Here's an interesting article recently published by RealTime magazine about the antifestival in Finland last year.
- Dan
Friday, February 29
bloggity blog blog blog...
Why blog? Is there really a point to writing about our creative work when we could just get on with creating it? At our workshop last weekend, we all seemed to agree that documentation is a crucial aspect of the lifecycle of an artwork. And much of our work in the arts community involves either the documentation of artworks (eg. ABC Classic FM and AMC) or documentation about artworks (eg. Arts reviewing, interviewing etc.): it’s something we’re all fascinated by. Documenting work means it can maintain a life after its completion. It also provides a potential resource for those interested in the creative process.
But blogging allows us to do much more than this. Joining the blogosphere – a complex web of thoughts, dialogue, and imagery – means that we can collaborate without the need to be physically together. This is essential given LBB artists are spread between Sydney, Canberra and the Blue Mountains. And I think more than anything it is simply an efficient means of gathering our material together in one place where the five of us can easily access it.
So it’s probably best to see our blog as a virtual scrapbook: a place to workshop ideas, share sources of inspiration, explore concepts and analyse theory.
And this scrapbook won’t be text-based. We plan to publish documentation about the project using sound, text and image (both stills and video).
Last Saturday afternoon some of us spent time exploring these ideas to make sure we were all on the same wavelength in terms of blogging, particularly because not all of us have blogged before. We identified five different kinds of entries and decided to use the following tags for categorising our materials:
admin: These entries relate to the logistics of our residency at Bundanon and administration of the website itself.
workshop: A large proportion of blogging will be devoted to documenting the actual materials of our creative work and our methodology. And with the blog being a place to store ‘sketches’ of our work, we can then provide feedback on each other’s material and ideas through discussion.
inspiration: links to other work – quotes/images/sound – that inspires our own work.
reflection: an examination of our motivation for participating in the project, exploring the ‘why’ of the project. Also, reflections on our progress with the project. How do we feel about the progress we’re making? Are our achievements successful? What is working? What isn’t?
theory: Material relating to the history and theory of site-specific installation and environmental art.
collaboration: approaches to the collaborative process
There’s a few other tags we decided to use as well to make sure the materials on our site are categorised logically and are easily accessible.
These include:
ben, dan, julian, rhi, serena (this means we can easily access material we’ve written ourselves)
sound, text, image (again, we can easily access material relating to one type of medium)
And the beauty of a folksonomy system of tagging means that material can exist in more than one category...of course, we’ll be adding more as we need to as well!
But blogging allows us to do much more than this. Joining the blogosphere – a complex web of thoughts, dialogue, and imagery – means that we can collaborate without the need to be physically together. This is essential given LBB artists are spread between Sydney, Canberra and the Blue Mountains. And I think more than anything it is simply an efficient means of gathering our material together in one place where the five of us can easily access it.
So it’s probably best to see our blog as a virtual scrapbook: a place to workshop ideas, share sources of inspiration, explore concepts and analyse theory.
And this scrapbook won’t be text-based. We plan to publish documentation about the project using sound, text and image (both stills and video).
Last Saturday afternoon some of us spent time exploring these ideas to make sure we were all on the same wavelength in terms of blogging, particularly because not all of us have blogged before. We identified five different kinds of entries and decided to use the following tags for categorising our materials:
admin: These entries relate to the logistics of our residency at Bundanon and administration of the website itself.
workshop: A large proportion of blogging will be devoted to documenting the actual materials of our creative work and our methodology. And with the blog being a place to store ‘sketches’ of our work, we can then provide feedback on each other’s material and ideas through discussion.
inspiration: links to other work – quotes/images/sound – that inspires our own work.
reflection: an examination of our motivation for participating in the project, exploring the ‘why’ of the project. Also, reflections on our progress with the project. How do we feel about the progress we’re making? Are our achievements successful? What is working? What isn’t?
theory: Material relating to the history and theory of site-specific installation and environmental art.
collaboration: approaches to the collaborative process
There’s a few other tags we decided to use as well to make sure the materials on our site are categorised logically and are easily accessible.
These include:
ben, dan, julian, rhi, serena (this means we can easily access material we’ve written ourselves)
sound, text, image (again, we can easily access material relating to one type of medium)
And the beauty of a folksonomy system of tagging means that material can exist in more than one category...of course, we’ll be adding more as we need to as well!
