubling or transgressive or adult ideas. It absolutely does all that, and does it incredibly well. And that's part of what's so uplifting about it.

You may notice I'm not talking about specific works, or about which artist produced specific pictures. I'm not talking about the themes the artists say they are exploring. I've only posted photos of a few of the exhibits. I didn't manages to take pictures of everything as it happens.

I want you to look at the photos, to experience my personal, subjective enthusiasm, and then go along to the exhibition and make up your own mind.

That last bit about going to the exhibition is the important part of that paragraph by the way.

So, reactions.

I've already touched on them. The two quotes were from children looking at Jennifer's commode (third photo from the top), and Louise's lion (fifth photo) respectively.

They indicate the simultaneous attraction and repulsion of the art for both adults and children. The sense that something is a bit wrong with these things, even as you find yourself drawn to them.

A lot of people took a lot of photographs. And I'm sure that's not just because it was the opening. It's the visually appealing nature of the work. The subtlety as well as the colour, the childishly satisfying shapes, and the energy of it all.

Personally - even though I had no involvement in the making of the show - it is a massive confidence boost. It's a reaffirmation of what I've felt for a while, and especially since returning from China, that risk is crucial.

If you play safe and procrastinate you'll be dead before you do the things you want.

This exhibition embraces life in all its complexity, in all its glory and shittiness, all its beauty and fear, and chooses to dance with it. Go along and join in that dance.

That's the important thing - go to the exhibition. Sure, the pictures tell you something. Sure, my ravings tell you something. But nothing, nothing, nothing matches the experience of actually being there.

manchester artists' bonfire 2012

2012-01-27T22:41:00.001Z

Yesterday was the second Manchester Artists' Bonfire. My review of last year's inaugural event can be found here. The event website can be read here.

My piece was second to burn, and went up well, being made from twigs cable-tied together and wrapped in newspaper. Images of the figure, Flag bearer, below.

What I found to be the more memorable pledges on the night were:

Topp and Dubio who came from the Hague to burn a book that was the product of a previous project. They delivered their pledge as a brief, funny performance. They were also very nice, friendly people.

Debbie Sharp who last year burned a hard drive as a comment on the digitisation of photography, this year burned a print of a photograph she took during a poll tax demonstration in 1989. Apart from anything else this drew a neat parallel between the last Tory administration and the current coalition government.

Future Foundation Collective produced the most visually striking piece with a giant head, well over a metre high. Unfortunately it couldn't be burned as a single piece, and had to be broken up. It would have been fascinating if the central card support could have been removed and the head put on the fire whole to see whether it would take off like a Chinese lantern.

Louise Woodcock burned a bear originally intended for Everything's Great! - her exhibition with Jennifer McDonald, Helen Shanahan, and Gary Fisher, opening tomorrow (Saturday 28 January) in Rochdale at 2pm. Wearing a fetching dildo the bear was apparently too explicit for the show. Because it's common knowledge that people who visit art shows in shopping districts have never seen a penis, and would die of shock if confronted by one.

Becca Hunter brought along both a painting and a sketch, and in the end chose to burn the painting. The pledge was a way of affirming her dedication to making art. Like many of the pledges this one was physically small, but seemed to have great personal significance.

Rosanne Robertson, organiser of the event this year and last burned a disposable overall from a performance she carried out in Germany last year.

Fiona Ledgard burnt a collage piece revisiting a work she'd been unable to create at school. This marked a year during which she's been able, as a member of Womb, to begin to tap into her creativity, both in music and beyond.

Richard Shields attended but didn't burn last year. This year he burnt a box representing, among other things, his understandable discomfort with the idea of burning culture.

In the interests of openness, I know Debbie, Louise, Rosanne, and Fiona. This may have influenced my opinion.

A number of themes came up frequently:

There were those making specific political points about cuts in arts funding, or more widely about the coalition government, and/or capitalism.

There were those making more personal statements, most frequently either clearing old work out of the way, or reaffirming their belief in the future (sometimes both).

There were those for whom the bonfire was part of larger, ongoing projects.

Finally there were those either refusing to burn work - ironically enough (if you've read my review from last year) including my friend Jennifer McDonald. I have a degree of sympathy with this view, and with Jen's preference to create art in the face of adversity. At the same time I feel objects are cheap and transient, but ideas and creativity are incredibly precious and much harder to destroy.

My piece represented the contradictions I feel about government versus private funding of the arts. It seems to be commonly believed that private funding is more compromising for an artist's integrity. But public funding has the reputation of being meagre, and requiring projects to meet narrow criteria of measurable value.

I also wanted to reflect my experience in China. In the fact the sculpture was painted, which refers to the way my art opened up to colour and light during the residency, and in the flag made of Chinese banknotes, nodding to the capitalist values driving China's growing economic dominance. There are also issues of freedom of speech, which remains very proscribed in China. The country also underwent the Cultural Revolution which was devastating for artists, among many others.

The event ran more smoothly, but felt less populated and more subdued than last year.

After the bonfire came Cough It Up!, the afterparty gig of sound-art and music.

DJ Mark Scott held the evening together with some interesting and effective choices despite a considerably smaller audience than it deserved.

Debbie Sharp opened proceedings seamlessly with a piece of sound-art that you could have ignored as an especially bloody-minded selection of records. It included a sample of someone coughing.

I'll be honest and admit I wasn't especially paying attention for most of the set. Partly because I think I was talking to Topp & Dubio at the time. Apologies to Debbie. What I remember I enjoyed. It was intrusive and unusual for people perhaps expecting dance music.

Noise Research by being on stage rather than to the side of it were more obviously performers demanding of attention.

Again I'll have to make a confession, around two years ago I would have had a lot more sympathy for, and understanding of the sounds being made. But as I've written previously I've gradually moved to the point where sound-art tends to feel academic and sexless, and to prefer music. For that reason I can't really make an honest review.

But there were some tremendous sounds, especially the more abrasive, unusual ones, and the beats.

I'm afraid to say I didn't enjoy My Disabled Daughter. Now I've heard good things about them from people whose opinions I trust and value so I'm going to take the recommendations at face value. Next time there's a chance to see them I'll take it, and I'm willing to change my mind.

On the night I was open to whatever they produced but just didn't connect with it. I found the first song sexist, although I may have missed the point - it may simply have been the welter of cliche that constituted the lyrics. And that for me was part of the problem, everything about the set felt secondhand.

[Edit 28 January 2012 - I'd like to clarify that it seems I did miss the point of the first song, which like the others was written around cards of the Tarot. The fact there were bloody great projections of the cards behind the band should have been a bit of a clue. But since I have no understanding of, or interest in the Tarot I missed that.

Will Daughter from the group contacted me on Facebook and left a message explaining, from which I've extracted the following:

Hi Matt, we (My Disabled Daughter) have just checked out your blog and thanks for the thoughtful write up. I noticed that you mention in the blog that our first song 'Queen Of Wands' you found sexist. The Queen of Wands is a Tarot card and is about the actual card itself. Funnily enough though there is some inspiration from the actions of a similar character that we took, but that particular Queen is male. We would be upset if people came to any misleading conclusions about that song.

My apologies for giving the impression the duo might be sexist. I didn't necessarily believe they were, but that's not what a reader would have taken away. I'm happy to correct that.]

I was definitely in a minority, most people seemed to love the set. I heard comparisons to The Velvet Underground. I can see where it came from, but I didn't get the same sense of excitement or transgression that the Velvet Underground can still raise. In fact I had to leave early in the set and sit outside otherwise I would have cracked up laughing or stood around with a disapproving look. Neither would have been fair.

Womb were minus Stephanie and Helen, and at first the sound was awkward. Ideas started, then stuttered, took off, then didn't go anywhere much.

The playing was fine. The basses of Whitney and Genette made contrasting rhythmic figures, the one propulsive, the other sparser and more emphatic. Fiona's drums shifted in rhythm, tempo and volume. Jennifer's guitar made both abstract higher register sounds - providing a necessary counterpoint to the otherwise bass-heavy sound - and made more structured figures. Louise's vocals came and went as necessary, and were very fluid for being improvised. If anything she was a little low in the mix. This is unusual as I've seen her playing guitar on occasions when she's been far too prominent.

So the first half of the set was good, but nothing special by Womb standards. I was dancing, but I wasn't wholly convinced by the band.

But then something happened. The band coalesced into a slower, heavier rhythm. All the elements were superficially the same as previously, but worked better together. Rather than pulling in different directions the band found a space they could all occupy. The effect wasn't just cumulative but was multiplied.

I had to close my eyes. Islington Mill, the other people in the space, any sense of time all fell away. All that was left was the music and my body. I have no idea how long that lasted. It was more intense than meditation - a beautiful, transformative experience.

It seems that a lot of other people shared the same transcendental moment, and wanted the suspension, the communal elevation to continue. And then it was over, like being washed up on a beach a warm tide. It's the most powerful experience I've had yet from their music.

I've said before that one of the strengths of Womb - which in my experience is unusual in British music - is their communication and connection with the audience. When they work well the gigs feel less like a band imposing their music on a crowd, and more like a shamanic, positive synergy between band and audience. A ritual with everyone reinforcing everyone else's wellbeing.

It's an incredible, shared and personal thing. It lifts you and leaves you happy and connected to others. I'd forgotten exactly how much I'd missed the band, exactly how important they are to me.

After that Hop Man Junior faced a real challenge. But he rose to it - wearing a fantastic powder-blue, flared jumpsuit, and looking like he'd stepped out of the early 1970's he played a fabulous set that got people dancing.

With squeals, acid-like squelches, beats, penny whistle (or something similar), and vocal sounds he constructed really tremendous tunes. The set was much too short.

I liked it for several reasons: the unique mixture of sounds, genres and eras; the mix of electronics and live sounds; the shifting pace. It was a great end to the night.

I think in fact the DJ had another hour to keep the now warmed-up and enthusiastic audience dancing, but I had to get home. I certainly feel the afterparty was more successful than last year.

Last year's afterparty was the first public outing for Womb, the amount they've grown in the year since is incredible and heartening. Here's to next year.

everything's great!

2012-01-24T23:07:00.001Z

Go to this - it's going to be amazing.

Santiago's friends Gary Fisher, Jennifer McDonald, Helen Shanahan, and Louise Woodcock have an exhibition opening this coming Saturday, 28 January, at Rochdale's Hive Gallery, 2pm.

29 January 2012 - New! My excitable review of the show here.

Their write-up below:

EVERYTHING'S GREAT!

Super fun! Cash in hand! Mega discounts! Crazy bargain insane prices! Sexy, fun deals! Super sale bargains! Mega 50% super insane, craz......y sale!

WIN WIN WIN!!!

Mega art! Cuddly geese! Bulging beavers! Sanitary wares! Girls and boys? Unemployed? Struggling with debts? Stressed by the rising cost of living? Take a break and come down to Rochdale's Hive Gallery where 'EVERYTHING'S GREAT!'

Selling out? We're selling kids out NOW! Hurry before we sell ourselves out! The biggest selling out extravaganza in Rochdale and Beyond. Get your hands on the it!

The GRAND GALA OPENING OF EVERYTHING'S GREAT! on SATURDAY the 28th JANUARY!!! With Extra special CELEBRITY guest.

EVERYTHING'S GREAT! comes to you courtesy of Jennifer McDonald, Gary Fisher, Helen Shanahan and Louise Woodcock.

TERMS AND CONDITIONS APPLY

Have a look at the Facebook page for the group.

I aim to review the exhibition after I've been there.

manchester artists' bonfire returns

2012-01-24T22:12:00.000Z

If the last year hasn't taught you exactly how much - and exactly how - the coalition regards the arts then you need to come along to the second Manchester Artists' Bonfire.

It takes place Thursday this week (26 January) at Islington Mill between 6-9pm.

A large number of artists will burn their work as a reaction to funding cuts, and for a whole range of other reasons.

After the art is burned an afterparty, Cough It Up! will take place. Entry is £4 or £3 if you burn something.

Among those playing are awesome improvising Womb. See the last year of santiago's for numerous reviews.

I'll be among those burning work. Using twigs, cable-ties, and newspaper I made an 80cm figure. This was then painted - you can see images of the finished sculpture below.

Come along - it's going to be brilliant.

uncle david - review

2012-01-24T00:33:00.001Z

David Hoyle and The Avant Garde Alliance's Uncle David is a film that makes you believe cinema can still produce intelligent and challenging work.

The film is familiar - atavistic according to my original notes - while being unexpected.

Familiar because the music sounds like songs you already know. Familiar because it looks like the kind of film that Channel Four might have funded, or BBC Two might have screened (late at night) 25 years ago.

Atavistic because the locations seem resolutely British. Atavistic because much of the action seems to grow out of harsh folk myths and ancient ritual practices. Atavistic because at times the characters are like inscrutable revenants of a older time.

I'll come to the unexpected later.

The film is funny at times. Or Uncle David himself (David Hoyle) is funny. At least until the point you start to feel queasy about him. And even after that point despite yourself.

The film feels a little awkward when it starts. Initially the performances are stiff. That rapidly changes. You are drawn into the film - in part by David Hoyle's compelling presence - and the performances become more natural even as the situation grows more disturbing.

The film and the story it tells are intelligent and complicated. You are never told what to think or feel. The characters are not obviously and simplistically good or bad. The film certainly never takes moral positions.

If I wanted to be mischievous - and I wanted to miss the point and settle for a single interpretation of the film - I might read Uncle David as David Cameron and the coalition government, and Ashley (Ashley Ryder) as the UK, public services and the working class.

But that would badly miss the point. The film doesn't have a single meaning or interpretation. Neither character is reducible to being good or bad, innocent or cynical, and never crudely symbolic. Rather they variously contain none, some and all of these characteristics at different times.

The filmmakers trust you. They trust you to watch the film and make up your own mind.

This is where the performances are so good. They have a light touch and portray real, complex, contradictory human beings who exist in relationship to the world around them and in relationship to one another. They are not reductive 'types'. They don't exist to perform particular narrative roles.

Each character is complex in different ways. Uncle David, after initially seeming like a version of David Hoyle's stage persona, becomes much more troubling. Although he delivers the majority of the dialogue - often very funny and sympathetic - he remains removed from us. Unreadable, inscrutable, his real thoughts and motivations obscure even after the film has finished.

Has this happened before? Will it happen again? Does Uncle David really hope to achieve what he suggests? What drives him? What does he do after the film ends? Is he even real? Is he a dream of Ashley's, or is Ashley dreamt by him?

Ashley seems innocent to the point of being arrested. Is he mentally challenged? Is he perhaps meant to represent a child, but played by an adult? It doesn't appear to be the case. Perhaps he's been abused and dominated most of his life. These are almost credible explanations. Except - for one thing - he's obviously smarter than he appears.

He's blank in a different way than Uncle David. Uncle David's blankness verges on the sinister at times, Ashley's blankness is even harder to read. How much is it a method of control? How much a way to protect himself? How far does he really understand and collude with what happens? Even if he understands and colludes with it, more interestingly, how far does he believe in it?

We are after all thrown into the middle of a relationship that might have been going on for a long time, and which certainly has its own rituals and rules. A hermetic and quotidian relationship. A relationship where it's hard to read where the power lies - if there is an imbalance of power.

I'd like to revisit some of my earlier themes in a little more detail.

Familiarity. The filmic echoes include Derek Jarman and Andrew Kötting - for the way they capture England on film as much as anything, and Kenneth Anger - for less easily definable reasons. The musical echoes are of the early 1970s. And in what some have called the 'transgressive' nature of the film there are hints of William Burroughs.

But. The film is not just borrowed clothes and tropes. It is defiantly its own creation.

I feel that a major function of art is to explore the complexity of the world, our human reactions to that, and the further complexity of our relationships. Much of this is unmeasurable, intangible. For me that puts art at war - not with science, which it complements and which explores the tangible and measurable - but with religion.

Religion seems to come from the same sense of awe at the universe around us, from the same finding of abstract value in objects, events and people. But while art remains flexible and open, religion is institutional, unimaginative, and interested more in control than freedom.

If the film embodies any values it seems to side with art and imagination against religion and other institutionalised method of control. But this is not the only theme, or the predominant theme in the film.

However, there is a broadside against religion, and a couple of moments that play with religious and ritual imagery. Ashley is described as looking like the crucified Jesus. One piece of ritual imagery leads to the next theme...

Atavism. A shallow channel like a grave, like the rock-cut graves at Heysham is dug in the sand. Inhumation is a common ritual and not necessarily religious.

The Isle of Sheppey where the film takes place seems cold, even when Ashley is seen wearing only tiny trunks. You get a sense - as with parts of Kötting's Gallivant, and Jarman's footage of Dungeness - of Britain as a cold rock at the edge of the Atlantic, on the fringe of Europe.

The people other than Uncle David and Ashley exist not quite outside the frame of the film, but not quite within it. They are like lost tribes who wandered here from Europe and were either cut off or forgot how to return. They eat breakfast, play gambling machines, fly remote-control planes and drive past in the background.

Ashley is childlike. He plays in the bath, he plays on a slide, he makes sandcastles.

The unexpected. You know early on what will happen at the end of the film - though not precisely how. This, the familiarity and atavism, and the initial similarities of Uncle David and David Hoyle may lead you to think you know what you're getting. And in a superficial way you do.

But the film progresses in unexpected ways. The film is a linear narrative, but the narrative is barely there, and in many ways irrelevant.

There are long takes - sometimes mainly quiet, sometimes mainly talky, sometimes more balanced.

There are musical interludes - where the film stops and for two, three minutes the action is cut to a song. One such interlude suspends the narrative as the characters walk past an amusement arcade - though itself is interrupted by moments of dialogue. Another such interlude montages the characters dancing and David putting make-up on Ashley - gradually progressing the narrative.

Funny. Throughout the film Uncle David has speeches - rants if you like - with which you sympathise even though you may be uneasy about where it's leading. Most of these are funny at different points. He also has throwaway lines that make you laugh.

But the humour isn't just verbal. It's visual too. During the montage of the characters dancing the tv behind Uncle David appears to by playing one of Ashley (the actor's) hardcore gay porn DVDs.

Other visual gags [blowjob pun intended] are more conventional. So at breakfast in a diner the characters have a seemingly out of place candelabra with black candles. This turns out to have been brought by Uncle David. It also appears that he brought a tablecloth that gets left behind - no other table has one.

Elsewhere, as I already mentioned, people fly remote control planes in the background of an emotionally intense conversation between Uncle David and Ashley.

Less obviously there's a mundanity of circumstance and location - and arguably of the aspiration of people around Uncle David and Ashley - that contrasts with the ambition of the characters' plans. This is funny and somehow accomplished without ever toppling one way into tragedy or another into bathos.

Complexity. I've mentioned complexity a couple of times. The narrative isn't complex. The filming and the editing aren't especially complex - though there were moments when I thought the sound design was really excellent. The complexity is human. It's the complexity of relationships, the complexity of ideas.

To me it indicates that the filmmakers respect and trust their audience. They refuse to be condescending. This is properly grown-up filmmaking.

In conclusion I honestly don't give a fuck whether you like the film or not - although I'd like to see it make profit, if only to enable more of the same.

