Space to speak
24/10/2009 17:55
Artist’s residency at Plymouth Arts Centre
ROLLING PICNIC
Two small round plastic caps at the top of Peacock Lane: cerulean blue E63 and light lime green FLIP OFF. Fresh fast wind off the sea, blazing horizon. M+S Super wholefood salad and a plastic fork; then latte in the arts centre café. [TINKLY TOP NOTES ON A PIANO, CONTRALTO SMOKY SOUL DIVA IN CONVERSATION WITH A MELLOW SAX] [“Feel your touch... the thrill [...] nights are [...] lovers can [...] the thrill... is gone... this is the end...”] Women grouped around a table in the upstairs gallery by the café, making things out of scraps of material, lace edging; speaking quietly. French and English voices, pinning and sewing; soft and communal.
15.01 EMPTY DRAWING
The keys to the door/s - where they fell
All quiet behind the deep blue door. Saturday afternoon matinee screening in the cinema. [ITALIAN VOICES (uomini e donne) SEEP INTO STUDIO ONE...] frame 57 a pair of magpies patrols the airspace over Batter Street. See the world, look at the light.
15.40 sound recording 4 minutes
frame 75 [PLUCKED HARP STRINGS (cinema to the left) SHUSH OF CAR PASSING, TRAVELLING DOWNHILL (out of the window to the right)] Fading light
4.00 frame 81 silence [lightbox hum, scalpel scrape, blowing]
Fading light [CLACKETY-CLACK (magpie) BURSTS OF POLICECAR SIREN (in the distance) A YOUNG GULL PEEPS, HUSH OF WIND] A man and woman in blue jeans with carrier bags of shopping walk up to Looe Street on the far pavement; she has silver baseball boots, he wears white trainers.
page 115 Psychoanalysis and language: the limits of the transference
“This dimension of sexual difference constitutes the horizon of the possible unfolding of a analysis [LEAVES RUSTLE] as an opening or an enigma rather than the peremptory imposition of the authority [CAR CRUISES UPHILL] of a word [parole], [A CHILD COUGHS, GULLS CRY] a language [langue], a text. It contrives a space or site of liberty between two bodies, two flesh, which protects the partners by giving them boundaries.”
16.19 EAT A CLEMENTINE
16.25 [KEY IN LOCK, FOOTSTEPS ON STAIRS, DOOR OPENS, SQUEAKY HINGES. AN AIRLOCK TICKS IN THE RADIATOR. SLAM! KEYS JINGLE, FEET GOING DOWNSTAIRS]
frame 91 [AND BACK UPSTAIRS. HUH HUH. FINGERS PUNCH CODE TO LOCK. DOWNSTAIRS, SLAM!]
17.04 frame 121 [GULL YELPS, CAR SPEEDS UP BATTER STREET. DISTANT AMBULANCE SIREN] getting dark [SCRATCHY PLASTIC OF EMPTY CARTON BLOWN ALONG PAVEMENT]
frame 146 radiator beating time on the left [GUSTY WIND RATTLING SYCAMORE LEAVES]
17.25 Jude and Caroline come back from the crafty session with beanbags... frame 160... and plinths
17.29 [PA PA PAPA PAPA PAPAPA!] frame 160 [THE CINEMA OPENS FOR THE EARLY EVENING SHOW] Sun going...
17.36 frame 190... gone. Lucy to comes in to make sure everything’s ok and to check the door’s locked to downstairs (ITALIAN VOICES, MALE, WITH BACKGROUND WHIRRING OF 35mm FILM RUNNING THROUGH PROJECTOR. MUFFLED, AS GAVIN SHUTS THE PROJECTION ROOM DOOR] The film is Mid August Lunch, directed by Gianni Di Gregorio.
17.42 sound recording 2 minutes 11 seconds
17.45 EMPTY DRAWING
The keys to the door/s - where they fell
17.55 201 frames Cool. Blue sky. We’re done. Upload
___
Upstairs I sit on the in the sitting space next to the café, part of Lucy Orta’s exhibition. There’s a message inviting people to make something to say what they think of the show, and some plastic containers with scraps of cloth, felt, cotton, darning wool etc. I’m drawn to a new hank of deep yellow embroidery thread in its paper cuffs, which I use to sew the tiny plastic caps I found earlier into a clear plastic zip-lock pocket left on the seat - like a dolly’s handbag, I pull the two ends and tie them in a bow.
Caroline says: Are you going to make us something? Waiting for a lift home, I cut a circle out of egg yolk yellow brushed cotton using a pair of round-ended child-safe scissors; I choose a triangle of soft black suede slightly larger than my circle, and sew the two together at the centre with bright yellow embroidery thread, leaving loops of around the diameter of my index finger. Then I secure the thread with a double stitch underneath, trim off the end, cut the edge of suede into a wavy line just larger than the perimeter of the yellow cotton circle; and finally cut the loops of cotton. I have made a badge, a flower, which I fasten to the roll of white cotton sheet hanging on the post between café and stairs with a safety pin. Caroline rushes downstairs to catch a train. I walk home.
At the top of Looe Street by Peacock Lane I turn and see the new moon, clear bright white, for the first time. It’s warm for the last weekend in October, clear overhead, sycamore leaves and seeds scattered on the ground, collecting against walls and against the curb.