Wednesday, February 27
Tuesday, February 26
(Fabric)ations
In April and May this year, life between buildings will be setting up temporary home as artists in residence at ‘living arts centre’ Bundanon, perched over the Shoalhaven River on the NSW South Coast. Our time will be dedicated to unearthing the rich creative potential of the site, bequeathed to the Australian people by one of our most treasured artists, the late Arthur Boyd. Perhaps 'unearthing' isn't the clearest way of putting it, for the conversations we've had about our project have suggested that while it will be driven in many ways by our creative response to the environment and its past, our work will not necessarily 'reflect' the Bundanon that people may think they know.
Although it will be very much immersed in the natural and built environment of Bundanon, one of the main facets of this site-specific project we've talked about is the site's history. Now there’s a safe place to work - it’s happened, it’s there to be dug up; it’s straightforward documented fact. A cursory read of this and that and we’re set to roll. Except...
I’m much more comfortable with the notion of ‘histories’, and from preliminary conversations over the weekend retreat just held in Blackheath in the Blue Mountains, there’s a sense in the life between buildings camp that there’s a shared interest in exploring the endless potential opened up by this notion. Rhiannon's idea of 'interventions' snowballed into all sorts of ideas being thrown about - some achievable, some likely to fall by the wayside - of how the different histories could be brought to life.
In our art as in our life, it seems we are all endeavouring to open up new possibilities, to rethink ways of seeing and creating. The challenges we set ourselves involve contesting received logics, narratives, histories; spoon-fed stories of easily digestible and non-contradictory factlets. That’s not to say we don’t all love our snippets and stories, the process of learning and understanding, it’s more to do with the grain of salt we each tend to carry in our pockets everywhere we go.
Our first major project together, a site-specific creative response based on Bundanon and its multi-layered recent past (working homestead, Boyd family residence, bequeathed arts retreat), is an opportunity to see where this approach can take us. Initial instincts may be to take the spoonfeeding, to respond in a way that seamlessly incorporates the ‘known’ Bundanon, but far more exciting is the potential for intervening on behalf of the overlooked, the unremembered, the never allowed.
A shorthand term for our approach to exploring such mythologies might be ‘fabrications'. The notion of place and history is so loaded, where is one to begin? The fabric of history will become, in our project, a fabricated history. By blurring the boundaries of the known and the unknown, the likely and unlikely - the possible and impossible – it’s likely to pose as many questions as it does answers. But therein lies the appeal, for we’re each interested in opening up rather than closing off, inviting rather than imposing - asking rather than telling.
Along the way, the very notion of creativity is likely to be brought into question. Does one create something if simply trading upon a pre-packaged past? Or does there need to more, an intervention into that past, an insertion of a new ‘something’ that might owe its taste or texture or sense to a past, but be equally indebted to the now, to a spontaneous eruption of a creative spirit that can’t be contained within the parameters of the pre-existing, ‘known’ past to which it might refer.
By fabricating, our intention is not to somehow elevate the reimagining over any existing, dominant narrative. Its purpose is to highlight the tenuous relation a story has in the first place to a transient ‘truth’. It’s a way to get inside the mythology built around a location such as Bundanon, peer beneath the mysterious aura of a site that played such an important role in the later life of one of our most venerated artists.
Our discussions about what was drawing us to the project, what possible means we may have of providing a meaningful site specific study of Bundaon, kept slipping into questions of time’s inexorable passage; the steady march of the future advancing on the present and outflanking the past, such that the mutability of time rendered impossible the notion of capturing forever an essence or truth claim that could somehow exist as an artefact outside of time/space/place.
Faced with such a slippery substance, the options were to pretend it wasn’t an issue, taking the usual path and pushing such concerns to one side, or to tackle them head on and try to beat them at their own game.
This very concept of contested histories, clashing perspectives and the erosion of a truth when seen through the prism of time, were in ample evidence over our weekend brainstorming session. By Sunday, the interpretations of what had taken place and been agreed upon the day prior were as colourfully varied as they were hotly debated. There were five recollections each struggling to be heard, but coming up against disparate and contradictory ‘histories’ of the day. It was exhausting and not exactly easy, but at the very least such friction illustrated everything we had been discussing.