If you have problems with cheap or rough looking movies you probably won't enjoy it. If you have problems with awkward performances then you won't get past the first ten minutes - although trust me, they improve. If you like a strong or convoluted narrative you'll be disappointed. If you like relatively transparent characters you'll be frustrated.

I think it's fucking great.

revenants

2012-01-22T12:37:00.000Z

Not such good photos as the other day. These show what's left of some of the last work I did in October before I left for China.

So, on Pomona Strand I left one of the two clay masks I'd made concealed under blackberry brambles. There are still traces of it. The masks were air-drying clay - I think what's left is mainly the nylon fibre that gives it strength.

Close by were the bushes I'd woven together. They've sprung apart a little but are still fixed in a lot of places. I'm not sure whether to try and re-weave them. It obviously doesn't matter either way.

And finally down by the River Irwell I left the other mask on a bit of mud just over the water level on that day. It would be nice to think the whitish stain in the water there was a last trace of it, but I'm sure after three months it can't be.

womb supporting minny pops at gullivers

2012-01-22T01:32:00.000Z

Lets get the bad news out of the way upfront.

Womb played first. This doesn't usually work to their advantage. They need people warmed up, dancing, feeling a community, and not standing around being cool.

The second support act - Rats on Rafts - aren't my kind of thing at all. That means I'm in no position to criticise - and judging by audience reaction they play exactly the kind of tut some people like to bounce to. So that's fine if it's out of my earshot.

Womb had just about started when I came upstairs and got to the front of a disappointingly static audience. I mean not even gently swaying, bobbing or nodding their heads. Like they'd been fucking nailed to the floor - Here we are now, entertain us. I danced as much as I felt able - but I'm only recently back so a little more inhibited than I'll be in a few days.

The sound was great, perhaps not as exciting as the last couple of gigs I saw before I left for China, but much more cohesive and unified.

The vocals were strong and gave a slightly disturbing human texture to the sound. I felt their power diminished later on - but I'll come to that. The drums rumbled, bolstered by the basses, the guitar cut shards across the top, and providing more sparks as well as harshly resonating low-end was the keyboard.

Overall the sound was physical - turning through your guts and genitals, through your arms and head. The sound quality was pretty good and if they'd had anything like the volume Earth or Sunn 0))) had at Islington Mill a couple of years ago the statues down the front would have had no fucking choice but to dance.

Heavy heavy heavy in a good way.

It worked at a fast tempo, it worked at an incredibly slow tempo, it worked with the drums hammering and skipping, it worked beatless, it worked structured, and it worked with abstract fragments glancing off each other and dancing between feedback.

My only criticism is the vocals. Stephanie is great, and Lou forms a good contrast with her - usually taking the lead with phrases, words and noises. But after a while for me it got a bit samey. I would have liked more variety and dynamism. More range, more interplay and deliberate contrast, as well as moments when the voices were together.

I think this will come with practice. Vocal improvisation is tough and they are doing a good job. But I think there's a way to go still.

It was fabulous to see Womb again and I fucking loved the set. I think the last couple of gigs I saw September/October last year were better, or more exciting for me, but they were still way better than most bands you'll see.

And again - heavy, physical, growling through you, transcendent.

I'll say this again - catch Womb live if you have the chance - it's a truly special experience.

Rats on Rafts were fine if you like kit-built kiddie Lego pop-punk-indie with a slight ska tinge. It's not something I'd ever subject myself to, so I'm not the critic you need. Nothing personal though - they seem like nice, affable, friendly people from the little I saw. Check them out, you may love the sound - and even if you don't you haven't lost anything.

So to Minny Pops. I danced is basically all you need to know. I mean yeah, I was right in the moshpit for Drunk in Hell on Friday, and then spent the rest of the night dancing at Bollox, but tonight I was BACK!

Not just going through the motions, but dancing with every part of me. Legs, arms, hips, torso, the whole fucking body.

And why? Because Minny Pops made me dance that's why. It's a simple formula - sparse beats and noises through the laptop and synth, bass, guitar texture over the top, and vocals that have that simultaneous detached and personal quality that's the hallmark of a lot of the best post-punk.

Perhaps it's a manifestation of a contradiction in the bands - a sense that music is incredibly important - fundamental even - but that there's something inherently absurd in the traditional model of band, performance and audience. A desire to both alienate and connect.

That seems like the kind of trick you can only pull off if you actually embody those contradictions - and it's why bands who try to emulate that sound will never get it right.

I danced, Womb danced, a handful of others danced - ecstatically. Even one of the rather too many photographers down the front danced. A little.

Apparently it was Minny Pops first visit to the UK in 31 years. Too long. They're amazing. Go track them down online now. Go see them live if you get the chance. And don't give me any shit about no UK gigs - they're Dutch, it's not far to go.

A brilliant night - the second in a row. Loving it.

photos from chorlton nature reserve

2012-01-20T19:49:00.000Z

Well that seems to have worked.

I hadn't switched to the new blogger format previously because the browser at my old work didn't like it. But with my new smugphone automatically uploading images to Picasa the new format makes it trivially easy to add them to posts here.

Ice on grass

I'll write more about these images in a day or two - and have another image post to add. In the meantime I'm pretty pleased with these.

Sun through trees

Chorlton Nature Reserve

Toward Salford Quays from Pomona Strand

Site where I left a clay mask in October 2011

Ice

back in the uk

2012-01-12T11:43:00.002Z

I got back to the UK on Saturday morning. Compared to the winter in Kunming I've found it dark and cold here.

For the first few days I stopped with my mother in Lancaster. But came to Manchester for the day on Tuesday to start looking for work and a place to live. I came again on Wednesday and stayed with friends overnight.

I have a temporary job starting next week, which might offer a full-time role after three months. Today I plan to look at some rooms.

Once I find somewhere to live, sort out an internet connection, and start to get out again santiago's will start to become more regular again.

Over the next few months I'll try to reinstate some of the images that appear to have gone missing. I'm actually very annoyed about this.

One day while I was in China what I thought were copies of images from my blog and elsewhere appeared in the gallery on my phone. As this amounted to well over a thousand images I felt I didn't want them cluttering up the memory. There was no indication why they were there. Since they were still there when my phone was offline I thought there would be no harm in deleting them. But doing so appears to have removed them from my blog. There was no indication at the point of deletion that this would affect any location other than my phone.

If anyone knows a quick way to recover them I'd be incredibly grateful. I'd also be grateful to know if there is any way I can separate this link between my images online and what's in my phone's memory. I really don't want it cluttered up with thousands of old photos.

alight - tonight

2011-12-31T04:49:00.001Z

Where I'll be for New Year, my exhibition opening.

Have an excellent and safe time wherever you are. Happy New Year.

Sent from Samsung Mobile

alight - exhibition

2011-12-22T18:10:00.001Z

Alight - my exhibition for the residency here in Kunming opens 31 December and ends 5 January just before I leave.

www.943studio.cn/archives/2881

Sent from Samsung Mobile

chroma943 - short video

2011-12-22T14:44:00.002Z

Just finished probably the last film I'll create on my residency.

Chroma943 is based on the acrylic sketches and paintings I've been doing recently.

exhibition at new year...

2011-12-20T15:05:00.002Z

...if you're in Kunming.

I'll stick the poster and additional information here when I have it.

I also aim to have photos of the event, and the work in situ when it happens.

The exhibition will be called Alight, and will most likely have a joint opening/New Year party.

I've written the following text for it:

Alight

1. I alighted from the plane in Kunming on 11 October.

When we descended to Kunming it was dark... First I saw rivers and hills in monochrome outlines, then bridges and buildings, then roads and cars. I saw two bonfires burning on the edge of a field.

2. I accidentally alighted on a theme and a fascination.

What I saw [projected on paper through a small hole in the roof] was an upside-down image of the sky and the factory roof. My studio is a camera obscura.

3. My art came alight with colours.

I did an abstract sketch in my sketchbook with my various acrylics - then dragged the paint about with some toothpicks.

kim jong-il

2011-12-20T02:11:00.000Z

Re-posted from matt dalby journal:

Amid all the obvious links on Facebook to 'I'm So Ronery' and other Kim Jong-il frolics from Team America following the North Korean dictator's death I found myself remembering another film.

Not as funny or well-made as Team America, but most certainly more complex, compromised, brave, and disturbing. The film is a Danish documentary released in 2009 called The Red Chapel - http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Red_Chapel#cite_note-1

In the film a Danish documentarist Mads Brügger takes two Danish comedians of South Korean descent, Jacob Nossell and Simon Jul to North Korea on the pretext of producing a comedy show in the country, and documenting it. The actual intention is to see inside the secretive nation and reveal something about the country.

It has to be said that for the most part it fails in this aim. The director and comedians (of whom Nossell is developmentally challenged and refers to himself as 'spastic') are chaperoned everywhere, their film handed over every night for vetting, and they only get to see exactly what their hosts want. A great deal of commentary is able to get through since the censors reviewing the film can speak English but not Danish, but the cruelties alluded to can be found out about in more detail from other sources. Start here, there's some pretty chilling stuff - http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_rights_in_North_Korea

But there are striking and disturbing things about the film. The eerily empty streets for one. More so is a group of small children seen laughing and applauding. The grotesque aspect of this is that the children can be seen apparently watching each other and the adults in attendance to guage that they're reacting in the right way.

To see a child unable to laugh and react spontaneously, to appear afraid to act in an inappropriate way tells you everything you need to know about the regime.

On a forum thread elsewhere discussing Kim Jong-il's death someone said 'Good. I hope it hurt'. I'm not sure I'd go that far, but it is worth remembering amongst 'I'm So Ronery' and the photo blog 'Kim Jong-il Looking At Things' that the man was not a harmless buffoon. He was a ruthless dictator who presided over mass starvation, mass imprisonment, collective punishment, the killing of physically defective infants, and forced prostitution among other horrors. No one should be sad at his passing.

Personally I love Team America, and Kim Jong-il Looking At Things, but I don't know how many North Koreans feel the same way.

jiaoling lu - video

2011-12-05T11:34:00.002Z

It was the weekend, I was bored.

Yesterday I shot a load of video around the apartment, today I edited it into this new film - Jiaoling Lu. That's Jiaoling Road where my apartment is if that helps.

I'm happy with it, it seems snappier than 'I learnt colour'.

More on my residency here - http://mattdalbyjournal.tumblr.com/ - and about 943 Studio where I'm in residence here - http://www.943studio.cn/

i learnt colour - video

2011-12-04T00:41:00.002Z

Since I've posted this everywhere else it seemed santiago's should have it too.

I started filming late in the second week of my residency here in Kunming at 943 Studio (http://www.943studio.cn/). My original intention was to combine everyday scenes from the apartment and studio with footage from around the city.

Most of what I shot early on was contrived, pedestrian, and literal. Only the footage shot while walking seemed to have anything about it.

After a while I stopped filming because I was just repeating myself.

I started again when I started noticing the light in the apartment and at the studio. I filmed a lot - suddenly I had a subject that interested me and that could draw together my other bits of film.

I finally started editing on 24 November and finished on 2 December after a few false starts.

Although the editing software on the phone I shot and edited with is basic any shortcoming in the film is entirely down to my lack of experience and skill.

For more on my residency don't forget my journal - http://mattdalbyjournal.tumblr.com/

Thanks to visa limitations I'm back in the UK in early January. In the meantime I may do more filming.

chinese censorship again

2011-11-28T17:20:00.001Z

Part of my most recent (Monday 28 November 2011) journal entry:

While I can't be certain that a mention of Mao as 'murderous' in one of the photo posts I emailed earlier for matt dalby journal [http://mattdalbyjournal.tumblr.com] caused the delay in it getting through, there was a more certain sign of censorship.

Yet again - I think for the third time - I was unable to open an email from Amnesty International.

Surely the Chinese authorities can't keep a lid on protests forever?

Earlier this year as the Arab Spring got underway there were 'jasmine' protests in China [http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_civil_disturbances_in_the_People's_Republic_of_China_(2011)].

And the government's clumsy persecution of Ai Weiwei seems to backfire at every step. Their attempt to claim that obviously non-sexual images are pornographic has seen others upload similar images [http://m.guardian.co.uk/ms/p/gnm/op/sTrmIJdQanv3mxa1OelYV2g/view.m?id=15&gid=world/2011/nov/21/ai-weiwei-porn-investigation-naked&cat=artanddesign].

China has obviously changed a lot in the twenty-two years since the government murdered protestors in Beijing and around the country [http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tiananmen_Square_protests_of_1989].

Perhaps there is truth in the suggestion at the end of an article in The Atlantic [http://m.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2011/09/arab-spring-chinese-winter/8601/] that the great firewall deliberately has 'gaps' to relieve pressure.

Even so, how much longer can the leadership hold off the desire for greater openness and democracy that has been present since at least 1989?
____

ken russell dies aged 84

2011-11-28T10:52:00.001Z

From The Guardian.

Damn shame he didn't have the funding or exposure he deserved in recent years.

But the British film industry is timid - so many excellent filmmakers have struggled for funding or had to go overseas - if they didn't get stuck in development hell:

Sally Potter, Lynne Ramsay, Terence Davies, Andrew Kotting, and I'm sure others.

Guardian story here:

Ken Russell dies aged 84

http://gu.com/p/33khq

f*@!ing youtube

2011-11-26T02:02:00.001Z

So YouTube, just how am I expected to update my account before a threatened deletion on 20 December when I'm in China behind the great firewall and unable to log into my fucking account until next year?

Dicks.

pollution and poverty

2011-11-02T02:09:00.001Z

Because I can, my latest journal post:

Wednesday 2 November 2011

One thing I've avoided writing about here is the obvious disparity in wealth visible as you walk about. Some of that was a self-censorship I regret (I redacted one paragraph early on [1]), and some was simply an admission of ignorance. Not knowing the country or the language, and knowing very little about economics, I don't feel I can make authoritative statments.

[1 - Everything I wrote about in that redacted paragraph is included in what follows.]

And yet. There are many homeless - sleeping on benches or behind barriers, where there is shelter. There are people begging on the streets - often outside hospitals - I've been stopped once. Some of the street selling - not from defined pitches but from cloths spread on the pavement, or from mobile carts in the case of food - appears to be carried out by minority Chinese ethnic groups. This admittedly is going by features and dress, not the most reliable method. These apparent minority groups also seem to be well represented in recycling and other 'dirty' trades - usually working in fairly cramped, filthy and unsafe conditions. There are streets, generally where where manual trades happen, that appear little better than slums.

Near the city centre meanwhile super-rich citizens with huge cars live in vast new blocks. Huge towers drip with gaudy lights. Everywhere people are exorted to consume: electrical goods, fashion, all the useless tat of any capitalist society.

And these disparities of wealth are often side by side. Especially where redevelopment is happening. Where buildings have been torn down strident posters will declare 'A More Civilized City' along with pictures of exciting contemporary buildings, while people pick over rubble for anything recyclable in the shadow of the latest anonymous cream tower.

I actually saw a homeless man sleeping under a sign proclaiming 'A More Civilized City'. It seemed too obvious, and perhaps a little too callous, to photograph. I should have taken the picture.

Another obvious visible disparity is the sight of amputees and other disabled beggars in the shiny new retail districts. The super-wealth and the worst poverty are extremes - but disparities are evident everywhere.

Also everywhere are uniforms. Frequently security guards in banks or places like car dealerships. But also police, military dress uniforms on some party and other buildings, and others less easy to identify.

Despite the uniforms this feels and looks to the outsider like a capitalist society, not communist. It smells too - this is an unfettered, polluting capitalism where wealth-creation is valued high above welfare or human dignity.

point and laugh

2011-11-01T04:29:00.001Z

In which the Daily Mail's 'theatre critic' Quentin Letts talks utter shit about Marat/Sade in an entirely unveiled polemic against subsidised arts (as long as they have what he terms a left-wing bias).

Linky - http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2054387/The-RSCs-Marat-Sade-shocking-waste-money.html

No prizes for picking out the many contradictions and misrepresentations perpetrated by Letts.

He even manages to take a swipe at Edward Bond's Saved, the status of which few would argue with.

Strangely no mention of the violence of the Jacobean stage. No mention either of Sarah Kane whose plays on this evidence would have the squeamish Letts ('Urgh, willies... violence... swearing... confrontation... urgh') running from the theatre in a combination of rage and horror.

Nice touch when he implies it's the fault of those filthy foreigners by telling us the German word for this kind of theatre.

What an absolute cock.

more on yesterday's journal post

2011-11-01T03:28:00.001Z

What follows is the post from yesterday's entry on matt dalby journal which seemed to precipitate an immediate blocking of any searches relating to the journal or to me, and perhaps a tightening of restrictions on tumblr which mean I can no longer edit posts already made.

Those searches are now available again - presumably on the grounds that searches involving the words matt dalby journal (with or without reference to tumblr or China) are non-existent. And that tumblr's blocked anyway.

I have made some slight changes. Where I've added comments after the fact they are in square brackets prefaced by an asterisk. Other material in square brackets is from the original post, but added after the journal was handwritten, as I was typing. I incorporate some of the first supplementary post which provided a reference to a news story in square brackets like other added material.

Any other discrepancies that creep in are because I'm having to type the whole thing again, having no way to cut and paste.

The second part of the post is also included since it has a calmer explanation of what happened from my point of view:

Monday 31 October 2011

An annoyance since late last week has been trying to get images of recent work for the studio to put on their website.

I'd sent images not long before coming so hadn't expected to need to do so again. I also chose not to bring my computer with me.

In most other places that wouldn't be a problem, but here I've been unable to access Facebook or blogger, and so unable to download images from my profile or santiago's dead wasp to my phone.

If anything tumblr is more frustrating. For the first couple of weeks I could access my sites and other people's sites just fine. Then just before I was asked for images access was blocked.

Now, I can still (at present) access my own posts through the tumblr app on my phone. I still see notification of the posts of people I'm following, and can still post using the app. But I can't see a way to download my own images.

This battle with the great firewall is annoying, but obviously just a minor irritation against what some people have to confront all the time.

[Ai Wei Wei and his struggle with authorities who are apparently happy to allow potentially life-threatening beatings despite hia international profile and involvement with the Olympics is only the most prominent example. We should all be so fearless.]

It puts into perspective the (still serious and repressive technology the Metropolitan Police have invested in allowing them to monitor people's phone use [, download data,] and direct their traffic onto a dummg network, covered in The Guardian online. I think it can also be used to shut down communications.

[For anyone interested the company behind this are UK based *[Leeds], they're called Datong *[plc] and supply a number of governments, many of them repressive, across Asia Pacific and the Middle East. Their technology is available at an arms fair near you. I'd say they were unethical bastards who ought to be put out of business - you may disagree. *[I accessed the Guardian story about the Metropolitan Police and Datong here - http://gu.com/p/3327k]]

For what it's worth I'm fundamentally opposed to the restriction of access to information by any authority for any reason.

In any case, although I haven't wanted to I have been able to mobilise friends and family to get me some images.

