doubt systems, 2019
inkjet print of tobacco flower on transparency, aluminium; warped steel bolts collected from building sites — sliced, forged and nickel-plated into irregular discs — mounted on invisible magnets embedded in the wall;
repaired vending machine, sandblasted cans, dollar bills;
cast concrete slabs, water (one underneath vending machine);
cast concrete stack with cuts
resisting the centre, 2019
cast concrete with cuts, polished steel plates nineteen borrowed stage risers, one re-made stage riser cast concrete pieces (by door)
all bulbs removed from overhead lighting track apart from one nearest the door
LUCID COLLAPSE 1, 2018
“If you send me your address, I will send you some words in black-powder-fused-to-cellulose-pulp form aka lucidcollapse 1; an experiment in the physical consumption/excretion of (some) language”
Text available on request (to be mailed, provide address and postage cost only).
Lauren Burrow on lucid collapse:
“i read these texts like nodes on a continuum of linguistic activism … there’s no one meaning, and i have to produce that meaning for myself. rhythm is important – more important than linearity or chronology – embedding the question where does time or text or chronology or self ever really begin and end, decaying in the rocks and the earth as much as in the wires in silicone valley. sculpture wearing the clothes of literature and literature cloaked as sculpture”
new cells, new voids, 2018
hollow, screen-printed light-boxes containing barn lights in a sensory feedback loop; emergency glow sticks; tropane alkaloid producing solanum images in floor cavity c/o Dr. Sandra Knapp
the origin of the house in the basket, the origin of the basket in the web, building in darkness, instinctive dwelling with own bones in filth, cave floors dripping with freon, a thirsty hum, discarded appliances as exhausted bodies, (also) scale models of high rise buildings, continuous cycle of compression and depression, gases cooling warming, pavements drinking sweat, spit, piss, evaporation contained in systems spreads over the earth’s semi-permeable urban membrane, tough like 40N. For railways, manholes, footings, foundations, fingerprints from the other side, earth stretched out inhuman rendered,
acoustic crescendo from initial hollow, slow rhythm reflecting,
discarded fridges, contact microphones, mixing desk, harmoniser pedal, PA system
Atropa Belladonna as the Medean flower, the hag, crazed magician (re)producing poisonous berries, murderous pregnancies, swollen black bellies to burst in wet mouths reflecting light back into dimness, rubbing on thighs to fly nocturnal on sticks, darkness rippling along- side visions. Shadows as the space of illumina- tion, the archeology of architecture revealed as the removal of bodies, sexuality, knowledge, labour, the tomb that is the house that is possessed by the silenced screams of the heretic,
The substratum that is the gregorian drone, flesh of the unheard word, lingua ignota as the permission to overflow, flesh listening in- solitude slowly whispering solidarity, amidst the chastity of rotten air wafting from plague pits, words finally extrude under the spells of sickness, breaking silence with visions, blasted through cortical pulsing, her loss of self as universality opposing her interiority as affirmation of thisness and and the inevitable oscillation between these two states looping, spiralling fractals, resonating, tripping, pulsing
Confined to this building, we scan the ground for openings, finding five.
Five circular panels of stainless steel about the size of a handspan, each engraved with ten concentric circles.
Five digits one side. Ten Digits as a whole.
Two parts mixing in my two hands, kneading, working until consistency allows pushing into middle of panel, fingers flatten mixture print by print, filling one groove at a time until spread over the whole panel, covering it’s own fingerprint with hundreds of ours.
On the floor peeling off the mold, we listen to this perfectly concentric fingerprint that conceals the vessel, the network, the architectural hollow that is in permanent shadow (guts). Put a fingertip on this fingertip. Our ridges move over your ridges: it sounds. Receptor or erogenous zone. Orifice or neuron. Black hole or supernova. Spitting or swallowing. Action potential is above and below but who is receiving what? Whose receptors, whose fingertips? Who’s fingering who? Who’s feeling who?
In each one (of these five elements, phases, agents, movements, processes, planets, receptors, orifices, neurons) there are three screws. We take them out and pop the lid. Concealing the truth is darkness (and cobwebs) but we smell and feel the centre. Each one a vessel, which is really a tube, a network of tubes, not a pot or a hole: a vessel. Five vessels, cores, reaching for the centre, we know because the drill bit melts when we reach eight miles down, but we still have another 3,992 miles to go until we reach the – centre of what?