In the same way, the parallel stories and histories we intend to develop through our Bundanon project are likely to slip in and out of safe ground, to allow some footholds while asking for the occasional leap of faith. Suspension of disbelief is, perhaps, the first step towards learning. Our aim is to lead participants on just such a learning experience into the unknown, albeit one in which we firmly recommend the odd grain of salt be brought for the ride.
-Benjamin
Although it will be very much immersed in the natural and built environment of Bundanon, one of the main facets of this site-specific project we've talked about is the site's history. Now there’s a safe place to work - it’s happened, it’s there to be dug up; it’s straightforward documented fact. A cursory read of this and that and we’re set to roll. Except...
I’m much more comfortable with the notion of ‘histories’, and from preliminary conversations over the weekend retreat just held in Blackheath in the Blue Mountains, there’s a sense in the life between buildings camp that there’s a shared interest in exploring the endless potential opened up by this notion. Rhiannon's idea of 'interventions' snowballed into all sorts of ideas being thrown about - some achievable, some likely to fall by the wayside - of how the different histories could be brought to life.
In our art as in our life, it seems we are all endeavouring to open up new possibilities, to rethink ways of seeing and creating. The challenges we set ourselves involve contesting received logics, narratives, histories; spoon-fed stories of easily digestible and non-contradictory factlets. That’s not to say we don’t all love our snippets and stories, the process of learning and understanding, it’s more to do with the grain of salt we each tend to carry in our pockets everywhere we go.
Our first major project together, a site-specific creative response based on Bundanon and its multi-layered recent past (working homestead, Boyd family residence, bequeathed arts retreat), is an opportunity to see where this approach can take us. Initial instincts may be to take the spoonfeeding, to respond in a way that seamlessly incorporates the ‘known’ Bundanon, but far more exciting is the potential for intervening on behalf of the overlooked, the unremembered, the never allowed.
A shorthand term for our approach to exploring such mythologies might be ‘fabrications'. The notion of place and history is so loaded, where is one to begin? The fabric of history will become, in our project, a fabricated history. By blurring the boundaries of the known and the unknown, the likely and unlikely - the possible and impossible – it’s likely to pose as many questions as it does answers. But therein lies the appeal, for we’re each interested in opening up rather than closing off, inviting rather than imposing - asking rather than telling.
Along the way, the very notion of creativity is likely to be brought into question. Does one create something if simply trading upon a pre-packaged past? Or does there need to more, an intervention into that past, an insertion of a new ‘something’ that might owe its taste or texture or sense to a past, but be equally indebted to the now, to a spontaneous eruption of a creative spirit that can’t be contained within the parameters of the pre-existing, ‘known’ past to which it might refer.
By fabricating, our intention is not to somehow elevate the reimagining over any existing, dominant narrative. Its purpose is to highlight the tenuous relation a story has in the first place to a transient ‘truth’. It’s a way to get inside the mythology built around a location such as Bundanon, peer beneath the mysterious aura of a site that played such an important role in the later life of one of our most venerated artists.
Our discussions about what was drawing us to the project, what possible means we may have of providing a meaningful site specific study of Bundaon, kept slipping into questions of time’s inexorable passage; the steady march of the future advancing on the present and outflanking the past, such that the mutability of time rendered impossible the notion of capturing forever an essence or truth claim that could somehow exist as an artefact outside of time/space/place.
Faced with such a slippery substance, the options were to pretend it wasn’t an issue, taking the usual path and pushing such concerns to one side, or to tackle them head on and try to beat them at their own game.
This very concept of contested histories, clashing perspectives and the erosion of a truth when seen through the prism of time, were in ample evidence over our weekend brainstorming session. By Sunday, the interpretations of what had taken place and been agreed upon the day prior were as colourfully varied as they were hotly debated. There were five recollections each struggling to be heard, but coming up against disparate and contradictory ‘histories’ of the day. It was exhausting and not exactly easy, but at the very least such friction illustrated everything we had been discussing.
In the same way, the parallel stories and histories we intend to develop through our Bundanon project are likely to slip in and out of safe ground, to allow some footholds while asking for the occasional leap of faith. Suspension of disbelief is, perhaps, the first step towards learning. Our aim is to lead participants on just such a learning experience into the unknown, albeit one in which we firmly recommend the odd grain of salt be brought for the ride.