It's been a long process but at present I have a couple of shots of the mask/skull object from Tamlyn 11, a couple of shots of the mound of bricks and sticks also from Tamlyn 11, and some shots I had on my phone of the clay masks left by the Irwell and on Pomona Strand before I came here.

Thanks to Jen, Hannah, and Adam for going out of their way to help.

[I've been arguing with myself about making a post like this for close to a week.

Before access was blocked I did have some Chinese readership for the journal. I was concerned that in being too explicit I might cause problems for those people.

But on the other hand if you don't say what you think or stand for what you believe you deny an important part of yourself and collude in repression.

Besides the journal is almost wholly innocuous, even today's entry is pretty hedged about and easily ignored. It just felt important to stop avoiding the issue.]

*[The first part of the journal, posted in the morning, ends here. The rest was written and posted later in a separate entry since I can't edit posts. That second part follows:]

Things went a little screwy this morning after the first part of today's journal went up. First I wasn't able to edit that post (or any other) in order to add a link to the Guardian story about the Metropolitan Police and Datong [who are both still massive collections of bastards with no conscience.]

Now it's a few days since I went in to edit an existing post, so that may have been the case for a while. It might also be a glitch in the app, a problem with tumblr, or a transient issue. I'm sure it's coincidental rather than sinister though.

But following that I tried searching for matt dalby journal on Google using both browsers [on my phone]. That search was blocked, as was a search on my name. Both searches now have been restored [on the phone's browser, Opera still didn't return results. *[As of at least 8.45 Tuesday 1 November that search is now fine on Opera. But you'd need to know about the journal to search for it obviously.]]

At the time it certainly felt like action was being taken to ensure no one in China knew about the post [although at a guess no one in China would have known or cared about it anyway.] I emailed friends and blogged about the situation on santiago's dead wasp in case I found all my blogging and email routes blocked.

I don't believe that any action was taken by an actual person, that anyone read the journal, or that it had anything to do with me or that post in particular. Instead I'd guess that certain words, 'Ai Wei Wei' and 'repression' maybe, triggered an automatic action.

It did though have the effect of pissing me off amd ensuring that I'm not going to avoid saying just what I like in future. I intend to blog the whole of the offending posts *[the first part of the journal and the first supplement with the link to the Guardian story] over at santiago's dead wasp and to post the account of what happened that I put up there on the tumblr.

I don't suppose there'll be any further developments but if there are I'll cover them on both santiago's dead wasp and matt dalby journal.

I think at nearly three weeks I showed a lot of restraint before letting fly. A shame it was over something so selfish and trivial as not being able to access my photos. Oh well.

_____

But enough of that. A reasonably productive day in the studio - most of the casts came off easily and could be sealed again without being too badly deformed. I haven't attempted the bowl or the pomelo yet. I plan to use scissors rather than a craft knife for both, but I still expect they'll end up terribly distorted.

The spoon, pen and jar have been cast again. I ate the apple since I sliced into it so it be another one I cast.

_____

A pleasant evening at the studio where Lifen had a barbeque. There were a number of Swiss, Swedes, and Norwegians there with varying connections to Nordica. Nice friendly people, relaxed atmosphere, a good way to end the day.

not shutting up

2011-10-31T05:41:00.001Z

In which strange things happen after I criticise the Chinese authorities on my tumblr journal.

I haven't posted in santiago's since I've been in China. I can post by mail, but if I include images it formats weirdly and I have to go in and edit... And I can't access blogger. Instead I've been posting my journal at http://mattdalbyjournal.tumblr.com/.

Recently I've had trouble getting images since blogger, Facebook, and lately tumblr are blocked (I can for the moment post to tumblr). As a result I wrote a post in which I talk about repression, the authorities treatment of Ai Wei Wei, surveillance, and the importance of freedom of information.

Coincidentally or otherwise while I can still post the journal I can no longer edit it. This happened within minutes of the post going up. Initially I was also unable to google the journal or my own name, but that seems to have changed.

Anyway, since I can't edit posts I can't copy the text of the two posts that seem to have caused the situation. But I can direct you to the entries for Monday 31 October 2011 at http://mattdalbyjournal.tumblr.com.

I'd be incredibly grateful if someone were able to email me the texts of these posts so I can cut and paste them into another post to make the account here complete.

Personally I think it's nothing to worry about and just an inconvenience for me. But the gloves ARE off now, and I'm happy to be openly critical from here on in. Below is the text of an email I sent friends when I thought I may end up unable to communicate with the outside world.

Hopefully - even if I have to type them out again - I can post the journal entries here too in the next day or so. Anyway, that email:

hi,

nothing serious - but after today's first journal post while I can still post to tumblr I can no longer edit posts. I thought it was coincidental - and it might be - but I checked and not only can I no longer google the journal I can't google my name - both searches are blocked.

So I'm just letting you know I may end up unable to blog as easily. Don't know that email will be affected.

I should be ok - it's an inconvenience is all. Obviously it would be irresponsible of me to direct you to the entries on matt dalby journal for Mon 31 October that seem to be a problem so you can judge for yourself...

Have a great Halloween. Sure it'll be back to normal here in a couple of days

Matt

And that's all for now. As I say, the google searches are now restored. But I'm pissed-off and feeling quite militant after it.

woven bushes

2011-09-21T13:40:00.005+01:00

On Saturday I went down Pomona Strand just to take a walk.

While I was there I conceived the idea of taking a bush and weaving a kind of channel through it. Rather like this sketch after the fact.

That proved not to be possible. If I'd had something with me allowing me to cut partway through a branch, and perhaps some cord or wire to tie things together it might have been, though I suspect I'd have done a poor job.

Instead I decided to settle for an archway. Which inevitably ended up looking rather like the opening of a vagina. Again. Actually I'd really rather avoid this inadvertant theme in my work.

Having shown a few people the pictures later in the day I decided to return on Sunday and try something different. This time weaving several bushes into a line or circle if either were possible.

Unfortunately I couldn't find enough bushes sufficiently close together in the right configuration to make a circle or even a horseshoe possible. But returning to the bush from Saturday I was able to unweave the original creation and incorporate it into a line of bushes.

The first bit of film shows the bushes before I interfered with them:

This second piece of film shows the bushes after being woven:

I haven't yet returned to see how the bushes are doing. I tried to carry out the weaving without damage to the bushes.

In fact the bushes are entirely new growth since everything except the grass was cut down to the ground and shredded some time late last year (or possibly earlier this year).

womb at d.i.y. feminist after party

2011-09-19T14:35:00.001+01:00

I'm not sure if this was the last time I'll see Womb play before I head off to China in three weeks. If it is it was a good one. Perhaps not quite at the same level as the Kraak gig, but fucking excellent nonetheless.

With a smaller lineup than recently it was always likely to be a slightly different dynamic and sound. Here it was Fiona on drums, Genette on Pianophone, percussion and voice, Helen on keyboards and voice, Jen on guitar, percussion and voice, and Whitney on bass and voice.

The venue was a small and intimate basement room with seating for fewer than a dozen and floor sitting/standing room for about 20 if they got pretty close. When the band started I was still sat down and somewhat boxed in so I wasn't able to join Sadie as one of the few people dancing initially. Then someone came and sat between my legs - which meant I was stuck there a little longer.

The group started out in recently familiar territory - what you might describe as doomy churning with excellent beats. From there the sound shifted with the chiming of singing bowls and other percussion, and voices adding texture. While bass and keys provided some additional structure and melody, guitar and voices ducked and interwove, mutating the colours and pulling the music in different directions.

Eventually, disgracefully, the crowd thinned out a little, which meant the person sat between my legs could move somewhere more comfortable for them. That in turn meant I could get up and dance. Like I said, disgraceful. If it meant more people could have seen or heard the group I'd have been happy to be pinned against one of the walls [insert your own filthy joke here].

So dance I did for a little until the band stopped. People applauded and then after a brief discussion the band started again, and the dancing started again. Still fewer people which was a shame, but it was an after party with a variety of spaces and different things going on, so a different dynamic from a gig. Also Womb were going on pretty late - somewhere close to 1am.

The sound transformed again in the second half. While the drums provided the rhythmic foundation the other sounds became predominantly more abstract. Sound textures and patterns rather than more conventional melodies and structures. Even more than the first half the actual sounds were explored for their own sake rather than pressed into a preformed idea of how they should be structured.

It was really quite minimal and abstract - in case there's any doubt I think this is a good thing. As usual there will be a recording going up at some time soon - which will no doubt sound completely different from what I've described.

A wonderful performance - if it had been a more normal gig at a more conventional venue the band would have stormed the place. They were - as you'd expect from a mainly subterranean, brick-lined, low-ceilinged, small room - pretty fucking loud. I think that meant that even more than previous acts they could be heard through a lot of the house.

It's a shame I may not get to see the band again until March next year or maybe later. I'm going to miss them.

insect traces

2011-09-13T10:47:00.004+01:00

On Sunday despite walking two dogs for a friend I managed to get a few photos.

My favourites were these three. They appear to be the tracks of some kind of woodworm - the larvae of insects - making their way out of the wood and through the bark. Which has now fallen away exposing the tracks.

I love how they appear variously like a living creature, the fossils of a flesh butterfly*, the traces left by a parasite under the skin, or obssessive carvings - of mazes, of veins or nerves, or of some skeletal form.

*Yeah, I thought that too. Although only after I'd written it.

womb at kraak 2 sept 11 review

2011-09-05T21:01:00.000+01:00

Starting at the end this was the best Womb gig to date. The group played a set of pure positive energy that fulfilled all the promise they've shown so far.

But let's look at the rest of the evening first. Womb for once were headlining and there were four other acts. I fucking hate that word 'acts' - but one of them was a singer/songwriter performing on his own so I can't say groups or bands.

That singer/songwriter was up first. I can't actually remember his name - and since I'm writing this on my phone and have no internet at home I can't look it up either. I'll check tomorrow in work and add his details then. Edit 6/9/11 - The artist in question was Jay Stansfield - see his blog here, and a more sympathetic view of his music here.

That way you~~'ll be able to~~ can look him up and check out his music for yourself. It did nothing for me, and wasn't surprising or interesting enough to overcome my chronic aversion to singer/songwriters.

In fact there was a period around the third song when I began to wonder if it wasn't a carefully crafted parody of the genre, and that I might be missing the point. I believe however that it was sincere.

If heartfelt but mild songs of love, life in the city and domestic quotidia swing your kitten then I'd recommend him. If not then have a listen and make up your own mind.

In the interests of fairness I should note that he was minus a drummer, and playing to a thin crowd who spent most of the set talking to each other. I believe at least one of his tracks on record was played out later and sounded more dynamic than I'd have expected.

But yeah, not my thing.

Politburo aren't really my thing either (I seem to have a problem with structured songs) but came much closer to persuading me they might be through sheer energy, skill at performing, and a more outgoing approach.

The presence of drums and bass helped, as did charisma and the slight visual oddness of the band. Also the fact that there were more people around. Nontheless I would be happy to see them perform again.

Salford Media City were next up. In all honesty I would have had them fourth or perhaps headlining. They very quickly had people dancing. The music was both complex and layered, and had the beats to move you.

With two main voices giving the songs a more varied texture than you'd normally expect, and with saxophone doing more interesting things than saxophone usually does, the sound had a greater variety and colour than you'd otherwise expect.

The group were visually diverse too - from the soberly dressed sax player through the more colourful drummer to the androgynous and pretty bass player there was a lot going on.

You may have noticed I haven't spoken in much detail about the sound of any act so far. That's partly because I don't remember - it was a long night, I was dancing, and... well anyway - and partly because my technical knowledge and useful vocabulary are sadly deficient.

I really enjoyed Salford Media City. They were much better than the last time I saw them when they were bloody good. I danced through the set because the music genuinely moved me - both the beats and the other sounds happening, some of which were genuinely unexpected.

Although they're different bands operating in different genres there's a similarity to the most recent gig I saw Cryptic Salve Band play at Gullivers the previous Saturday 27 August. There CSB seemed to step outside of genre - there were the beats physically moving you, the screamed vocals, and the heavy infernal swirling of the guitar helping the whole thing lift off.

It was similar with what I suppose I'm now compelled to abbreviate as SMC. The beats set you moving, the voices structured your perception of the songs, and the other instruments roared and ebbed filling in the spaces, adding colour and making the songs complete.

I loved it - they were excellent. It also fuelled a slight anxiety - I love Womb but were they ready for a headlining slot? With Salford Media City on that kind of form could they step up and deliver something good enough?

I had a while to wait because there was another band to play first. Krystal & The Pistols. I missed a lot of the first half of their set because I... well never mind - a few of us went for chips.

Krystal & The Pistols played a kind of Balkan-influenced, energetic, fun, world music for parties. They played it with great skill and evident enthusiasm. I danced and had a fucking great time.

And you already know there's a 'but' coming. It's thoroughly enjoyable and hard to resist - but... - but you can really only listen to so much before you need a break or a bit of variety.

The set was about the right length, the band were likeable, and the music fun. I will dance to them again and have a great time next time I see them. But by the time they were done I was as ready to see Womb as I've ever been.

Womb hit a beat pretty much straight away bolstered by bass and then let it shift and mutate while the music stretched and writhed inside and around the beats. Toward the end of the first half they slipped imperceptibly into what seemed to be a syncopated rhythm.

The vocals were prominent in the mix and really excellent this time. I've always been impressed by the vocals of Stephanie (who was there) and Whitney (who wasn't), but everyone else who approached the mic did something pretty special this time.

A found violin and knackered bow produced some nice sounds and textures in addition to the more usual pianophone and percussion. The keyboards provided both structure at times when it was needed and some harsh snarling when that was needed.

There were too many changes for me to keep track of even if I hadn't had chips and been dancing like I wanted to fly. Because the music was just pure ecstatic happy energy exploding from the stage and through the audience. I wanted clap my hands in delight. I wanted to jump up and down. I wanted to shout out in pleasure. I wanted to fall over. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to strip off my clothes and dance with everyone there.

That good.

It moved a couple of women to join in. Both Marlene from Gnod and briefly someone I've met a few times who I think is called Jen joined on the keyboard - Marlene persuaded to get onstage and take up the bass.

This was in the second half after the drums had changed a couple of times - taking on interesting patterning and textual roles while bass and keyboards filled out the rest of the rhythm, and saxophone provided some structure.

I know I often give the impression Womb's music is unsophisticated Dionysian rhythms with pounding tribal beats to keep you moving. It really isn't - it's a lot cleverer, better structured, more nuanced and layered than that. There is that element of the ecstatic, expressive, shamanic, transcendental - but this is a group of individuals. They have varying abilities and approaches and improvise rhythms, music and sound-textures together. When it works it's good.

When the group's inhibitions about playing in public are lowered - by headlining, by having the time they need, by having an appreciative crowd, by their growing assurance and confidence - they find something incredibly special. The feedback between members of the band, the audience, the space and the music becomes wholly positive.

Seriously. Tomorrow I'll link you to the soundcloud recording of the gig and you can fucking check it for yourself.

Edit 6/9/11 Here! Here! Get your ears round this! Womb Soundcloud recording of the gig.

I haven't danced like that at a Womb gig before. Of course eventually it had to end, and somewhere around 40-45 minutes later it did, leaving me high and happy. I remember hugging Genette, Lou, Jen, Fiona and Helen - around half the group on the night - and telling each of them it was easily the best set so far.

Credit also to the rest who didn't get hug-bombed - Sian, Stephanie, Emily, and of course Marlene and the other Jen (I hope I haven't missed anyone).

I still feel really happy and elevated from it even now.

Listen - Womb are going somewhere really special. They've been great before but this was a huge leap on. Catch them when you can - you won't regret it.

Phew. Better stop before I explode. But just aaarrrggghhh!!! Wooommmbbbb!!! Yes yes yes!

Sent from Samsung Mobile

paul harfleet + david hoyle: from queer to eternity review

2011-09-05T17:00:00.003+01:00

Some time after the fact a review of Paul Harfleet and David Hoyle's From Queer To Eternity at Four Piccadilly Place.

Like the Queer Art show at Kraak this was another low-key, quiet show with a high impact. My initial thoughts on this have been posted to my journal but I hope I can usefully expand on them here.

There were of course only the two artists represented here as opposed to the ten or so at Kraak. Consequently - and with a much larger and starker space - it also felt like a smaller show, increasing the sense of something low-key.

Rather than attempt to fill the entire space the works were arranged in a central space where partitions had been arranged - from memory in an F shape, with the entrance behind the upright, and the windows of the space on the opposite side.

That upright - the partition facing you as you entered - carried the name of the exhibition, and to the left a framed photograph of one of Paul Harfleet's Pansy Project plantings. The image - here - showing a ~~poppy~~ pansy* in front of the British Consulate in Istanbul planted to mark a homophobic statement by the Turkish State Minister.

[* Heh! Thanks Paul for letting me know about this typo.]

There was an interesting contrast between the works of the two artists. Each of which also related to the space in slightly different ways - at least partly determined by the way they were exhibited.

Paul Harfleet's smaller, more discreet works were on the outside of the partitions - the upright and outside of the upper part of the F. Because they faced the space - and despite the small scale, and more obvious need for decoding - Harfleet's pieces felt like they were engaged in a dialogue with a wider social and political world than the gallery.

David Hoyle's larger, more extrovert appearing works were on the other surfaces. Because they faced inwards and faced themselves - and despite the apparently looser, freer execution, and seeming self-exposure - Hoyle's works felt like much more personal pieces.

Of course all these impressions can be deceptive.

Most of Paul Harfleet's works were on the other outer partition - at right angles to the partition facing as you entered (the upper part of the F) - or on four plinths opposite it. There were three small, detailed, largely monochrome paintings (with some gilding) of mobile truck-mounted cranes. These were echoed by a plinth with small manufacturer's models of the same three cranes - and from memory another plinth with a larger model of one of the cranes.

Clearly there was some significance to these - perhaps hinted at by the Pansy Project photo, by the photograph of a half-naked child (the artist in younger days) framed and under glass on which the words 'Fucking Faggot' were etched, and by the two outer plinths. The far plinth nearest the window and the childhood photograph had a model tree from which hung a golden noose. The near plinth closest to the entrance had a model gallows made from matches.

The juxtaposition of the care and beauty of the work and its execution with the homophobic abuse, the mechanical nature of the subject matter, and the presence of two nooses suggested something troubling, perhaps obsessive.

Spoiler: skip the following paragraph if you don't want an explanation of the work.

According to the brief guide the artist gave which I listened in on the cranes were used in Iran in the public hanging of gay men in 2005. At the time of writing details of the exhibition and works including this are on the artist's blog but may have moved by the time you read this. But check out the blog anyway - it's great.

There was a real sense of restraint and menace about the works collectively, though individually some were simply beautiful or enigmatic. Even without the explanation the pieces would have been unsettling and stuck in the mind.

David Hoyle's pieces seem to be more direct. They were mainly collages of images and text from newspapers, flyers, gig tickets, train tickets, receipts and other materials on large sheets of paper which had then been overpainted with text and slightly cartoonish images of faces and figures.

When I say cartoonish I don't mean that as a criticism. In my journal I say that I was surprised by the quality of draughtmanship shown. I don't know why this should be so - but obviously I had some idea in mind that Hoyle's work would be less controlled than it is.