Dendrochronology is time according to trees, time as a series of concentric tubes. The earth is not flat or tube-like but a flexing spheroid. The eight mile core sample came out and we laid it out, every step another million years. A Correlated History. The annulus is the space in between concentric circles. Annulus, anus, Annus. That’s time. Rings around a hole. Time is space and volume. Steps. The first step reveals scraps of metal and plastic, nothing really, then for the next several millennia bits of broken pottery, a few steps, then finally some soil before the misery of agriculture, some chert flakes, cracked stones from campfires, a few more steps and we’re underwater, then molluscs and brachiopods and echinoderms for lots and lots of steps. After 380 steps we see a spider (?!), we put down a survey pin. But we’ve seen plenty by then. We’re not even an eighth of the the way there. It’s getting hot.
We look at these five core samples, laid next to each other in parallel, imagining an interpolated volume from these five sites (elements, phases, agents, movements, processes, planets, receptors, orifices, neurons) to the centre, what are we seeing, hearing? Grumbling magma. Nearly a straight line, we guess. They are so close relative to the size of earth, at most twenty feet away. Why are they not placed further apart on the Earth? Hm.
The number five makes us turn our gaze from the centre – us – to the edge – them. WE SEE. We are seers, like Giordano Bruno on the rooftop smoking, concentricity disappears in a single moment. The volume is becoming something substantial, warped pentagram projecting toward the outer reaches, the distance between the five (sites, tombstones, elements, phases, agents, movements, processes, planets, receptors, orifices, neurons) becomes greater until it reaches the edge of the universe, unspeakable infinity, but here is nowhere; you can’t measure distance at the edge of the universe because it’s not linear, you can’t place a point, only an idea.
So the volume of the five (sites, tombstones, elements, phases, agents, movements, processes, planets, receptors, orifices, neurons) dissolves (thankfully) and we’re left with the place and space they are in now. Polyurethane accumulating in the concentric grooves. Dull blots compared to the infinite space of a page. But they are not dull, and a page is not infinite. It’s a premonition. If you hang around long enough you’ll see.
As part of DRAB, Bard College 2017
Trigonotarbids Are Not True Spiders LED lights, ventilation cavities
what Poetry what Space what Language?
Talk given at The Slade School of Fine Art in London 2017
Interrogations into the history of poetry reveal the revolutionary urgency of ‘the scream’ that becomes a metaphor for poetry itself. The urgency of the delivery negates the individual behind the action, authorship gives way to gut feeling. Space and material become authors in the making of work, boundaries are the beginning of presence, not the edge of it. Moving spaces, adjusting poetry, entering language as a physical medium. Rotting down words into gesture, metaphor, intuition. Becoming not-human-at-all. A plasmoid translator: lightning as the Direct Action leaving fulgurites in the sand.
AUDRE LORDE – POETRY IS NOT A LUXURY 1985
JIMMIE DURHAM – A FRIEND OF MINE SAID THAT ART IS A EUROPEAN INVENTION 1994
BARNETT NEWMAN – THE FIRST MAN WAS AN ARTIST 1947
FRED MOTEN – IN THE BREAK: THE AESTHETICS OF THE BLACK RADICAL TRADITION 2003
MAX ROACH QUINTET W/ ABBEY LINCOLN – WE INSIST! LIVE 1964
Freeing Slyness (with Melanie Counsell)
booklet (risograph printed, inkjet printed, photocopied pages on various paperstock)
The Stability of the System (with Sasha Litvintseva) 2016
The Stability of the System is an exploration into the material agency of images and of forms and their ability to call each other into being. The film begins with a mathematical point willing itself into dimensional existence, inventing/discovering space, then time. Shot on the volcanic island of Lanzarote, the film’s images are eruptions willed into existence by the creative act of the molten rock. The landscape absorbs all subjectivity, hallucinating itself in the monochrome of endless black lava fields and scorching white of a cloudless sky. In the end the filmmaker dissolves into the landscape, no longer able to see – the landscape sees for her.