-Benjamin
Monday, February 25
The long drive up to Blackheath gave me an opportunity to think about ideas for our project. And one of the thoughts I thunk was to do with blurring the boundaries between reality and art.
As an audience member, I thought it would be interesting to be walking in the native environment surrounding Bundanon, and to see a bug sitting on a rock, and need to do a double take in order to work out if it was real or fake. Or to see a canvas stuck to a tree, and not be sure where one ended and the other began – part of the canvas could imitate the texture and colours of the tree while the other part was imagined – a fantastical creature leaning against the trunk. Or to be walking past a fence and be momentarily confused about whether what you saw was a missing paling, or a photo of what was on the other side.
According to Julian, this approach has a label – ‘interventions’.
Perhaps these 'interventions' could become more and more fantastical as the artwork progressed.
I get nervous explaining my ideas to the group because what sounds great in my head is sometimes a lot less convincing when it comes out in words.
But thankfully this idea spurred some enthusiasm. Some of the ideas that grew out of our discussion included the exploration of place and how it changes over time. Maybe one of our ‘interventions’ could be a TV screen set in a particular environment, and events on the TV screen – changes caused by wind, light, weather – could occur at a different speed from the more static surroundings.
Using interventions might also give us a vehicle in which we could explore the relationship between the natural and built environments. Where does one stop and the other begin? Could we exaggerate the overlap?
Thinking about our small scale interventions also prompted a conversation about the impact of larger-scale intrusions. The Shoalhaven River runs through Bundanon, and when it was dammed it apparently caused several species of fish to become extinct. Maybe our project could incorporate interventions on a range of different scales?
-Rhiannon
As an audience member, I thought it would be interesting to be walking in the native environment surrounding Bundanon, and to see a bug sitting on a rock, and need to do a double take in order to work out if it was real or fake. Or to see a canvas stuck to a tree, and not be sure where one ended and the other began – part of the canvas could imitate the texture and colours of the tree while the other part was imagined – a fantastical creature leaning against the trunk. Or to be walking past a fence and be momentarily confused about whether what you saw was a missing paling, or a photo of what was on the other side.
According to Julian, this approach has a label – ‘interventions’.
Perhaps these 'interventions' could become more and more fantastical as the artwork progressed.
I get nervous explaining my ideas to the group because what sounds great in my head is sometimes a lot less convincing when it comes out in words.
But thankfully this idea spurred some enthusiasm. Some of the ideas that grew out of our discussion included the exploration of place and how it changes over time. Maybe one of our ‘interventions’ could be a TV screen set in a particular environment, and events on the TV screen – changes caused by wind, light, weather – could occur at a different speed from the more static surroundings.
Using interventions might also give us a vehicle in which we could explore the relationship between the natural and built environments. Where does one stop and the other begin? Could we exaggerate the overlap?
Thinking about our small scale interventions also prompted a conversation about the impact of larger-scale intrusions. The Shoalhaven River runs through Bundanon, and when it was dammed it apparently caused several species of fish to become extinct. Maybe our project could incorporate interventions on a range of different scales?
-Rhiannon
Approaches to collaboration\creativity
During the weekend it became apparent that each of us had different ways of approaching the collaborative process and that our minds engaged with the creative process in different ways. The significance of this was that if affected how we worked through topics and the time that we had to devote to each subject.
For example, an agenda item for the weekend was to decide on a specific project. Personally, I find working on something much easier when I have a specific project in mind. I like to know what it is I’m exploring conceptually/theoretically and the medium through which I will express it. Others in the group didn’t want to commit to a specific project until they had collected all the material for the project and then ascertained the way they wanted to use it.
These differences in approach have meant we’ve had to compromise. Those of us that want the specific project identified have managed to get a general commitment from the others to the idea of working on an onsite installation at Bundanon: subject to the proviso that if the material we collect there isn’t conducive to this or if it turns out we’re not allowed to do what we want (eg for public liability reasons or because we can’t afford the equipment we require) then we’ll go ahead with a different specific project instead. We’re aiming to brainstorm more ideas for the onsite installation and in two or three weeks time to get in touch with Bundanon to check that we will be allowed to put on the types of onsite installations we have in mind.
It remains to see whether this approach of ‘sort of but not quite committing yet to a specific project’ provides a workable compromise – but that’s part of this process – exploring what does and doesn’t work in the collaborative context. If it doesn’t work, then at least we will have learnt from the process.