The main exception to this approach was a piece of text split into three sections each painted over the other a different colour. It was just about readable, and I'm pretty confident I was able to read it in the right order. That in itself is testament to the skill of the artist. There were a couple of other pieces that were all text, but not using the same technique of layering.

Hoyle's work seemed to be about mental health problems. And since much of the text was first-person, and many of the faces resembled the artist, there was a clear temptation if not invitation to read the works as auobiographical. But despite this there was something ultimately hopeful and uplifting about them. Perhaps it was the colours and the execution - or perhaps it was that mysterious thing that sometimes happens when unpleasant experience is turned into art and becomes somehow defiant and/or celebratory.

I thought it was a very strong show. I won't attempt a comparison between this and the show at Kraak because the spaces, the artists, the structure of the shows, the level of exposure of the artists are all different. Both were simultaneously personal and politically engaged. But it isn't really possible to say one was better than the other, each did different things. Overall I found the Kraak show richer, but you'd expect that comparing any show with ten artists against another with just two.

queer art at kraak review

2011-09-02T16:32:00.002+01:00

An epic review of this year's Queer Art show at Kraak. I don't know why I do this to myself - I love to share my thoughts on things that fascinate me - but they do tend to grow out of control.

On the other hand - all from memory!

There's been a brief hiatus here while I've concentrated on getting my journal underway and typed it up in work when I have the chance. This is down to the continuing lack of internet at home.

There were two exhibtions last week I wanted to review. The Queer Art show at Kraak, and From Queer to Eternity with work from Paul Harfleet and David Hoyle at 4 Piccadilly Place. I'll take Queer Art here.

The exhibits fell into three categories for me: art by people I know (which thankfully I liked); art that I thought was really good; and art that just didn't work for me.

I'll start with the art that just didn't work for me, and move on from there to some of the general misgivings I had about the show, which I enjoyed. After that I'll discuss the art I liked and what worked for me in the show. Finally I'll talk about the work by people I know.

There were what looked like pastels, but might have been paintings, of men in leathers. Cocks and arses visible in a couple of pictures. They were not badly executed but I had trouble discerning a point.

The images were mostly coy, the kind of thing you might have printed on a T-shirt or jacket. In fact they might have been more subversively interesting had they been presented that way. Perhaps one of the images of two men printed on a clock face and highlighted with glitter as if it were designed for a teenage girl's room.

Without that subversive charge the images remained inert. More like simple wish-fulfillment than anything more expressive.

Further along the same wall by a different artist were works that also failed to work for me. Like the pastels they also suffered from what felt like a lack of ambition, and perhaps from being on too modest a scale.

From memory there were four pieces, two paintings and two installations. I liked one of the installations and I'll come to it later, the other pieces didn't grab my attention.

One painting showed an ornate building in the centre under a coloured sky. The other showed a side view of a man pissing. The installation was a basket of oversized banknotes.

The materials - paint, gold leaf, diamond dust, blown-up colour copies of banknotes were good.

The techniques - paint applied thickly and raised in furrows above the surface, gold leaf and diamond dust jabbed and smeared onto the paint, or glued thickly to the banknotes were exactly the kind of thing I like.

The subject matter - engaging with the discussions swirling in the Homocult works about the gay economy and the emphasis on consumption isolating the working classes was fascinating. I disagree with the argument in some ways, and I'll come to that disagreement later, but debate and political engagement are welcome in art.

And yet despite this the pieces failed to communicate anything much to me. I find it tricky to say why.

A series of collages and paintings bookended by two varients on a piece called 36 Internet Cocks managed to be a lot tamer than the title, subject matter, and some of the photographic images from the internet actually promised. Perhaps that was the point - that familiarity removes the shock element from art?

Although saying that it suddenly occurs to me that there might also have been a debate about what makes pornography. Whether the context, or intended usage of an image makes it pornographic. Whether labelling it so makes an image pornographic.

Again the work seemed relatively unambitious, smaller and less attention-grabbing than it could have been, and in some ways inert.

Finally, back on the wall I began with was a decently-sized brightly-coloured abstract painting. There were no real points of interest within the painting. Compositionally it wasn't bad, and I probably could have spent a long time looking over the surface of it, but like the pastels it felt empty.

While the exhibition as a whole didn't feel empty, it did feel subdued, insular and unambitious. Much of the work appeared to be having a monologue with itself rather than reaching out to a wider audience.

That's not to say that it should have been more mainstream or attempted to please a broader audience - on the contrary I felt most of it could have been more uncompromising. For instance most of the works I liked had very personal components to them, and yet also reached out to the audience.

Of the art that I really liked the Homocult pieces had the most dominant presence. A different set of pieces were also a large part of last year's show.

I like the aesthetic of these - a rough post-punk xeroxed bricolage appropriation of fine-art and aspirational images juxtaposed with text. The text itself varying between slogans, confrontational words or phrases thrown back in defiance, and longer texts engaged in what sometimes seem to be self-contradictory debates.

One prominent strand of argument is that with an emphasis on consumption and hedonism the gay scene is alienating to the working classes. As I mentioned earlier I'd argue with this. Even setting aside older and ancient rural (and urban) customs that range from begging with menaces to more elaborate dressing-up, music and dance - the post-second world war generations of working class youth have a history of dandyism, ostentation and overindulgence.

Although you might make the more sophisticated argument that allowing, even encouraging these outlets, is a method of controlling the working classes and keeping them in place.

I suspect that the intention of including these arguments in the work is to start a debate around the subject, not to have the last word.

The works are visually striking and well put together. For me they pull of the trick of being uncompromising but engaging even to an audience who might be put off by them.

There was a series of three photographs reminiscent in finish of the ghastly bleached-looking Venture portraits that cost a fortune, but thankfully much more interesting.

They showed a large hairy man naked except for a pair of pants and apparently covered in white foundation or paint. Covering his head he wore white geometrical shapes - I remember a pyramid and a sphere. He stood half squatting in the two end photos and sat on a space hopper in the central image.

The unexplained nature of the images, and the similarity of each to the other that fell apart the more you looked at them was compelling. I think I also liked that they resembled Venture photographs ('Your Story') so much while subverting the subject matter - 'cute' kiddies and pets.

One of the more modest works was also one of my favourites. By an artist who I think is Iranian by descent it was a projection of a series of still images juxtaposing Pride Festival with an Iranian religious festival. The images were selected so that sometimes compositionally, sometimes in terms of colour, at other times by the presence of some dominating object (for instance a tank) each echoed the one before.

But there was more to it than that. The longer you looked at the photos the more you noticed. The religious festival had a number of gory icons - some of body parts - that reminded me of Catholic icons, but perhaps also had echoes of BDSM.

There were some amazing faces of the subjects of the photos. I could have spent a lot longer than I actually did looking at this work.

Then there was work by people I know.

I missed Rosanne Robertson's performance piece - mainly because I didn't have any cause to use the toilet, where it was taking place - but also because I'm a bit of a pussy when it comes to other people's performances that require any involvement by me. By all accounts it was good, and I believe there are images online.

Her photograph and accompanying text at the top of the fire escape, dealing with addiction, was impressive and raw. That I also have trouble with heights and struggled to stay long enough to take in details of the photo and read the text added something strangely appropriate to the experience. Not the self-destructive connection to something but a powerful fear that made me want to withdraw from what I was afraid of.

Debbie Sharp had a large photo of one of her In Memorie plaques that she started leaving on benches during Manchester Art Crawl. I think this is a brilliant project, and again quite personal. It seems to relate to an older photographic project of hers I've seen where she photographed public benches with a particular resonance for her, and the view from that bench.

This externalising of memory in the physical circumstances of places associated with particular people or times but without the presence of the memories is reminiscent of some of Helen Shanahan's recent work. I'm thinking particularly of her Abandonments project in which surrogate figures of people who are important to her are abandoned. Or her portrait videos in which the subject is absent.

There was a different but equally personal work by Helen in the exhibition. Her film of Dungeness showing the area, her grandparents, and their house inside and out, with extracts of handwritten text superimposed over parts of the image at different times. All overlaid with a sparse, melancholy soundtrack.

All these works that I liked - both those by people I know and those by people I don't had the quality of being uncompromising in dealing with personal and/or political concerns, a clarity of purpose, and an obvious desire to draw people in and engage with them.

But with the exception of the Homocult pieces they were also relatively 'quiet'. To the extent that I thought this year's show was less impressive than last year, until I started to write about the works I enjoyed.

This year's show was less attention-grabbing, less obviously confrontational than year. But on closer inspection it was probably more rewarding with some incredibly strong work.

more on new blog - matt dalby journal

2011-08-26T10:45:00.002+01:00

The first journal entry proper went up over at matt dalby journal today - the entry for Saturday last week.

Saturday 20 August 2011

A warm, close day, though not much direct sun. Rode the train to Bury to
collect my work for the Text Festival from the Art Gallery.

Mentioned to Gary before I left that I feel no connection to the work any more. It was only reluctantly that I proposed the visual poem boxes in the first place. The idea felt exhausted by the end of last year.

If I do end up with an art career it’s going to be bloody peculiar to continue exhibiting work I’ve moved beyond and don’t especially care for.
Currently I'm enjoying writing the journal - it doesn't feel like an obligation. And since I'm not putting myself under pressure to write entries of any particular length or sophistication, or to write every day, I can ease off whenever it does feel like too much.

The only slight tension is how to negotiate the separation between the journal blog and santiago's. I'm beginning to find that occasional descriptions, phrases for reviews, and other odds and ends are being used both in the journal and here.

This is probably the last time I'll cross-promote the journal blog here - except perhaps before I leave for China.

Review of the Queer art show at Kraak to follow some time soon here at santiago's.

womb at ear whacks, the continental, preston

2011-08-24T14:37:00.002+01:00

Womb's latest gig was in Preston.

They played Ear Whacks at The Continental - an experimental music night in a curious venue that looks more suited to wedding receptions, in the shadow of a tall rail viaduct at the entrance to Miller Park next to the river Ribble.

The night opened with two short films from Twigs and Apples collective. The films were monochrome, running slightly slow and apparently with a reduced frame rate. The amount of tonal detail was reduced.

The first had the camera drifting around city parks with a soundtrack by Tom Woolsgrove that consisted of a mixture of natural and unnatural sounds - including apparently a cat purring. The combination of images and sounds was slightly disquieting - hypnotic and eerie.

The second film saw the camera wander through underpasses, down stairwells, and past a coach station. I'm not certain who produced the second soundtrack which was louder and more abrasive. In combination with the images it was reminiscent of moments in Eraserhead or Pi - yet somehow very relaxing.

Tom Woolsgrove was next up. He's a manifestly accomplished multi-instrumentalist who has relatively recently moved into experimental noise making. Here he was using effects pedals, mic, and contact mic-ed viola.

Apparently only the last of the three pieces was improvised although I'd assumed the first two pieces were improvised. That's not to say they were bad - far from it - but that they didn't have an obviously composed feel about them.

Not knowing what to expect there was a sudden perking up of interest around the Womb and friends table when he started to play. Certainly Helen and myself were stunned by how good he was. With the volume turned up Woolsgrove produced a stunning array of sounds by striking the strings with the back of the bow, tapping the body of the viola, plucking and striking the strings and more.

As with Dominic Lash with his much larger Double Bass at Counting Backwards several months ago the simple act of making sound with the instrument became a compelling performance in itself.

The second piece used a mic and feedback as well as the viola - used here more for resonating and reflecting sounds.

The third and final piece was more straightforward. An improvisation in which Woolsgrove played viola through a wah-wah pedal. At times the effects almost got in the way of the piece and the playing which had a wide range of textures - from the sparse and seemingly hesitant to the much denser and faster.

Really jawdropping stuff - check out the soundcloud and look for any future performances near you.

And so it was time for Womb. A slightly smaller line-up of six than they've had recently.

Rather than the more usual slow build through percussion the set started with a simple melodic rhythm on an electronic toy Barbie piano. Percussion and a contrasting figure on the simpler mechanical toy piano were added in before drums and the rest of the instruments thickened the sound, raised the volume, and set a beat.

If Popol Vuh hadn't been such a bunch of fucking hippies this first half is the soundtrack Werner Herzog's seventies films would have had. Fuck it, it's the soundtrack his films should have. Spacious, droney, dancey, psych-ey - even proggy (and it's rare for me to use that as praise). Superficially a good fit but a necessary counterpart to the Romantic man-against nature self-mythologising machismo that infects the films.

If it had carried on for an hour or more slowly changing but circling round the mutating groove I would have been happy. The entire pub would have been dancing and off their fucking gourds with a natural high and the band would've had no sense of time. One day. One day...

At these moments the band have a restless, relentless vigour. It feels not so much like music as reaching for a transcendent collective experience through sound and rhythm. This is why it suits improvisaton so well - the excitement is in the attempt to reach and express something rather than in formally resolved structures. The music isn't boxed-in but trying to crawl out of itself.

Around halfway through the set which was only 20-25 minutes long there was a triple changeover. Fiona moved from drums to bass, Lou from bass to guitar, and Jen from guitar to drums.

The change was immediate - more uncertain rhythms and a doomier sound. Bass, guitar and keyboard provided structure in place of the drums and percussion previously. The sound now was closer to contemporary noise and drone. If the first half was Popol Vuh gone punk the second half was Sunn 0))) gone pop.

It was a much more expressive piece in some ways - or at least more unresolved. Musically it would also have benefitted from a longer time-span. Not to find any conclusion but to explore the various ideas a little more fully.

Jittery but grounded the music was full of contrasts, textures, and a depth of field perhaps greater than the previous half.

Once again a hugely impressive performance with a greater variety than some other recent shows. The atmosphere on stage seemed more relaxed - the atmosphere is always positive but with only six musicians there was more of a sense that they could operate as a single unit rather than having to divide into smaller interlocking groups.

The sound was good. The singing bowls, Barbie piano, toy piano, and tambourine - the stamps on stage and voices - were more audible than usual. Perhaps because there were slightly fewer musicians.

The band are beginning to evolve into something really rather special. Their sound is still changing and they have the potential to produce something far better than anything we've seen to date. You've been told, alright?

I think it was Left Hand Cuts off the Right next up. One man with electronics and noisemakers providing a live soundtrack to an animation - apparently Mieczyslaw Waskowski's Somnambulists from 1958 - I hadn't seen before.

The sounds were good - layered and sometimes deceptively quiet seeming. They were also rhythmical and looping. I'd like to hear them again to catch what I missed first time round.

Unfortunately my attention was rather more on the animation. It was a series of optical effects where it wasn't always clear what scale of things you were looking at, and consequently whether they had been speeded-up, slowed down, or left as they were. You couldn't tell the true colours or do anything more than infer what materials were being used.

Apologies to Left Hand... for the feeble review. I'll try and pay more attention next time. Apologies also to Jon Aveyard with his 'found sounds, broken toys, loops and sonic disturbances' who was up last. I missed the majority of his set and consequently had to come in cold when it had been unfolding for some time. That meant that I didn't really connect with what he was doing. I won't attempt an uninformed review based on that.

There'll be a little more on this evening over at matt dalby journal when I post the journal entry for yesterday - probably on Monday next week.

new blog

2011-08-23T12:51:00.001+01:00

Starting yesterday with some preliminary notes before I start posting properly later in the week I have a new blog.

As the immediate influence here what is it that I like about Derek Jarman’s
volumes of diary?

First it is the descriptions. Of plants and of places.
Of people and situations. Not necessarily the most original or unusual but
attractive and clear.

Occasionally - though better written - they remind
me of the descriptive fragments I would fill notebooks with as a child before my
writing attempted to tell stories, explore philosophies, or become poetry.

matt dalby journal will consist of recent diary entries. The intention is to have somewhere to document my trip to China as well as journal entries before and after that, when I can be bothered to make them.

To avoid writing specifically for the blog I will post the entries before the trip - and afterwards - around a week in arrears. Some things will be redacted but otherwise there'll be no editing except to correct spelling.

I originally intended to post the first diary entry (from Saturday 20 August) on Wednesday (24 August) but I now think I'll leave it until Friday.

Yesterday I had a brief post on how I envisage the journal working. Today I posted on Derek Jarman's diaries (quote above). Tomorrow and Thursday I may reflect further on journals and writing.

moments

2011-08-22T01:15:00.000+01:00

I've written about this before and will do again. One of my pleasures - something I'd like to capture in my art - are the small moments of wonder, enchantment, sudden emotion that come unexpectedly. From the world around, from art, from connection with people.

Perhaps it's as close to a manifesto as I'll ever get - take pleasure in the moments where it comes.

So for example Saturday was rich in these moments:

Sheltering under a railway bridge near Cornbrook when it started to rain heavily. Water began to run down from the wet street under the bridge where it was dry. Down through the dust slowly. Water would spread out from where it was gathering. The dust where it spread would darken. The water would gather, bulging against its own limits, then spread out again. Generally following the slope downhill but making occasional sideways excursions.

The newly covered dust would darken and the process continue.

At a small stone the water split round it - the two halves rejoining further on. It's impossible to describe the feeling of pleasure this gave me.

But there was more. Small rafts of dust carried on the surface of the water. A thickening and accumulation of wet dust at the margins of the trickle of water. At times the water spreading away from the main stream appeared to be alive, to have intelligence. Questing and sniffing for something before becoming inanimate again.

This was one of the smaller pleasures.

Feeling the warmth of the sun. Seeing a small fire on a hillside. Listening to a record for the first time in years and hearing sounds I'd completely forgotten.

Or then again the existential dread that moments in the films of Tarkovsky cause me. The gust of wind through trees and bushes that recurs in Mirror.

At times experience can be overwhelming, and the desire to share it unstoppable.

That desire comes out in my art. Or at least an attempt to reflect some of the emotions and wonder I feel.

But it perhaps comes out even more strongly in my life. I love to draw attention to things I find magical - where part of a building has been pulled down, the way the bark of tree accommodates messages carved into it, a sound.

And I love it when friends show me things I hadn't noticed - a tiny frog, a song I'd never heard, a quiet place. I think friendship is generous with such pleasures and I always appreciate it.

Part of this - both alone and sharing with another or others - is taking time. Setting aside other concerns to concentrate on something with no monetary value, with no reproductive or food value. Something that only has a personal aesthetic value. Something that will often be transient or that is dependent on those circumstances.

Yet I'm still not sure why this is so important to me - why I keep returning to the subject. But I do feel quite evangelical about it. Perhaps it is simply that these moments do represent something that can't be given a clear, measureable material value. Being moved by something outside of yourself. Being taken by surprise by something that might be perfectly everyday that you've seen countless times before.

Sent from Samsung Mobile

burned sculpture

2011-08-16T12:12:00.003+01:00

Part of yesterday's long post on the scupltural object created on Pomona Strand read,

I feel that broken traces of a piece - and the process of it collapsing and
being dispersed - are as interesting as the work itself. So too are the ways in
which pieces are perceived and the uses to which they're put.

A further post on this was promised. This is that post.

on Saturday 6 August I was on Pomona Strand in the late afternoon and went to check up on the state of decay of the two sculptural pieces I'd left there.