ROLLING PICNIC
Two small round plastic caps at the top of Peacock Lane: cerulean blue E63 and light lime green FLIP OFF. Fresh fast wind off the sea, blazing horizon. M+S Super wholefood salad and a plastic fork; then latte in the arts centre café. [TINKLY TOP NOTES ON A PIANO, CONTRALTO SMOKY SOUL DIVA IN CONVERSATION WITH A MELLOW SAX] [“Feel your touch... the thrill [...] nights are [...] lovers can [...] the thrill... is gone... this is the end...”] Women grouped around a table in the upstairs gallery by the café, making things out of scraps of material, lace edging; speaking quietly. French and English voices, pinning and sewing; soft and communal.
15.01 EMPTY DRAWING
The keys to the door/s - where they fell
All quiet behind the deep blue door. Saturday afternoon matinee screening in the cinema. [ITALIAN VOICES (uomini e donne) SEEP INTO STUDIO ONE...] frame 57 a pair of magpies patrols the airspace over Batter Street. See the world, look at the light.
15.40 sound recording 4 minutes
frame 75 [PLUCKED HARP STRINGS (cinema to the left) SHUSH OF CAR PASSING, TRAVELLING DOWNHILL (out of the window to the right)] Fading light
4.00 frame 81 silence [lightbox hum, scalpel scrape, blowing]
Fading light [CLACKETY-CLACK (magpie) BURSTS OF POLICECAR SIREN (in the distance) A YOUNG GULL PEEPS, HUSH OF WIND] A man and woman in blue jeans with carrier bags of shopping walk up to Looe Street on the far pavement; she has silver baseball boots, he wears white trainers.
page 115 Psychoanalysis and language: the limits of the transference
“This dimension of sexual difference constitutes the horizon of the possible unfolding of a analysis [LEAVES RUSTLE] as an opening or an enigma rather than the peremptory imposition of the authority [CAR CRUISES UPHILL] of a word [parole], [A CHILD COUGHS, GULLS CRY] a language [langue], a text. It contrives a space or site of liberty between two bodies, two flesh, which protects the partners by giving them boundaries.”
16.19 EAT A CLEMENTINE
16.25 [KEY IN LOCK, FOOTSTEPS ON STAIRS, DOOR OPENS, SQUEAKY HINGES. AN AIRLOCK TICKS IN THE RADIATOR. SLAM! KEYS JINGLE, FEET GOING DOWNSTAIRS]
frame 91 [AND BACK UPSTAIRS. HUH HUH. FINGERS PUNCH CODE TO LOCK. DOWNSTAIRS, SLAM!]
17.04 frame 121 [GULL YELPS, CAR SPEEDS UP BATTER STREET. DISTANT AMBULANCE SIREN] getting dark [SCRATCHY PLASTIC OF EMPTY CARTON BLOWN ALONG PAVEMENT]
frame 146 radiator beating time on the left [GUSTY WIND RATTLING SYCAMORE LEAVES]
17.25 Jude and Caroline come back from the crafty session with beanbags... frame 160... and plinths
17.29 [PA PA PAPA PAPA PAPAPA!] frame 160 [THE CINEMA OPENS FOR THE EARLY EVENING SHOW] Sun going...
17.36 frame 190... gone. Lucy to comes in to make sure everything’s ok and to check the door’s locked to downstairs (ITALIAN VOICES, MALE, WITH BACKGROUND WHIRRING OF 35mm FILM RUNNING THROUGH PROJECTOR. MUFFLED, AS GAVIN SHUTS THE PROJECTION ROOM DOOR] The film is Mid August Lunch, directed by Gianni Di Gregorio.
17.42 sound recording 2 minutes 11 seconds
17.45 EMPTY DRAWING
The keys to the door/s - where they fell
17.55 201 frames Cool. Blue sky. We’re done. Upload
___
Upstairs I sit on the in the sitting space next to the café, part of Lucy Orta’s exhibition. There’s a message inviting people to make something to say what they think of the show, and some plastic containers with scraps of cloth, felt, cotton, darning wool etc. I’m drawn to a new hank of deep yellow embroidery thread in its paper cuffs, which I use to sew the tiny plastic caps I found earlier into a clear plastic zip-lock pocket left on the seat - like a dolly’s handbag, I pull the two ends and tie them in a bow.
Caroline says: Are you going to make us something? Waiting for a lift home, I cut a circle out of egg yolk yellow brushed cotton using a pair of round-ended child-safe scissors; I choose a triangle of soft black suede slightly larger than my circle, and sew the two together at the centre with bright yellow embroidery thread, leaving loops of around the diameter of my index finger. Then I secure the thread with a double stitch underneath, trim off the end, cut the edge of suede into a wavy line just larger than the perimeter of the yellow cotton circle; and finally cut the loops of cotton. I have made a badge, a flower, which I fasten to the roll of white cotton sheet hanging on the post between café and stairs with a safety pin. Caroline rushes downstairs to catch a train. I walk home.
At the top of Looe Street by Peacock Lane I turn and see the new moon, clear bright white, for the first time. It’s warm for the last weekend in October, clear overhead, sycamore leaves and seeds scattered on the ground, collecting against walls and against the curb.