Although we have all worked on various collaborative projects the collaborations have generally been much smaller – two artists working together. Bringing together five different artists to work collaboratively on the one project presents challenges that none of us have dealt with before.
One solution we raised to the challenge of the large size of our group was for the five of us to all work individually towards a collective outcome for project; ie to agree on one concept and then to take five different approaches to that concept. We all agreed this would be the quickest, easiest way to work. Julian explained that this was the approach he took with his collaborative project Compost. We all agreed that this approach didn’t capture what we wanted to achieve at Bundanon. In deciding to work together we all wanted the chance to work together on specific aspects of the work – to get another person’s input and ideas as the works evolved.
We also rejected the idea that all five of us will work together on absolutely everything. We have done quite a lot of work together in the early stages in an attempt to bring ourselves closer to a common understanding of what we want to achieve and in order to be ‘sparked’ or inspired by the others. We’ve brainstormed the theoretical basis of our proposal and some specific ideas for how we will achieve this. Having had these intensive periods of talking, which are to be supplemented by blog discussions, we don’t intend to take this collaborative approach all the way through each artwork. Instead we feel there will be some parts of the installation to which we all contribute, but for the most part we will break into smaller groups of two or three people working collaboratively on the specific aspects.
It has also been suggested that we select five sites at Bundanon for installations. Each person will have one site that they curate and will be responsible for getting the others involved with creating work for that site. Not everyone has to contribute to each site. Some techniques of working will be more time consuming that others, so where a technique or practice is more time consuming that person may find they only have time to contribute to a few of the sites.
We also discovered that conceptually we work quite differently. I grab onto the theory or idea very quickly and immediately want to drill down into the specific examples, to think about the application of the theory and how I will achieve it. I don’t like to spend too long talking about the high level concepts as I feel that’s a waste of time, I’d much rather be getting my hands dirty with writing a song or recording sound effects. Dan on the other hand liked to have the conceptual more firmly embedded in her mind. Rhiannon and I busily threw up ideas for specific tasks, such as creating interpretative signs, or writing a love song to conjure up romance and intrigue in the bushland grotto near the homestead. Dan felt she wasn’t contributing as much to specific ideas during this brainstorming and she was much happier spending more time discussing the high level ideas. On the second day Dan drew up a mud map of all the concepts we had discussed: authenticity, fabricated history, impermanence, etc. Having drawn up the mud map and discussed the concepts in more detail Dan was much happier to move along with the discussions – she told us that before doing that she had felt it was confusing and that she didn’t really understand what it was we were trying to achieve.
- Serena
For example, an agenda item for the weekend was to decide on a specific project. Personally, I find working on something much easier when I have a specific project in mind. I like to know what it is I’m exploring conceptually/theoretically and the medium through which I will express it. Others in the group didn’t want to commit to a specific project until they had collected all the material for the project and then ascertained the way they wanted to use it.
These differences in approach have meant we’ve had to compromise. Those of us that want the specific project identified have managed to get a general commitment from the others to the idea of working on an onsite installation at Bundanon: subject to the proviso that if the material we collect there isn’t conducive to this or if it turns out we’re not allowed to do what we want (eg for public liability reasons or because we can’t afford the equipment we require) then we’ll go ahead with a different specific project instead. We’re aiming to brainstorm more ideas for the onsite installation and in two or three weeks time to get in touch with Bundanon to check that we will be allowed to put on the types of onsite installations we have in mind.
It remains to see whether this approach of ‘sort of but not quite committing yet to a specific project’ provides a workable compromise – but that’s part of this process – exploring what does and doesn’t work in the collaborative context. If it doesn’t work, then at least we will have learnt from the process.
Although we have all worked on various collaborative projects the collaborations have generally been much smaller – two artists working together. Bringing together five different artists to work collaboratively on the one project presents challenges that none of us have dealt with before.
One solution we raised to the challenge of the large size of our group was for the five of us to all work individually towards a collective outcome for project; ie to agree on one concept and then to take five different approaches to that concept. We all agreed this would be the quickest, easiest way to work. Julian explained that this was the approach he took with his collaborative project Compost. We all agreed that this approach didn’t capture what we wanted to achieve at Bundanon. In deciding to work together we all wanted the chance to work together on specific aspects of the work – to get another person’s input and ideas as the works evolved.