The third object had collapsed more or less as you'd expect after a few heavy showers - sagging forward, the cardboard and can dropping down and to the side.

More interestingly it initially seemed that the sixth object - under construction, and completed - was no longer there. This object was a grave-mound shaped arrangement of brick fragments completely covered with sticks.

Then I realised that something even more exciting had happened - the object had been used as the basis of a fire or barbeque.

The sculpture was originally created as part of the tamlyn 11 project. The piece was intended to resemble a barrow or burial-mound, partly as a personal interpretation of the ballad Tam Lyn on which the art project was based.

Since I was a small child the early part of the song made me visualise Tam Lyn waiting under a hedge with a barrow rising beyond it.

Another influence was that part of the emphasis of tamlyn 11 at the stage when the object was created was on death.

So it was an object created with specific intentions, and then deliberately left to decay. That someone should come along and make use of the sculpture in a practical way feels quite special.

For me it adds value to the piece. Not in the sense of adding utility to something otherwise decorative or useless - but in the sense of someone finding their own meaning and value in it.

A friend recently said of the piece documented yesterday that like a lot of my current work it's a piece that resembles ritual folk art but without context. That absence of context wasn't something I'd thought about but I'd say is pretty accurate. It's also part of how I'd like the work to be experienced - without explanation.

Which is why I was so delighted to see the work burned.

A short film of the remains below.

more detail of object on pomona strand

2011-08-15T12:12:00.008+01:00

More images and a video of the wood platform constructed on Pomona Strand on Sunday.

In the previous post I mentioned that the construction is the second attempt and is unstable.

The first attempt was going to be something quite different. The sides of the construction would lean outwards - but the ground I was pushing them into was sandy and shallow with concrete underneath. I also hadn't considered how to support the sticks forming the sides to prevent them falling outwards.

Had the sides remained stable enough thinner branches would have been woven between them creating something rather like a crude basket. The top would then have been closed with further branches.

The sides however collapsed outwards. I was also obvious that there were not enough long, thin, flexible branches to weave around the sides. If there had been even the slightly deeper and denser earth used in the second attempt wouldn't have held the sides in place against the outward pressure.

Instead I decided to construct a platform. The obvious connotations for me were the platforms used historically in some cultures to expose corpses to the elements, and the pyres used to burn them. Perhaps more obvious to others would be the idea of altars - sacrificial or otherwise - which were also in my mind.

To my mind the finished construction is more eerie and interesting than the original concept.

With more preparation and time, and with some basic equipment - something to dig with and copper wire or similar to bind the sticks together - the construction might have been made more robust. On this occasion permanence didn't seem important.

This is usually the case. I feel that broken traces of a piece - and the process of it collapsing and being dispersed - are as interesting as the work itself. So too are the ways in which pieces are percieved and the uses to which they're put. There will be a further post on this shortly.

The only disappointment in the piece being so fragile is that I was unable to leave an offering on the platform without risking an immediate collapse.

I regard the making of these structures to be a performance - though one where it's unimportant whether someone sees the performance or knows what's going on if they do see it. In this case the performance included selecting the materials, constructing the piece, and documenting it with the video and images.

What I'm still not certain about is what role documentation such as this post plays in the work - or whether it's necessary or desireable. Part of me believes it would be better not to record these pieces at all.

object on pomona strand

2011-08-15T08:53:00.001+01:00

I'll post more photos and video of this when I have an internet connection at home again.

Walking on Pomona Strand I decided to make a platform from wood. The first attempt failed and this is so unstable I expect it to collapse within a day. Had it been more stable I would have left something on the platform.

Enjoyable to make if relatively trivial.

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living + creating

2011-08-13T22:27:00.000+01:00

A [not so] brief journal-type entry.

This is partly because I've been re-reading Derek Jarman's diaries which always makes me want to write something similar.

But also lately I've felt I haven't made much art. It's not uncommon - I go through periods of great productivity and then times when nothing much at all happens.

This tends to be because my energies are devoted mainly in one direction. So one month I might be studying and making plans for the future, the next making art, and the next living.

Especially in the last two years - and increasingly in the last six months - living has become the important thing. Not just going out to pubs and clubs - more meeting and spending time with friends, getting to know recent acquaintances, and meeting new people.

This may seem like a pretty minor and quotidian thing. But from the age of nine I was quite isolated, bullied in school, and unhappy. I never had more than two or three friends and most of those bonds felt pretty insecure.

It is only since 2008 that my social outlook has begun to expand. Importantly since 2010 I've learned to show how I feel a lot more, and be willing to open up, to give to the people I care about.

Although friendship was always sacred to me (speaking as an atheist) it was too vulnerable and frightening to give love and show I cared. But since I started to do those things I found that I get them back.

This is why when I'm in a heavily social phase it becomes so utterly consuming. It means I'm so busy doing things that I don't want to create as much and also write less.

Anyway this entry's gotten away from me a little. I also wanted to pick up on the Jarman diaries. They are representative of anything I find inspiring that I want to emulate. I start enthusiastically - then find I'm not that interested, or don't want to be too obviously derivative, or just can't be arsed putting the effort in.

I suppose my point is that often this comes down to being enthused by something during a non-creative phase, trying to make something when I should be planning or living, and finding it just doesn't work.

Once I wished I could reconcile these phases and do everything all at once. Now I think it's just something I have to respect. I'm also aware that the breadth and depth of experience in my living will inevitably feed into my art.

People and experience are incredibly complicated and rich, and it's hard to make sense of them immediately. Art for me is a way of investigating things I don't understand - or which I feel but lack the vocabulary to express. So I use objects and sounds to try and figure out what these vague thoughts are.

Once it was the art which was centrally important - because it was all I had. Now - although I couldn't live without art - living is the vital thing.

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womb at st margart's whalley range review

2011-08-12T16:58:00.001+01:00

I started my review of Womb at St Margaret's Church in Whalley Range before I'd heard anything much about the civil disobedience in London and long before anything happened in Manchester.

Today I used part of that review - the sentence 'things have been pretty hallucinatory and hyperreal lately' in my review of Womb's street jam and Daniel Johnston's opening and performance. I'm not going to claim it was prescient though - it's just how I felt.

Lately things have been weird and disorienting. I genuinely feel like my personality which has been changing a little over the last 18 months or more is suddenly shifting into the new shape and shedding the last of what I was. My emotions have been all over the place as you might expect.

And everyone seems a little off-kilter - perhaps because the unexpected but truly welcome and deserved success of Womb so far. The air feels electric, time seems to stretch and contract at will, and it seems like all the rules I felt around me have fallen away - even the subtle constraints I placed on myself across the years.

Although it could easily be frightening I find it an exciting and positive thing*.

That turmoil, confusion, fear and ecstasy is the perfect introduction to Womb's gig.

It started with percussion. Quietly sparsely and slowly at first. Gathering momentum and volume. Instruments and voices came in. The tempo and volume rose.

A man walked up the carpet down the aisle and stood in front of the band. He pulled down his trousers and pants and bent over showing his arse to the audience. He slapped his cheeks a couple of times then sat down on one of the benches with his pants still down. Then he was led out of the church.

The band carried on.

The acoustics of the church were phenomenal. The sound rising and spreading - coming back at you from unexpected angles. The small sounds sometimes buried but sometimes surprisingly audible.

The atmosphere was positive and again made me happy. The music itself suited the church. I've seen the band describe it as doomy. I'm not quite sure that's accurate except as a shorthand. It was more rolling dancing percussive and bassy - but with a whole lot of other textures and tones coming through.

Once again Womb are not a band who should ever play first. They can still impress even audiences who don't know them but it's not when they should play. They should come on later when people are warmed up and willing to dance. They should have the time they want and need.

In those circumstances the music and atmosphere which already connect to people become much more enveloping. The band the music and the audience meet in a communal experience. It's to do with overcoming people's barriers and reserve.

I was dancing after a fashion so far as it was possible from my seat. The music really does get inside you and pulse its way back out. A benign parasite maybe. You drag it in through your skin, it grabs a hold of your negative thoughts, your tensions and fear, and sweats them back out. The best kind of detox.

And after filling your ears and circulating in your blood - driving your pulse - the band slowed and quietened dropping to a throb. Then a rush of silence just before the applause.

It took a while for me to get into Human Combustion Engine. As I've noted before some music and sound art is just a little too abstract and cerebral for me these days. But eventually the way their sound bounced around the church in unexpected ways made me pay a little more attention.

It's still not music I'd choose to dance or fuck to but it played interestingly and absorbingly nonetheless. Like Womb emotional and atmospheric without ever being explicit. It pulled you in and trusted you to respond.

Richard Scott's Lightning Ensemble were much easier to get enthusiastic about. There was less of the heady abandon of Womb but in its place some intoxicating runs of sound and breathtaking performances.

Especially impressive for me was Phil Marks on the drums. And I mean on - all over the drums - with all manner of items to strike them. But what seems sloppy and out of control, what looks wild and uncoordinated, what might easily be mistaken as something easy to do in fact is fantastically skilled and complex.

But the whole band made unexpected sounds - sawing and chopping away from each other then snapping back together. At times you genuinely couldn't tell what sounds came fom where. An incredible performance.

Then everyone left the church - Womb briefly waylaid by an unexpected radio interview - before the night got really messy...

*A big part of the exciting and positive changes I've experienced has been Womb, my friends in the band and my friends outside the band. At the risk of being shot down as a sentimental hippy I'd really like to express my thanks in particular to Lou, Jen, Helen, Gary, Neil, Jon, and recently Genette - but also the rest of Womb - for being such beautiful inspirational people. You've brought so much to my life - I just hope I can give something back.

love on the streets - womb jam, daniel johnston

2011-08-12T10:30:00.003+01:00

What a night. Listen - I know I haven't reviewed Womb at St Margaret's yet. I'll try and get round to it but shit moves fast these days.

Things have been pretty hallucinatory and hyperreal lately. Time stretching and disorienting. Feeling like I'm changing into someone else. Emotions intensified.

Then throw in the night of civil disobedience, the heat and the rain, and things start to get weird.

As I said to a friend when normal social compacts don't apply, when rules are suspended, when nobody knows anything you find out who you really are. You don't have the same external frameworks for the parts of your identity. Suddenly, briefly, excitingly you're reliant only on yourself.

Yesterday Womb decided to play a gig on Market Street outside Miss Selfridge around 6pm. Five of the band turned up as well as some friends. Everyone was pretty sure the police would be all over us the moment we started playing.

We moved down a little from Miss Selfridge grabbed the percussion and other bits and started making a noise. And the police left us well alone.

Some people engaged with the band - stopping or slowing to listen - taking photos. But a lot just walked past - 'There's nothing happening. If I just ignore it I won't have to get involved.'

Maybe it wasn't the best performance Womb have ever done but there was certainly something very special about it. Everyone seemed to relax fairly quickly. We played two improvisations around 20 minutes apiece at a guess and then wound up.

But it wasn't the end of the night. There was the opening of a Daniel Johnston exhibition at Incognito Gallery on Stevenson Square and there had been heavy hints he'd play a set some time after 8.

It was hot in the gallery ground level and downstairs. The place was packed and it was clear Daniel Johnston was going to play once he'd finished a radio appearance elsewhere.

I liked the artwork - and some of it seemed to jump off the page - to resonate with something deep and hidden. I'd say he's almost like a pop-art William Blake except I'm afraid someone might take me seriously and quote it - so forget I wrote anything.

Then he turned up and played three songs. I don't want to use the normal critical vocabulary for the set. And I don't want to dip in the big box of Daniel Johnston cliche.

It was a wonderful performance. The songs not so much played as transmitted and felt. Simple repetitive tunes and rhymes accumulating greater beauty and significance the longer they went on.

And it was over.

But the night still wasn't done.

A group of us went on to Gullivers where we sat and talked and listened to music. I spoke to friends and people I'd never met before then walked home through a warm night. I fell asleep sometime after 2 after chatting online with a friend for a bit.

revisiting impromptu sculpture from sticks

2011-08-04T23:08:00.002+01:00

Last of these for now.

This quite fragile, off-the-cuff piece in a corner of Alexandra Park should really have been trashed long ago you'd think.

But it's still there. Or it was on Saturday. I really like it quite a lot although there's not much to it.

revisiting seventh object from tamlyn 11

2011-08-04T23:02:00.002+01:00

The seventh object from tamlyn 11, being two upright sticks and a crosspiece with objects suspended from it was one of the more vulnerable pieces.

I reassembled it once shortly after it was made. This time I left it collapsed.

revisiting second object from tamlyn 11

2011-08-04T22:53:00.002+01:00

A few days ago I revisited the second object I made some weeks ago now for tamlyn 11.

Since this one was a construction from sticks well off any paths it's survived well.

photos from alderley edge

2011-08-04T22:32:00.003+01:00

Here are some photos from my trip to Alderley Edge the other day, and one from Manchester.

I think most of these were mentioned or alluded to in my last post so don't require much more explanation but drop me a message if you're puzzled.

alderley edge

2011-08-02T21:58:00.001+01:00

Walking back from Hare Hill I found I was on the road. It started to rain heavily.

Much earlier in the walk fungi burst through the bark of several trees. Underneath one fungus on a tree half uprooted but still green I photographed a moth. It might have been caught on a spider's web.

In Manchester a dead rat was caught in the pose of an ecstatic dancer. It stank. More so than the cat I'd seen the previous day with flies crawling on its mouth and eyes.

Which creates a far grimmer picture of the walk than I intended. The walk was more alive than that. Insects buzzed everywhere in the woods. Birds called. Children ran along the paths. Cows chewed and watched people pass. Later in the rain they ran alongside the fence across the road following me.

A couple of days previously I watched and filmed on my phone as a couple of black animals that might have beem stoats or something similar ran along a bank of the Mersey then swam across the river. I inadvertently stopped the recording without saving it.

On the walk from Alderley Edge to Hare Hill and back I was more interested in recording sounds but hadn't thought to bring my directional mic. I did record a couple of minutes of ambient sounds in different locations.

My photographs only partly capture what interested me on the walk. The trees in particular were powerfully alive and reminiscent of all sorts of forms - real and imagined. Human limbs, an octopus, a dragon, fishes, stone, and more. In the bark of one tree a name and the date 1940 - which appeared plausible.

The rain was heavy. It was warm and still. I was partly sheltered by trees - but there was no pavement or footpath and sometimes no verge. Oversized cars drove by too fast for the conditions and light. I left the road and got lost briefly in woods when the path seemed to vanish.

When I got back to the road I thought about filming rainwater running into a drain. The rain was slackening. Back in Manchester the sun was warm and there was no sign of any water on the ground. Earlier the city had been hidden behind mist.

I wanted to share the walk with someone. I've recently discovered I have an inability to be alone and want someone to talk to most of the time. My own company is uninteresting to me.

At Alderley Edge names were carved everywhere in the soft stone as if it were a holy site. Which it perhaps is. It might be interesting to transcribe all the text. The names and dates.

As I waited for the train home I got an ant to climb off my notebook and explore my hand. I thought about photographing it.

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terrence malick - the tree of life

2011-07-28T15:03:00.001+01:00

My instant response to Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life was 'pious, obvious and overlong'.

This coming from someone who likes Malick's previous films and wondered after reading mixed reviews whether The Tree of Life might be a contemporary American analogue of Tarkovsky. It isn't.

Occasionally good things surface and I'll come to them - but let's deal with the problems first. The film opens with a quote from Job - a book that shows the Old Testament God at his worst: 'Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation...while the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?'

This could be read as a claim for divine precedence by seniority. I was here first and made you therefore you must do what I say. This would identify the deity with the father in the film.

But in fact Malick seems to have a much more traditional reading of Job in mind: 'Why do the righteous suffer?'. The answer in Job appears to be that God gets into a willy-waving contest with the devil. The answer in Malick appears to be that we are limited creatures in a complex universe and that we are driven by contradictory impulses. There is perhaps also an implication that we have a degree of freewill through which we can prove our character.

On the face of it this should make for an interesting and complex film. Unfortunately that promise isn't realised. The first image of the film is a section from Thomas Wilfred's Opus 161 which recurs through the film.

I'm not familiar with Wilfred's work but while it's visually compelling here I can see the potential for it to be pretty and empty.

Malick pins Wilfred's piece to a narrow interpretation by adding devotional music and a whispered voiceover asking obvious existential questions. Both music and voiceover start as gratingly literal devices that only become more grating as the film proceeds.

Worse to my mind are the multiple binaries that rigorously prevent real complexity ever entering the film. This starts with the explicitly stated division between 'grace' represented by the mother in the film, and 'nature' represented by the father.

I'm still hazy about what Malick means by either 'grace' or 'nature'. 'Grace' appears reasonably close to the Christian concept of grace, an unearned divine love that each much choose or reject for themselves. This would seem to make 'nature' something like wilfulness, human will, freewill, a rejection of God.

Now I'm an atheist but my father was a vicar who continually studied and was happy to discuss theology. But for me - and I suspect most people who describe themselves as practicing Christians - Malick's definitions remain vague. I actually had to search online to refresh myself on the concept of grace to begin to guess what he might be banging on about.

The mother - representing 'grace' - is played by Jessica Chastain. She copes well in an almost entirely mute and passive role that simply requires her to be beautiful and float around with a benign half-smile. While this might well be true to the experience of many children by the time we reach adulthood we develop more nuanced ideas of our parents.

It also indicates another binary here - the very conventional definitions of masculinity and femininity that the film trades in.

There are very few women and girls, and arguably none are developed into characters. Perhaps the closest is the Grandmother played by Fiona Shaw who appears maybe twice. The fact she comes closest to having a defined character of all the women in the film probably has more to do with Shaw's abilities as an actor than anything in the writing.

Generally the women and girls are pretty, passive, mute, enigmatic, in love with nature - both that wilful contrast to grace as embodied by men, and the natural world. For instance the wife or partner of Sean Penn - the eldest son of the family seen as a middle-aged man - brings a leafy green tree branch into the otherwise sterile and clean-lined kitchen. It's this kind of scene I have in mind when I call the film obvious.

Men and boys on the other hand are active, violent, conflicted, and not coincidentally have the majority of what dialogue there is. This means that however dreamy the women might seem to be it's actually the men who are represented as thinking beings. It's men who have built the world in which we live.

This is either an overly schematic representation of 'grace' versus 'nature' or a simple inability to create halfway convincing female characters. Or perhaps both.

Another binary is the contrast between the natural world and the human-made environment. That this ignores the extent of human interference in what we think of as natural is one of the more obvious objections. In fact we see father played by Brad Pitt planting a tree with the help of his eldest son.

The natural world is green and lush, or is represented by rivers, oceans, waterfalls. The human-made environment is represented by tall glass buildings, by industrial structures of steel, and by hard-edged contemporary interiors. The two meet on the lawn of the house where the family live, the grass patchy with great areas of earth where it won't grow.

Once again this is true to lived experience but is also another example of thumpingly obvious mise-en-scene that occur throughout the film.

Moving on from these binaries the film is also given to empty visual flourishes. One of the earliest and most jarring is the appearance of behaviourally rather anthropomorphic CGI dinosaurs. They seemed to be there to show that death and conflict are as much a part of life as wonder and pleasure. And in one case to prefigure in a literal way the relationship that Sean Penn's character as a child has with his father, and with his brothers.

Then there is a scene in which the mother is seen floating under the tree in the garden. This is neither as beautiful nor mysterious as the similar scene in Andrei Tarkovsky's Mirror.

Worst of all is the gathering of people from the Sean Penn character's past on a beach.

There are precedents for this. At the begining of the film the movements of the camera - whether swooping, looking up, or moving in some other way are intoxicating. The film feels alive. But gradually you become aware that every imperfection has been excised from the frame. The images become more static - or at least feel more static.

Everything is beautifully framed, beautifully lit, perfectly in focus, and devoid of any kind of life. They're like the technically perfect photos you might expect to find in offices and other personality-free public or semi-public environments where the aim is to brighten the space with 'artworks' that couldn't possibly offend anyone. Like advertising imagery.

The gathering on the beach could easily be an advert for bland clothing, skin cream, or the unifying and liberating power of free minutes on your mobile. Or it could be a record sleeve for Muse or Pink Floyd or any other band whose sense of self-importance far outweighs their achievements. It's interminable and appears to represent if not redemption then sean Penn's character's acceptance of grace, forgiveness of himself and his father, and reconciliation with the past.

I actually spent the last 20-40 minutes cringing and desperately hoping for the film to end.

Which perhaps indicates where some of my frustration comes with the film comes. All of its themes have been dealt with more compellingly and economically by other filmmakers using much less vapid imagery.

The rest of my frustration comes because there are indications of a better film that could have been made.

Thomas Wilfred's Opus 161 that appears throughout is visually ambiguous and beautiful. There are scenes of urban traffic that are more alive and impressionistic than anything in the equally portentous and irritating Koyaanisqatsi. The camera movements early on are beautiful. The optical effects portraying the birth of the universe and beginnings of life are brilliant and sometimes quite moving, especially where there are familiar images of distant parts of the galaxy.

The performances of the boys as Sean Penn's younger self and his brothers are brilliant and disruptive. They demonstrate the contradictions and complexity of human motivations and behaviour better than anything else in the film. Not just in their activity and violence, but in the moments when they are simultaneously on the brink of adulthood or adolesence and vulnerable and childlike.

There is a scene where the boys and their mother go to a place where she helps the disadvantaged which perfectly summarises both the strengths and weaknesses of the film. The weaknesses are in the question one of the boys asks after seeing all the physically and mentally impaired men: 'Could it happen to anyone?' The strengths are on the way there where the boys are obviously frightened of the physically impaired but also imitate the walks of a few men and laugh at them. The boys are compassionate and afraid and mocking. But none of it needs to be spelled out.

For a more interesting exploration of many of these themes I think I'll go back to Tarkovsky's Mirror and Stalker to begin with.

Sadly though The Tree of Life is a real missed opportunity. Like I said, pious, obvious and overlong - and with very little to keep you coming back or justify the evident ambition it has.

a bit quiet on blogging front

2011-07-27T17:40:00.001+01:00

One of the reasons I've been a little quiet this month is tamlyn 11. I've also been out a lot - both exclusively socially and to various gigs/events.

In particular I've yet to complete my review of the rest of the Electrelane gig where Womb played support, or to write about The Other Room.

There is also the preview I've had of Womb's fantastic debut vinyl release, my own work, and some other bits and pieces.

This is currently having to be done from work or by phone due to lack of internet at home temporarily.

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review of rosanne robertson's 'an evening of dissatisfaction with free gifts'

2011-07-27T17:20:00.003+01:00

Argh - too much to catch up on.

Okay, maybe a couple of weeks ago now Rosanne Robertson had an installation/performance at Islington Mill. An Evening of Dissatisfaction with Free Gifts was a strikingly personal piece about the value we ascribe to people and objects. Both monetarily and more intangibly.

This is an interesting subject for art. I once read that the human ability to place an abstract value on things is one of the important enabling conditions for the development of money. I am of course paraphrasing from memory.

I understand this to mean that aside from the survival value of particular objects humans can agree values to allow the exchange or sharing of those objects. And more, that we can ascribe a value to things that are not essential for survival.

This last point in particular seems to me to be important to the creation of art. I'm not a scientist, I may have misunderstood the original point, and it may in any case be garbage. But assuming that I'm broadly correct this similarity between the creation and appreciation of art, and the values of the market is a rich territory to explore.

But the piece had deeper aspects to it than this - touching also on family and friendships.

There were three tables arranged in the space, each of which had a number of gifts on it, which people were encouraged to take away. For one of the tables which appeared to have family photos and other personal possessions on it there was a request to talk to the artist before taking anything.

There were also a number of chairs, some in pairs (not always facing) others single, with glasses of wine by them scattered about the space. Rather as if there were an intention to encourage people to stay in the space and mingle.

Rosanne at the beginning was sat topless in one corner facing the wall. Periodically she would stand up and start a song playing on a laptop. I assume intentionally the tracks all cut short after less than a minute.

When more people entered the space Rosanne started to move around asking people questions, and spending a long time talking to those who planned to take something from the table of more personal objects.

I understand that there is an intention to follow up what has happened with the gifts in a year's time, so this is an ongoing project. I haven't checked yet whether there's any doccumentation online, but I'd imagine that the questions asked and answers recieved may be part of the project going forward.

As it happens I didn't take any gift. I probably should have, and feel rather bad that I didn't participate in the piece in that way. I was a bit more interested in watching what was in the space and seeing people's reactions.

The space and the whole set-up felt exposed and uncomfortable - although Rosanne seemed to be quite relaxed in herself. I think that sense of exposure and discomfort was both intentional and a good thing. Without it there might not have been as much thought about the piece, or as much discussion between people.

I did notice a wish to discuss taking gifts with Rosanne, even for items not on the table of personal possessions. As if there is an intrinsic desire to negotiate the value and register the taking of an item.

For me this was a fascinating and troubling piece. Beyond the summary I gave at the start I feel it was very much about identity.

How we define our identity - both personally and in the groups we associate with - through the objects we own. How identity is a negotiation between competing demands. And how possessions intersect and interfere with these aspects of identity - how the things we have about us might not reflect who we actually are at that stage but reflect our history to a perhaps disproportionate degree.

It's certainly something I've given quite a bit of thought to since. In particular to my answer to the question Rosanne asked me - which became part of tamlyn 11.

Rosanne asked 'Who is the most important person in your life?' To my genuine surprise I found myself saying 'You know, I think that's me.'

Even more interestingly I knew that this was a good and healthy thing. It says nothing about my attitude to consumerism or to other people, except insofar as it says something about personal contentment.

womb supporting electrelane review

2011-07-20T14:31:00.001+01:00

Oh come on Academy! What the fuck you playing at?

Yesterday Electrelane played Academy 3 with Halo Halo and Womb supporting. This is all good stuff. Kind of a small venue for Electrelane maybe - but not a problem.

I was maybe fifth or sixth through the doors by which time Womb had already started. I mean wait up, what?

Anyway gripe aside two things tripped me on my rush from bar to front. First coming in my ears* something that didn't sound much like Womb usually do. More electronic, more *whisper it* sophisticated and controlled. And second coming in my eyes** a crowded stage - fourteen musicians there. The most I've seen - and what a fantastic noise.

I'd been a little bit worried because previous big occasion gigs the band kind of stuttered. But this time a festival over the weekend and prior to that rehearsal space for a fortnight meant the group were focussed more on music and each other. It showed.

They growled. They howled. They churned. They wailed. They thundered. They pounded - loose rhythms, jumping rhythms, heavy heavy beats. They made alien sounds you couldn't tell where they came from. They sang. They made small sounds. They made a beautiful racket. It was fucking magnificent.

They jumped off stage and hammered the kettle drum they'd brought. Some of them danced. They shifted places partway through - moving some of the band less comfortable being at the front right to the front. The band seemed happy and relaxed - and the sound was really good. All the textures of the music were audible - which isn't always a given.

And it balanced right between freedom and control. A little too much one way would've fallen formless - a little too much the other would've drained the fun. They danced right along the tightrope like it was wide as a street.

The best Womb gig yet? Maybe. I don't know - I don't keep a score of this shit. But you know what, yes. Yes it was.

Not enough of it though. 20, 25 minutes. The last sounds ebbing and rising ebbing and rising - musicians dropping out one by one - and then nothing. Not enough. And the band starting when even the people who wanted to see them weren't there yet.

But no matter - if you didn't get dragged along when you heard the noise you need to see a cardiologist. Or maybe an audiologist. If you didn't want to dance you might need to check your legs are still there. If it didn't make you happy - well you know we got a pill for that. If you didn't feel you were part of a special ritual you should check your ticket - you were somewhere else at a different gig.

So yeah, amazing stuff. Once again. Next gig's sometime soon - end of the month/start of August I think. I know they play just across the road from me at St Margaret's. Get there. Come on.

*Oh yes, very funny. What are you, 12?

**Yeah, yeah - we already did that.

Review stuff on Halo Halo and Electrelane to follow.

impromptu structure from sticks

2011-07-17T13:33:00.002+01:00

Well that lasted less than a day.

After finishing tamlyn 11 yesterday I thought I'd take a short break from making any art. This was at least in part because the last few days of tamlyn 11 had been quite exhausting.

Then coming through Alexandra Park on my way back from a walk I couldn't contain myself any longer.

So I made the flimsy structure from sticks you see in the photos and videos here. It's not terribly large - no more than about 30 centimetres along each side at a guess.

Had there been more sticks lying around nearby or the weather a little better I would have made two triangular forms with one edge of each facing one of the other with a small channel or corridor between the two.

And the video...

tamlyn 11 ends

2011-07-17T09:04:00.006+01:00

tamlyn 11 - a brief overview

Yes I know it's a long post but it represents a fraction of the material generated for tamlyn 11 and documented on the blog.

tamlyn 11 was a project for Manchester Art Crawl. It lasted for the duration of the festival and was a durational performative text in multiple media. I would have added 'improvised' into that description if I'd thought of it.

What this meant was that I used the period to create a piece of work across several media both in the real world and online.

So in the real world I chalked short texts on walls and in other locations, I gathered materials - both natural and junk - to create sculptural objects which were then left close to where they were created, and I performed songs that were recorded as either audio or video.

I also sent tweets, took photos and shot videos that were later uploaded.

Online - as well as documentation of some of this activity I wrote short, inconclusive essays, and other short texts including on brief bit of fiction.

In the last four days I did start to get tired toward the end of the day. Partly because I was 'on' all the time - concentrating on what might be incorporated into the project - and partly because I began to increase my level of activity.

Initially tamlyn was just a name - changed to tamlyn 11 when the original turned out to be already taken on tumblr.

Like my stamp poem ) TH GOOD /OLD W~AY it was intended to be a purely improvised text with no over-arching scheme. That changed before I began when I decided that to make my life a little easier I'd broadly track the narrative of the ballad (Tam Lyn).

That way I could explore the ballad through life in contemporary Manchester and explore contemporary life through the ballad.

Before I began it was intended that the major components of the work would be the chalked texts, the creation of objects, and perhaps performances in different locations. In the event tweets, photos, and videos formed the bulk of the material.

What follow are selected bits from the online documentation.

objects

The first object was this bird-like mask created from wood, part of a pair of industrial ear-defenders, and newspaper. Like most of the objects it was held together by copper wire bought for the purpose. The newspaper was a material I provided rather than something found. It was left on rocks just above the level of the Irwell. It was gone within a day - probably taken by the water.

I got insect bitten creating the second object - my arms swelled up for a couple of days even with antihistamine cream. This was in some ways the simplest object - a grid of nine points. Each point a group of three sticks pushed into the ground under trees.

The third object is one of my favourites. Out on Pomona Strand I found a car wheel, a card carton that looked like it might have held two baked potatoes or something similar, a can, and a bit of branch slightly shredded at the thicker end. They were easily fixed together to make an effective totem. It was still in place a week on - you can see it looking slightly battered at the end of the video in which I sing the third section of Tam Lyn.

I'm not really convinced that the fourth object actually works. It was kind of forced. It makes use of various bits I'd gathered across the first week, and a couple of feathers picked up for the purpose. I feel it should have been more abstract.

No matter. I'm happier with the fifth object. A rubber half-sphere with points on with a plant emerging from it. A simple idea and simple to make

I'm happier still with the sixth and seventh objects created yesterday. To my mind they have more of that slightly creepy mystery that I value about them. The sixth object started as a barrow made of brick fragments. I then decided it would be better covered with branches.

The seventh and final object was a construction of seven dried bits of plants - mostly seed heads - and one set of berries suspended from a stick. I have no photos of the final assemblage but feel in any case that video captures it better.

chalked texts & tweets

There's not really a lot to say about these. I rather like the tweets from the final two days copied below because they're so quotidian. The chalked text is slightly unrepresentative since most were quotes from songs - but I like both the text and the photo.

There was an intention - as with everything - to illuminate some part of the narrative. Or to contribute to my recreating and interrogation of the narrative. But the terms of my project were drawn so broadly that almost anything could be claimed as belonging to the narrative.

@soundpoetMatt Dalby

Pigeon walking round a stone #tamlyn11

15 Jul via txtFavorite Reply Delete

@soundpoetMatt Dalby

Names chalked by child on pavement outside front door. Hervey. My Mum #tamlyn11

15 Jul via txtFavorite Reply Delete

essays & other writing

Essays and other writings ranged from tiny fragments that might have been tweets - Got bit disturbing a ants nest - to unfinished sketches for an essay like this piece on crossdressing in song, and longer essays like this discussion of whether Tam Lyn rapes Lady Margaret, and ways in which the narrative can be changed. There was also this short fiction about life after the narrative.

audio - field recordings & song

The audio is a 50/50 split between field recordings and sung pieces. I've chosen my version of Dylan's Lay Down Your Weary Tune because it was deliberately recorded close to the Mersey where the water makes a lot of noise - so you get a bit of both.

I've also put all the audio into a playlist so you can listen to the rest of the recordings if you're of a sufficiently masochistic bent.

I should say here - in case it's not already evident - that I love and practice a rough, unfinished, uncompromising aesthetic. I think it originates from discovering people like Derek Jarman and The Fall during my teens - as well as exposure to blues, folksong, folk art, mythology, and creepy images in the Voices anthologies among others when I was a child.

This means that I enjoy rough, noisy, messy recordings - videos and photos that show the circumstances of their making - and other work that doesn't attempt to smooth its surfaces. But I'm also aware that it can be a bit gruelling in bulk.

photos

Some of the photos are simple documentation of the making of objects. Others are really very composed like the first image below. Some are less controlled - like the second image below - while a few others are just bad.

videos

Finally there are the videos. I've already embedded one and linked to another here - as well as embedding the entire playlist in an earlier post.

The video range from pieces like Ride along the river (top, below) that concentrate on movement, through pieces like Rain reflection (middle, below) that are static, to documentation of songs and objects, and to other pieces like Roses (bottom, below).

Roses is another example of that rough aesthetic at work. I knew it would be noisy from the wind that moved the roses - which smelled beautiful. In the event the contrast between the visual charm of the roses and the noise created by the wind is even harsher and more effective than I'd hoped.

Finally - although I'm happy with it - tamlyn 11 has been roundly ignored on the whole. At the time of writing the blog has had 56 hits.

Even if I combine that with the 217 hits received this month by santiago's dead wasp, the total 89 views of the videos on YouTube, the likely audience on the links I've added to facebook, and the readers of the short fiction linked on my friend Adam's blog Either/Or/Bored it's unlikely to total more than a thousand views of any part of the project.

There are of course the texts and what remain of some of the objects but I suspect these are mainly unseen and ignored - and where they are seen their existence as part of the larger project will mostly be unknown.

This isn't a complaint and it doesn't worry me. But I think it's worth being honest about the actual (negligible) size of the audience and significance of the work.

an evening of dissatisfaction with free gifts

2011-07-14T11:06:00.002+01:00

Sorry for a bit of a cut-and-paste job. I really would advise you to get down to this if at all possible - it should be a fascinating evening.

Tonight (Thursday 14 July) at Islington Mill artist Rosanne Robertson - one of the people who made Manchester Art Crawl happen this year - presents An Evening of Dissatisfaction with Free Gifts.

An Evening of Dissatisfaction with Free Gifts is described as 'a night of live art, installation and environment ... exploring consumer control and transparency of character and the intentions of both in relation to traditional forms of authority and currency.'

Rosanne says the work - part of Islington Mill's Say Something series - is her most personal to date. It all kicks off at 18:00 (6pm).

You can find more detail on the work here and here.

Rosanne's website is here and her twitter is here.

Directions to Islington Mill here.

Some about Rosanne

Rosanne is an artist based in Manchester, having graduated with a degree in fine art at Manchester School of Art in 2009. Her work jumps between the social and the personal and often dips into the past and present of both. Rosanne often highlights the position of the artist in relation to her work.

“A lot of time is spent trying to strip back the layers and levels of masturbatory thought, ‘intellectualisation’ and barriers that are created when trying to make art thought to be unique to my identity as an artist- in order to create an open and experimental platform where anything can happen.”

This involves glimpses into and questions about control, abandon, identity, communication and truth often by laying the artistic process bare via outputs such as performance, environment, installation, moving image, still image and text.

tamlyn 11 videos

2011-07-12T16:16:00.002+01:00

Unexpectedly after tweets and photographs, videos are among the most numerous creations and postings for tamlyn 11. tamlyn 11 is my project ongoing for the duration of Manchester Art Crawl 2-16 July this year.

The videos are brief and rough - sketches more than completed works. There will be more before the end of the project on Saturday.

As well as being embedded on the tumblr blog linked above the videos are available on my YouTube channel individually and as a playlist.

I've also embedded the playlist below. Be aware that these videos represent only a part of just the online activity for tamlyn 11.

improvisation

2011-07-06T22:49:00.007+01:00

twitter
A few times I've been asked if I've thought about gathering my tweets into a booklet or ebook. The answer is that I have. I even started planning it a couple of times. But I'm now clear that it won't happen, and that I think it would be a terrible idea.

The tweets are enabled by particular technologies and viewed onscreen - either on twitter or facebook (where they update my status). In both these cases they're going to surrounded by other snippets of information. Other tweets in the case of twitter; statuses, videos, invites etc. on facebook.

I do also have feedboxes both on this blog and on tamlyn 11 - but there they are limited to five tweets - and are supplementary to the main content. Each blog is also only a part of anyone's online reading.

Rather like the way they are created the tweets are seen and read in a passing sort of way amongst a whole constellation of other information. They have developed to match the medium and now - I think - suit it quite well.

For this reason I feel that to collect the tweets in a conventional print form would not only remove them from their intended context, but would have the effect of flattening out whatever feels special about them.

life, art, critical writing

It's been said to me by more than one person that my reviews, critical reflections, and documentation of events here is part of my practice.

Increasingly over the last couple of years it's felt that large parts of my life are also a part of my practice. Not in the sense that you might understand from confessional poetry - disclosure of myself in art doesn't interest me. Nor in the sense that anything reviewed has to be experienced - although that's nearly there.

When I go for a walk, on my breaks from work, at exhibitions and events, and so on I often find I'm carrying out research and gathering material. Sometimes obviously in the form of notes, sketches photos, audio recordings etc. Sometimes less obviously - thoughts filed away, striking images and moments that might be both tweeted and marked for future use.

This is exaggerated when it comes to projects like ) TH GOOD /OLD W~AY or tamlyn 11 - and even the performance at New York's AC Institute. These improvisations draw from songs and other art that I'm familiar with, from things I've recently encountered and thought, and from the circumstances and location(s) of their creation.

writing
Although I've consistently denied here that I'm moving away from poetry, and although I can't definitively say I'll never write another text poem, it seems increasingly unlikely that I will return to writing poetry.

I found that I had no way of judging whether or not my last poem had any merit at all. What's more I found that even when some positive comments came through I simply didn't care. Worse, as already documented, the whole process was so unpleasant and unrewarding that I have no desire to repeat it.

It's always been the case that I've found it difficult to edit poems, difficult to tell when a poem doesn't work, and difficult to abandon poems. On the other hand I regularly abandon, restart, or edit/modify sculptural, sound, and performance works. All these reasons, and the belief that my text poetry really isn't that good also make a return to poetry unlikely.

tamlyn 11
From the beginning tamlyn 11 has felt quite exposed. I was launching on an extended improvisation incorporating text, performance, song, and the creation of sculptural objects. Right from the beginning there was a danger of creating something shapeless, self-indulgent, and uninteresting.

Nor was I aware of any pre-existing model for the kind of work I was about to begin. That doesn't mean there are no models - just that I don't know about them. The first six days so far have been a process of working out how to approach the piece, what I feel is allowable, and what sort of balance should be struck between different elements of it. There has been more reflection on this than on the actual work I've been producing.

folk art + bullshit
It shouldn't be any surprise that Bob Dylan is a big influence on me. Or that my work recently has drawn heavily on folk art.

When I returned to writing poetry after an eighteen month hiatus I turned to Dylan as a model for bullshitting. A way of writing about things that interest me without talking about myself. At times a way of writing about myself in fictionalised form without confessional self-disclosure.

Dylan's roots in the early 60s folk scene are amply documented. More recently I've returned to the folk music and folk art influences of my childhood. This again is a kind of bullshitting. The exploration of fears, cultural prohibitions, the expression of limited personal self-determination, and more through stories and songs.

When we were asked - as part of the Creative Writing MA - what we felt poetry was, everyone else on the course offered some variation on 'a way of telling the truth'. My interpretation was that you could explore the world through lies.

This discovery of bullshit was incredibly liberating.

recording
Like all the themes here I've discussed my ambivalence about recording work - especially performances - before. Recorded work is finalised and repeatable. It no longer has the energy and possibilities of work still in the process of being created. It is not remembered in the same way. Something you experience once retains a specialness that something repeated can't quite match.

But at the same time there is something attractive about having a product to show for your work. This may be why I favour recordings that sound rough, and physical pieces that look unfinished and messy. That way there is a product - but one that is provisional and shows the traces of how it was made - the process is visible (or audible).

improvisation
Improvisation is where all this comes together. Ideas are enacted, explored, and abandoned. Both the content and the form that content will take develop at the same time. If the improvisation is recorded it can't help but retain the marks of its creation - more so than a completed and rehearsed piece.

I feel my way through the piece - starting with what feels right and regularly reevaluating where the piece is going and whether it's working. Gradually a shape does emerge from the apparently chaotic elements - and this is almost a disappointment.

As the piece develops ideas (and material) of no use to the work in hand but perhaps useable in future develop.

And when the piece is finished it's done with. There is no need to revisit or remake it. Having explored and developed these particular themes in this particular way you're at liberty to move on to the next thing.

womb at king's arms, salford sat 2 july

2011-07-05T16:34:00.004+01:00

Sent from Samsung Mobile

Womb's latest gig was at the King's Arms in Salford. They were supporting Monster Island and headliners Ghost Outfit.

Unfortunately being first on they played to a fairly sparsely populated room - although one that gradually filled up. They also suffered from a problem with the pedal for the bass drum that meant it was effectively out of commission for most of the set.

Despite that they gave a really good performance. At times I found it a bit shaky - especially around the changeover of drummers that happened twice. But the music built - often through abstract and angular shapes - to something hypnotic and propulsive around three or four times.

There was an interesting mix of sounds with most of the structure this time coming from keyboards, synthesizer and an Indian instrument with a similar action to a sruti box, but which looked larger and seems to do more.

The group started with light rhythms and noises coming from the not-sruti box, singing bowls, chains, and other stuff I actually can't remember. Then bass, keyboards, synth, guitar and voice were added in - coming and going as the volume grew and the music got more intoxicating.

I don't think there was an audio recording of this set which is a shame - because I'm certain there was a lot going on that I simply missed. The sound was actually pretty complex at times.

The last ten minutes of the set were amazing and almost made me feel like I was levitating. The group wound down slowly to very little and then they were gone.

Once again I was a little too self-conscious to bounce about quite as much as I wanted but had a great time.

I'm not going to talk about either Monster Island or Ghost Outfit in much detail because neither band excited me much. Monster Island were preferable - their volume and energy were quite infectious - but I found both a bit ordinary. Monster Island had the more interesting sound, with echoes of post-punk.

Ghost Outfit were competent and energetic with decent tunes but for whatever reason I simply couldn't warm to them. Part of me wanted to dance but a much bigger part said 'Meh' and left me going through the motions with no enthusiasm.

After the gig a large group went to the studios where Womb recently did some recording. What they produced is excellent - and forthcoming sometime soon. The afterparty seemed to split in two with Womb, friends, and a few others jamming in one room - and DJs in another.

I spent my time jamming in the first room - and think we probably had the better time. Despite having no talent in that direction I must have spent around 3 hours drumming. The first hour was messing about with various beats after spending some time joining in on the Hammond organ and singing off-mic (drowned out by everything else).

Then there were 40 minutes on one rhythm followed by an hour and a quarter on another while different people rotated on guitar, bass, Hammond organ and vocals. None of it was recorded, which is probably just as well in terms of my contributions, though everyone else was great. Nevertheless it was a lot of fun and I'd happily do it again.

Shortly after that it was coming up to 5:30 in the morning. Most people got taxis home but since I still felt energetic I fetched my bike from Islington Mill about 10-15 minutes walk away and cycled back. Only the fact it was already light and I wanted to spend time on tamlyn 11 during the day stopped me going for a long ride on the way - it would have been fun to go down the water park in the dawn.

tamlyn 11 begins

2011-07-03T23:48:00.003+01:00

My project for Manchester Art Crawl, tamlyn 11 started on Saturday this weekend and will continue until Saturday 16 July.

The durational, performative multimedia text with slightly different real-world and online iterations explores the folk ballad Tam Lin in the setting of contemporary Manchester.

Which means - online - that I send tweets with a #tamlyn11 hashtag where they seem to have some relevance to my exploration of the narrative, take photos, and make audio and video recordings to be uploaded.

The real-world actions include leaving chalk text in places, gathering materials to create objects, creating those objects and leaving them somewhere - usually where they were made, and performances. Most of these actions are unwitnessed - and not all are documented.

My preparation and some reflections on the process of creating are here on the project blog.

In this post are a series of images from the project so far. All except for the second photo which shows the found (and some bought) materials used to create the first object shown in the photo immediately above have been posted on the project blog.

Above is the second object created - a grid of nine groups of three sticks pushed into the ground under trees in Chorlton Water Park. I got many, many insect bites in the process. Below is the skeleton of a motorcycle not far away from my construction of sticks.

And finally a video of a text chalked in the park. The project continues - and even on my working days material will be generated and uploaded.

public sector strike

2011-06-30T12:47:00.003+01:00

Civil servants, and teachers and lecturers are on strike today to defend pensions, pay and job security.

Aside from my union PCS other unions involved are ATL, UCU, and NUT.

Below are a couple of pictures from the rather sparse picket at HSE in Trafford this morning. Disappointingly at least three members crossed the picket.

All the union websites linked above will have much more detail on the justifications for strike action than I can fit here.

But for instance, under coalition proposals pension contributions will increase while future pensions will deliver less. Public sector schemes were already changed in 2007 with the cost to the taxpayer reducing over time.

And to quote one of the union leaflets, 'The total bill for public sector pensions is less than the amount of tax relief the Government provides on the pensions of the highest earners'

Personally I have almost nothing to gain from the strike. Due to government cuts, and an attack on areas of the law claimed to be a drag on businesses such as Health and Safety (I work for HSE), the office I work in will relocate to Bootle.

Since I have no desire to move to Liverpool for a job I'm not greatly committed to I decided to take the opportunity to dig into my savings and take 5 months in China starting in October.

matt vs poetry part 4235

2011-06-29T12:03:00.002+01:00

This was originally intended to be a review of the last Other Room reading. Unfortunately it kept getting delayed to the point where I don't have a clear memory of the evening. Revisiting the text written immediately after the night, up to and including the paragraph beginning 'In fact the body...' also showed that it was at least as much about my practice as the actual night.

So, starting with the next paragraph here are my original thoughts and some additional notes.

There were two moments during The Other Room that perhaps indicate why I write so little these days.

First. I was staring out of the window as Karen Mac Cormack read a poem that juxtaposed at least two or three strands - each interrupting the other, one apparently using found text. This isn't a particularly novel idea - even without having read any innovative poetry I did the same thing less well fifteen years ago. In that instance drawing from films, music and novels for guidance.

The only reason this personal example is relevant is that it's what I was thinking about as I watched the clouds and listened to the poem. Specifically I was trying to figure out why when I attempt something similar it's usually so poor, whereas other writers succeed. I have no answer, other than they're better writers.

Obviously this meant that I wasn't really paying that much attention and kept losing track of the poem. A similar thing often happens when I'm reading poetry from the page. It reduces to a rhythm and the occasional word that interests me, sometimes to the extent of making me go back a few lines and read more carefully.

Second. Steve McCaffery read a poem which describes what it does, then subjects one of Shakespeare's sonnets to reordering. I think similar to the Burrows-Wheeler transform - but I didn't take notes and my mathematical/scientific knowledge is too poor to do a useful search.

The result of this reordering was strings of letters and punctuation. Reading letter by letter - essentially repeating a single letter over and over again - had a curious effect. Aided by the mic and amplifier - and by the resonant alcove in the window where performers usually stand - the sounds became abstract. Not just stripped of conventional meaning but no longer like the human voice. Neither speech nor song.

This was incredibly exciting. In a physical, visceral way that Karen Mac Cormack's work - good as it is - just couldn't get close to. For me at least.

Spoken words however well re-contextualised and juxtaposed simply interest me less than the aural impact of repetition, resonance and amplification.

In fact the body as an instrument of rhythm, as a sound making object, as something which itself can make beautiful shapes or be used to create beautiful shapes from other material, fascinates me. This is not a rejection of mind. Mind allows me to appreciate the body and what it can do. Mind allows us to create and to appreciate art.

But my preference for one over the other is telling - both in terms of the art that really catches my attention and in the work I produce.

To be honest I find it both more attractive and easier to enjoy and create work that engages me in a physical way or has interesting effects on my senses.

Text hasn't completely gone away. A few months ago I completed my stamp poem ) TH GOOD /OLD W~AY, from Saturday I'll start tamlyn - my durational performative piece incorporating text for Manchester Art Crawl, and I recently completed my first text poem created and approached as such in over a year.

Writing the text poem was essentially an unrewarding experience even though initial comments suggest it might be broadly successful. The process is too conscious and static, at too many removes from lived experience to be natural or comfortable to me.

That doesn't mean goodbye to text. I still blog quite a lot - although generally not poetry - and I will use text in visual and sound pieces. But I am beginning to realise exactly how far I've moved away from text in the last three and a half years, and especially in the last 18 months. It seems unlikely now that I'll ever return to being primarily a writer.

time in the studio

2011-06-28T23:35:00.004+01:00

Spent quite a bit of time in the studio the last couple of evenings.

There are three pieces underway at the moment - although the first of them is more or less done with.

This is the ridiculously vaginal sculptural form I've finally started painting. It seems completely absurd that I could make the form without realising what it looked like but that's actually what happened.

The second of my clay masks is having the first of its two faces created at present. It will be covered with the clay feathers you see beginning to be added below. Quite a nice shot actually - the first mask behind to the right, the graves piece in the background on the other side, and the clay idols also on the left.

Anyway, it's a little ambiguous as to whether the feathers are feathers or scales, but I'm not especially concerned by that. It does look a bit Homer Simpson with the area round the mouth darker. In this case obviously because it's wet.

I posted a day or two ago about the 'crows' piece. I've created five of the forms now, four of which are hung from a garden cane. A close up of one of the forms below.

Below are three of the forms and the cane they're attached to. The canes I'm currently using are too short - which means I'll have to buy some longer ones somewhere.

I am happy with how this is coming together - especially with the materials being so cheap and simple. I'm still not sure how many forms to make, how many canes I'll need, or how they'll be presented.

There are compelling reasons for keeping it minimal and at a distance, but also for making a small forest of the things and surrounding people with them. It's something more to think about.

On top of which I just finished a poem after about a week and a half fooling about with it. No idea if it's any cop, and won't post it here just yet.

dead bird

2011-06-28T15:55:00.003+01:00

Some pictures of a dead bird I passed on the street today. It looks like a juvenile, but I couldn't tell you what kind of bird.

These are my favourite of the six photos I took. One of the whole bird, on of its head - with a dried berry near its beak, and one of its feet.

I didn't touch the bird to see if it was still arm although it looked fresh. I suspect the sun and heat radiating back off the pavement would have made my test a bit useless anyway.

The final photo of the bird's feet is especially nice, though it would have been better if the nearest leg and foot had been in focus. My bad - I think it would have been possible.

derelict structures in stockport

2011-06-28T00:12:00.004+01:00

On Saturday I went for a bike ride out to Stockport along the Mersey - and then back. I also made the foolish decision to take my shirt off - and consequently got burned to smithereens.

On the way back I decided to stop and photograph a couple of the derelict structures I'd seen. What I assume was some kind of factory or industrial unit in the photos above and below.

It actually wasn't quite as drowned in foliage as I've made it look but I like that contrast of the natural and the constructed. Especially when the constructed is so decrepit.

Then there was the bridge in the remainder of the photos. I sent a different photo to each of a few friends on a whim.

Again there's a perhaps slightly exaggerated sense of how much foliage there actually was. Part of the influence on me doing this is undoubtedly the films of Andrei Tarkovsky - and especially Stalker.

I'd even say there's an objective similarity in that both the landscapes Tarkovsky filmed Stalker in and the location of these photos are neglected former industrial sites. Although not only were Tarkovsky's sites in use a lot closer to the time of filming - but I believe were also heavier industry than these are likely to have been.

I do rather like the way that the lack of contextual information, the bright light (the sun was coming almost directly into the lens), and sometimes the bit of the structure I choose to frame can make it, or the location, or both look more exotic than they are.

The image right at the bottom might be a temple somewhere. I think it looks that way partly because the obvious archway is out of shot. But also because it's less easy to judge scale than it is the photos immediately above and below this text.

These last three photos were easy to take compared to the first two of this same structure. For those I had to climb through brambles to find a position to take them from. Even the my footing wasn't wholly secure and there was a lot of tall growth very close to where I was.

poppy

2011-06-27T23:51:00.002+01:00

On the way to the studio on foot - I have a loose crank on my bike and no idea how to fix it.

A closer view.

dead bird near northenden

2011-06-27T12:37:00.001+01:00

I'm thinking of posting the remaining photos of the ruined bridge - and a derelict factory near Stockport later. But for now I also rather like this shot of the remains of a dead bird.

Sent from Samsung Mobile

remains of bridge near stockport

2011-06-27T09:54:00.001+01:00

I sent photos of this bridge to a few friends yesterday from a cycle ride I took out to Stockport. This is one of those pictures - I quite like it.

May write more about the ride later. Or maybe not. It was a beautiful day and I got spectacularly burned.

Sent from Samsung Mobile

womb at electronic organica review

2011-06-26T11:26:00.003+01:00

Woah there. Stop reading this shit. Go listen to the set here and dance. Then go make your own music. Then come back and read. If you want.

Oh! Oh yes! Womb!

Didn't I say? Last time I reviewed them in a couple of sentences. And I said 'they always come back strong'.

So, it was Friday. It was Electronic Organica. Herve Perez, the Electronic Organica Ensemble, and Womb.

Something I hadn't thought of until partway through Herve Perez' set was that I don't experience live music in the same way I did. Up to a little over a year ago it was basically a passive, cerebral activity.

Now it's much more physical. Actually a lot sexier and a lot more fun. Quoting myself again, where once I would have been standing around the back now I'm the irritating twat up the front.

That kind of thing isn't really possible at sound art events - or at venues as narrow and restricted as the Briton's Protection.

So as much as I enjoyed aspects of what Herve Perez, and the Electronic Organica Ensemble did I found myself kind of uncomfortable. I found I was thinking about the music in a way that almost seemed to be reaching for justifications.

Worse I kept wanting to move where there was no beat to find - and when there was - when Womb came on - there wasn't much room to dance. Oh fuck it - that's an excuse. I was self-conscious - that's all. It would've been great to try and get the place moving.

So, Herve. There were things I liked. I really love field recordings - especially unprocessed sounds. Here even if they weren't processed they were gradually intertwined with laptop generated sounds.

I think it's this element of control - of accident and chance being tamed and turned into another texture that often gives me trouble. I don't want accident and chance, mistakes and fuckups smoothed out. There were some fascinating sounds, I just found my attention wandering.

I was able to get behind what the Electronic Organica Ensmble were doing a lot more easily. There were some harsher sounds, clearer rhythms, and at times a lot more happening.

Oh, oh, oh, wait, wait. Wait a minute. Herve. Towards the end he was doing a quiet bit and someone had to go out with a coughing fit. Which was kind of funny in itself. Not to disrespect Herve - just because it's funny. And then with brilliant timing someone farted - which almost made everyone sat near me burst out laughing.

In a way I kind of wish we'd all just let it happen - genuine laughter's a beautiful thing. Whether Herve would have seen it that way I can't say - I don't think I would have minded though.

Right, yeah. Electronic Organica Ensemble. I came and went with the sound. Sometimes it got a little abstract and overlong for me. At other times I wanted them to turn up the volume and explore an idea a bit more. That'd be those harsher sounds and clearer rhythms.

Then it was Womb. The most striking thing for me was how good it felt. The whole gig made me happy, made me smile, at the end and afterwards made me laugh spontaneously. The band seemed to be having a great time.

They were playing acoustically with a range of soundmakers. From the relatively conventional - drums, trumpet and singing bowls, through to the less conventional - a large thick piece of plaster, chains, saucepan and electric shaver, plastic egg box on singing bowl and so on.

Partway through they also started using the Hammond-like Yamaha organ on the stage and got some fantastic sounds from it.

They started out with relatively quiet beats and some interesting small sounds before building up the percussion and introducing the trumpet.

Actually you can listen to it here - http://soundcloud.com/womb-massi/womb-gig-at-britons-protection

Voice and some of those unconventional sounds came and went. The Yamaha started up. Quietly and sparsely at first, then more rhythmically, and eventually a bass chord held while other notes were pounded.

It's interesting a lot of the sound from the organ isn't that audible on the recording unless the other instruments drop down - or on the occasions it stops. It was much more noticeable on the night.

The beats got faster and the sound thickened, then dropped off and started up again. And ebbed and flowed for the whole set.

The whole thing only lasted about 20 minutes - but what an amazing 20 minutes. Easily one of my favourite sets so far. Listen to it now if you haven't yet.

The end was great. After building to a crescendo with trumpet, percussion, keyboard and voices the band tailed off to a few stray beats and held notes on the keyboard before stopping in laughter. As I say, it was an amazingly happy experience.

When you play it again I recommend turning the volume right up and dancing.

dead crows piece

2011-06-23T23:11:00.003+01:00

It starts around 3 weeks ago - or a little more maybe. Cycling along the Transpennine Trail somewhere between Altrincham and Lymm in a field of some crop rising from a ditch down the middle I saw three poles. Each was bent under the weight of at least three dead crows hanging from it.

Just checked - it was 4 June, so three weeks ago this coming Saturday.

The image was striking. I've seen crows - as well as moles and other animals regarded as pests by farmers - hanging on fences but never on poles.

It seems to me to be a kind of magical thinking - or at least more to reassure the farmer than for any other purpose. I'd be very surprised if crows or other animals would be put off by that display.

The page above shows my sketch from memory of the poles and crows.

You can read my handwritten notes if you click on the images - and you can decipher my writing. My notes discuss images from my childhood I was reminded of - as well as sketches of those images, another attempt at the poles and crows, and some provisional sketches towards a sculptural piece based on them.

What you can't see are the hours I spent trying to find some evidence to support what I thought I remembered.

What I thought I remembered was something about the hide of a horse being draped over pole sticking out over a forest with the skull of the creature on top of the pole. I believed this happened in Finland. This information - if I remembered it accurately - came from one of a couple of books of mythology and beliefs in Northern/Eastern Europe and North America.

The closest I could find was an account of bears being eaten, the bones buried, and the head/skull placed on a tree or large high rock to allow the bear's spirit to ascend and then be reincorporated into the forest.

The sketches really didn't help all that much in planning how to approach this subject sculpturally. Really I already know that if I'm making something sculptural it's not until I start making a physical object that my ideas solidify. It's the same with performance - I need to start moving to begin to see what works, and how things should fit together.

But a little outside push doesn't harm. I'd been prevaricating for a while - thinking that I might use bin bags for the piece but never developing beyond that. Then last night I saw a video on YouTube of a performance by Olivier de Sagazan. I really like the piece - but what I took away from it in connection with the crows was simplicity. There are very minimal, very simple materials being used very inventively.

I was dancing round the studio listening to Bob Dylan (ok, and singing along) picking up materials and putting them down. I was thinking how I might make shapes similar to the crows - at least suggestive of something that had been alive - and which actually possesses a physical bulk.

From apparently nowhere it occurred to me that if I partly crushed a plastic water bottle, cut it open lengthways from below the neck to the base, then opened it out I'd have a good basic shape.

I did that to the two bottles I had and it worked. The next step was to work out how to make them look less like bottles. I could paint them black but I would have had to wait until I'd bought paint.

Perhaps I could glue part of a bin bag to each bottle?

I tore open a bin bag and cut it in sections. I glued one section over each bottle - taking the cap/neck as the 'head' where it's most closely fixed - gradually getting freer as the bottle gets wider.

I was pretty happy with the result - and using the one short length of garden cane I had hung the two shapes from it. They're secured by wire pushed through the plastic and fixed in a loop.

Since I was out of bottles, didn't have a lot of bin bags left, hadn't eaten, and planned to ring my mother I ran around the space climbing on chairs to take the photos here just to check the forms did work.

I'm pretty content that they do. Where I go from here I've not a fucking clue. I'll make more -but I'm not certain how many - or how I'll present them.

photos from live art performance at lost & found

2011-06-22T10:01:00.003+01:00

Here are a couple of photos from my performance from Akemi in the Arndale from 10 June at Lost & Found Festival. Further pictures of my performance and others from the event can be found in this album.

Akemi Arts' postings on the event here and here.

My performance was a slightly tweaked version of the piece I did for Akemi at LA:LA Vol.2 at Contact Theatre in March.

csb, klaus kinski, gnod + drunk in hell

2011-06-20T14:35:00.001+01:00

Two gigs. Oh fuck. Look, I was going to review Womb and Mandog supporting Damo Suzuki at Islington Mill. And it was great and all - I had a fantastic time - but...

Womb kind of sputtered and were only intermittently as excellent as they can be. Part of the problem was the sound - everything louder than everything else - which meant that subtle sounds or anything through the mics or contact mics tended to get drowned out. I also got the impression the group never really relaxed and got a bit overwhelmed by the occasion. They were good despite that, just not as good as they can be. Don't worry though - they always come back strong.

Mandog were better, getting really excellent grooves going, and with echoes of all kinds of music from the '60s onwards. Again I was up the front dancing - but there was a kind of nagging sense that it was all pretty efficient - that if they'd maybe just loosen up a bit and deviate from the script they might hit something properly special.

And Damo. Damo did a lot of work. A lot of the gig he seemed to be pushing the musicians along through his voice and will alone. It started slowly and took a long while to get going. Nonetheless I danced and got so hot I had to take my shirt off. The last half hour was excellent - it finally seemed like the band caught up and started running a beat that worked. Then it was done - an excellent evening and I was all ready to blog it.

Then Saturday happened.

Fucking hell Saturday happened! Gullivers grabbed Saturday and dumped it somewhere far away from Oldham Street.

I think I missed the first band. The first that I saw were Cryptic Salve Band. Now last time I saw them I honestly didn't get it. They were fine but it never connected. This time it worked a lot better for me. They roared and hammered and churned and screamed and it was great. People bounced and had fun

Then it was Klaus Kinski. Kind of a mixed set. To be honest I thought the first track was proper shit. The rhythms didn't work, nothing seemed to work. I tried dancing but there was nothing to dance to. It could be I was starting to come up and my body was feeling something else than the band were playing and it took a while to get in sync. It could be they were doing something more subtle than I expected. Whatever. The second track started like more of the same but gradually improved.After that it was fine. I got into the music and danced through the set which was brutally truncated after what felt like about 15-20 minutes.

They were good - but I didn't enjoy them as much as CSB. Or come anywhere near understanding the enthusiasm some friends have for them. Maybe they were having a bad day, maybe there's something I'm missing. I'll reserve judgement - they haven't convinced me yet. And given what followed they would have had to do something fucking exceptional to leave a lasting impression.

Who the fuck was headlining? Gnod? Drunk In Hell? Neither? Both? It doesn't fucking matter. It's just a shame one had to play before the other. Or maybe its better that way. Amazing energies from both bands. But different energies from both bands.

When Gnod connect with the audience something amazing happens. It's been that way the last four times I've seen them now. There's a blurring of the boundaries between band and audience - it becomes a properly communal experience. The energy feeds back and forwards and lifts the venue somewhere else. If the spirit moves you you have to dance and if the spirit don't move you then I'm sorry but you've got stone where there should be blood. I could dance all night to that shit. And I would've.

There were technical problems with the mics from time to time - for once not caused by people jumping on the pedals and all over the band - but only because the stage was in the way. And there is some tension I'm not going to fucking even get into but I can't ignore since it ended with Paddy bleeding from the nose over half the audience partway through Drunk In Hell. And that's the last word - no gossip. Fuck you - it's not your business or mine.

What matters - what mattered on the night was the music. Which was just brilliant. Time was you'd see Gnod and every gig, every CD was a different band. Half of those Gnods were good to see but had a tendency to wander off down slghtly shapeless dead ends. These days they're a lot tighter - sometimes perilously verging on predictable - but always with a close enough rapport to the audience to be able to respond. To be able to shift the pulse and breath of the music - to occupy and create it fresh each time.

The music chops and lurches, sways and bounces, churns and lunges and lifts you up. It rolls you around and you don't ever want it to stop. The band hand out percussion and people join in and the songs feel like they go on forever - but only in the very best way. It must be like seeing Can or Faust at their height before anyone knew who they were. Then it ends. And you're back where you were euphoric and sweaty and you want to do it all again. But usually that's it. Just drifting off - to jam with friends, or a party, or maybe you really have to get home.

This time. This time though there was Drunk In Hell. How do you explain the difference? How do you explain the difference without seeming to put down one or the other band? With Gnod you dance. You dance and you carry the beat around for hours after. With Drunk In Hell you mosh or get the fuck out of there. You sweat yourself clean and feel great and go home.

So I spent the set jumping into other people, getting pushed around, supporting crowdsurfers, lifting up friends, shouting and waving, falling over, and jumping into people all over again. It's sweaty upstairs in Gullivers anyway and I was soaked from head to toe after Gnod - so it's just as well I had the lemonade and two glasses of water between the bands. How I got away with one tiny bruise is beyond me to understand though.

What a fucking release. Drunk In Hell - like I said, a different kind of energy. It would have worked either way - them first and Gnod to close - or the way it was on the night. A happy energy mind. People were smiling and having fun. Well, apart from the exception I already mentioned. There's not a lot more to say. Music's meant to be performed, danced to and listened to. Reading and writing about it's kind of superfluous except as a reminder - or to give you some idea what you might get from a group.

Drunk In Hell pulse, pummel, shout, roar, rumble, thunder, pound and bounce. You're thrown around with a smile on your face and fall out the other side - and maybe something hurts in the morning.

I haven't had as good a night in a while. Got home somewhere around 5:30 and went to bed. I got up 11:30. It would've been 10:30 but if it's too much information you're after I needed a wank and sometimes you have to take time. Yeah, it was great thanks.

In the afternoon I went for a long, fast bike ride. It was hot but I needed the sun and the exercise. I'm coming back to the idea that I'd like to carry out performances that require concentrated physical exertion over relatively brief periods. I'll get planning. Both Saturday night and cycling out along the Mersey on Sunday gave me that amazing feeling of how great it is to be in my body.

I love the feeling of being healthy and strong. I love to test myself - see how fast I can cycle or run, how high I can jump. And then those places where body and mind come together - being right at the edge of my ability to control the bike where a tiny mistake would see gravity take over very hard - or seeing how long I can face a fear.

The physical is important to me both personally and in my art. That's why I love making sound and performing. That's why I love making sculptural works. That's why I love to cycle, walk and exercise. Yeah yeah, and masturbation or fucking if I ever get the chance. Oh... it's only what you were thinking anyway.

another eggshell photo

2011-06-15T12:00:00.000+01:00

What I particularly like about this image is that not just the shadow but the actual colour of the grass is visible through the shell. Individual dew drops are also visible on the grass and shell - and through the shell.

Click on the image to enbiggen.

Sent from Samsung Mobile

eggshell in alexandra park

2011-06-15T11:27:00.000+01:00

Partly by way of a test of mobile blogging for santiago's dead wasp here's a photo of a small eggshell I saw in Alexandra Park yesterday morning.

If this post works there's another photo with some nice detail I want to share.

Sent from Samsung Mobile

tamlyn 11 - blog

2011-06-15T08:50:00.005+01:00

Just a brief notification that the tumblr blog for a piece I'll be creating for Manchester Art Crawl is now up an running.

It's called tamlyn 11. At present there are only two test posts on the main page - although there are likely to be some further multi-media test posts before it goes properly live on 2 July.

The photo here is from one of the current posts, and is from the phone I now have to enable mobile blogging.

There are also pages linked on the right of the main page featuring my original proposal for the piece, my artist statement, links (which has yet to be updated), and preparation. I'm using the preparation page to document the practicalities of setting up the project.

Edit 10:15

Just tested mobile blogging on this site. But since the post included my phone number at least twice, the image sent didn't show up in the browser we use at work, and the formatting was horrible I've deleted the post.

I may explore further at a later date.

jennifer mcdonald, louise woodcock film - womb soundtrack

2011-06-06T15:13:00.001+01:00

Following a week's residency the film Jennifer McDonald and Louise Woodcock produced was screened on Sunday.

The film's fairly brief at present - around 3 minutes - but was looped something like four times to a live soundtrack provided by a minimal line-up of Womb. Just Jennifer, Emily and Whitney. Louise was working so unable to attend.

Much of the material was shot around Pendle Hill - associated with the famous witch-trials - and involved ritual actions with bones and hair. There are obvious superficial similarities to Derek Jarman and Andrew Kötting's Gallivant. But the film mostly looks and feels different from both those comparisons.

To me the film feels like it has a more contemporary sensibility. Jarman was rooted in a 60s/70s queer/avant-garde aesthetic. Gallivant from the mid-90s seems closer to the 80s films of Chris Petit and Patrick Keiller. For me Jennifer and Louise's film is closer to some more recent video installations I've seen.

I'll expand on that a little I think - there are a few ideas packed into that last sentence. I have noticed in a lot of recent video installations a convergence between the old idea of video installations - where a single or limited number of ideas are explored, more conventional narrative filmmaking, and documentary filmmaking. At the same time certain narrative filmmakers and documentarists - Gus Van Sant, Lynne Ramsay, Claire Denis, and Adam Curtis for example produce images and films that might be as much at home in the gallery. Others, prominently Apichatpong Weerasethakul, work happily between the two contexts.

And as digital cameras reduce in weight and cost while increasing in quality, at the same time as mainstream cinema and tv continue to raid the aesthetic of mobile phones/cheap digital cameras/CCTV for a bogus 'authenticity' it can be less easy to visually differentiate the expensive from the cheap.

Installations are becoming less static, more technically and editorially ambitious. Again aided by afforable technology. The film as it currently stands could sit happily as an installation or (part of) a more conventional narrative or documentary film.

I also feel - though I'll immediately question this - that the film has a less masculine sensibility than my initial comparisons of Jarman and Kötting. To Jennifer and Louise I also mentioned that I felt I could see hints of Andrei Tarkovsky and Benjamin Christensen's Häxan.

Taking that contentious 'less masculine sensibility' first, what I mean is that it seems to be less linear, less interested in explaining itself, less about showing off than the work of male directors. But at the same time I was irritated when VS Naipaul recently claimed he could tell male from female writers within a paragraph, and that male writers were better. I also think there's a danger of gender essentialism in claiming to see differences. Besides which I know who the filmmakers were in all these cases - so any traits that might be detected are informed by already knowing the artist's gender.

The hints of Tarkovsy are in the meditative nature of some of the shots - especially the convex mirror, and the cross installation. The hints of Häxan are in the subject matter, and in the critique of religion's approach to women and witchcraft - explicit in Häxan, implicit in Jennifer and Louise's film.

The soundtrack to the film by the reduced line-up of Womb was great. The more I've listened back to it the less it sounds improvised. It also feels a lot less than 13 minutes long.

One of the main things I like about the soundtrack is that it combines two extremes of Womb's sound. There's the highly structured, musical side of things - and the looser, rhythmic, noise-making elements - with none of the shades that usually intervene between the two.

I also liked that the sounds don't mimic images onscreen. They stand in independent relationship to the film. Although the pace and the changes in the sound perhaps reflect the edits and the tempo of the film.

It was interesting to hear what was effectively a more contemplative Womb in a different context from their usual performances in pubs and clubs. There was a greater freedom to allow nuance and space into the music, to let it drift and breathe more than it usually can.

I got a handful of honestly rather shite photos for Jennifer and recorded the soundtrack (see here). I understand the film - possibly with soundtrack will make it online at some point. For a week's work, and a first attempt (I guess second for Louise) at making film it's bloody impressive.

womb @ salutation last night - review

2011-05-27T12:11:00.000+01:00

Haha! So - Womb's gig at Ducie Bridge was ok but a bit - you know - not quite there. Last night in the even more confined space of The Salutation they were fucking amazing.

After it finished I was enthusing I thought it was the best so far. Definitely as good as the acoustic set at Okasional Cafe and the set at Gullivers.

It's still making me smile, wanna dance, make music, run up and down and scream.

Right right right - ok - first up The Sandells in support with their self-described krautpunk. A much more structured and conventional sound - but thrilling nontheless.

I mean they say krautpunk but there's a fairly heavy dose of 60's guitar pop and early 80's indie sounds going into the mix too. And no bad thing. And they were excellent. Much bouncing - band and audience having a lot of fun and giving it loads.

Go see 'em - they'll make you happy.

And then it was Womb. Some last minute soundcheck bits and pieces before BAM - straight into looping rhythms, pounding bass, harsh textures, swirling keys, guitar and sax - bouncing even more. Woohoo!

*breath*

Started out a little mid-paced but picked up quickly. Hammering drums and all - the bass drum migrating across the tiny stage - pushed back once or twice. Hollered vocals - two, sometimes three voices most the time.

A big group this time - ten women on stage - or four on stage, the rest around it since they couldn't fit on. Guitar, bass - two basses? (or was it two guitars?), banjo, drums, percussion, keyboards, saxophone, vocals, noise making objects - metal rings, contact mic-ed plaster ball and bit of metal - and plenty other bits and pieces.

The sound was really fucking well integrated - it was sometimes hard to pick out keyboards from saxophone from guitar from voice.

And lots and lots of percussion - beating singing bowl, bell, snare, what looked like a massive cowbell (what am I, a musician?), stamping - and of course the drums. Haha!

Mostly the band couldn't move about - it's a confined space - but there was some shifting from mic to mic for vocals and noise makers - the monitor got overturned. The amplified plaster ball was satisfyingly smashed early on and ground in the floor.

I'd say narcotic - but that suggests something a lot more dopey than the ecstatic, pounding, spinning racket that got right in your body, lifted you up, got you high, sweated out and dived back in again.

Listen - on this form if you don't dance - or bounce depending on the space available - you're dead. I mean you could try and resist - nail yourself to the floor maybe - but only if you want bloody holes in your feet.

It was fantastic - somewhere around 40-45 minutes but it felt a lot less - the venue had to call time on the band or they would have gone on a lot longer. And no bad thing.

Yeah yeah - my heart's racing just writing about it, reading back - I want a time machine, do it over again.

Next chance to see them tomorrow at Kraak - 8pm doing the soundtrack for Lynchian Dirt Fight. If it's anywhere close to as good as last night it'll be fucking great.

womb activities next few days

2011-05-26T10:57:00.002+01:00

Two opportunities to see Womb make their ecstatic noise over the next three days.

Tonight (Thursday 26 May) they play at The Salutation. It kicks off at 8:30pm. Free entry. The Sandells also perform.

On Saturday (28 May) they provide the live improvised soundtrack to Lynchian Dirt Fight at Kraak. It kicks off at 8pm and costs £5 to get in. All in support of Manchester Art Crawl.

Should be fucking superb.

Also - Womb members Jennifer McDonald, Helen Shanahan and Louise Woodcock are creating a film through next week as part of the Say Something series at Islington Mill. Screening on Sunday 5 June.