We also rejected the idea that all five of us will work together on absolutely everything. We have done quite a lot of work together in the early stages in an attempt to bring ourselves closer to a common understanding of what we want to achieve and in order to be ‘sparked’ or inspired by the others. We’ve brainstormed the theoretical basis of our proposal and some specific ideas for how we will achieve this. Having had these intensive periods of talking, which are to be supplemented by blog discussions, we don’t intend to take this collaborative approach all the way through each artwork. Instead we feel there will be some parts of the installation to which we all contribute, but for the most part we will break into smaller groups of two or three people working collaboratively on the specific aspects.
It has also been suggested that we select five sites at Bundanon for installations. Each person will have one site that they curate and will be responsible for getting the others involved with creating work for that site. Not everyone has to contribute to each site. Some techniques of working will be more time consuming that others, so where a technique or practice is more time consuming that person may find they only have time to contribute to a few of the sites.
We also discovered that conceptually we work quite differently. I grab onto the theory or idea very quickly and immediately want to drill down into the specific examples, to think about the application of the theory and how I will achieve it. I don’t like to spend too long talking about the high level concepts as I feel that’s a waste of time, I’d much rather be getting my hands dirty with writing a song or recording sound effects. Dan on the other hand liked to have the conceptual more firmly embedded in her mind. Rhiannon and I busily threw up ideas for specific tasks, such as creating interpretative signs, or writing a love song to conjure up romance and intrigue in the bushland grotto near the homestead. Dan felt she wasn’t contributing as much to specific ideas during this brainstorming and she was much happier spending more time discussing the high level ideas. On the second day Dan drew up a mud map of all the concepts we had discussed: authenticity, fabricated history, impermanence, etc. Having drawn up the mud map and discussed the concepts in more detail Dan was much happier to move along with the discussions – she told us that before doing that she had felt it was confusing and that she didn’t really understand what it was we were trying to achieve.
- Serena
Wednesday, February 20
organising this weekend
Hi all,
Thanks for your beautifully eloquent blogs Dan and Ben!
This is just about my first ever blog entry, so I'm avoiding the eloquent and just going for organisational.
So, we're all meeting up this weekend to organise and create for Bundanon (our residency is on in 2 months' time!).
Friday night I'm guessing we're meeting at the pub. I'll be there from 7.30pm onwards. If anyone is going to be much later than 9.30pm perhaps it's better just to meet at the house instead of the pub?
Food is almost organised - Dan, do you require further shopping list suggestions or clarifications?
In terms of the weekend itself, I see a rough outline as follows (open to any suggestions of course!)
Friday night - all arrive at Blackheath and spend time catching up and sharing project ideas.
Saturday morning - people get up whenever they want, have breakkie and then spend the morning on their own creative stuff, inspired by being in Blackheath and by thoughts for the Bundanon residency.
Saturday lunch - all come together and share lunch.
Saturday afternoon - let's spend say 1-2 hours sharing the work/ideas that we generated during the morning. The remainder of the day I think should be spent planning a timetable for our time at Bundanon and agreeing on a central project.
Saturday dinner - Serena to cook. Julian is heading back to Sydney for work. The remaining 4 of us should do a creative activity. How about we all improvise songs/music on a theme (ie just to muck around and be creative).
Sunday morning - creative time.
Sunday afternoon - more planning (repeat of Saturday afternoon).
Later Sunday afternoon - all clean the house.
Sunday evening - head back home (possibly via dinner at Dan's house).
How does that fit with everyone?
- Serena
Thanks for your beautifully eloquent blogs Dan and Ben!
This is just about my first ever blog entry, so I'm avoiding the eloquent and just going for organisational.
So, we're all meeting up this weekend to organise and create for Bundanon (our residency is on in 2 months' time!).
Friday night I'm guessing we're meeting at the pub. I'll be there from 7.30pm onwards. If anyone is going to be much later than 9.30pm perhaps it's better just to meet at the house instead of the pub?
Food is almost organised - Dan, do you require further shopping list suggestions or clarifications?
In terms of the weekend itself, I see a rough outline as follows (open to any suggestions of course!)
Friday night - all arrive at Blackheath and spend time catching up and sharing project ideas.
Saturday morning - people get up whenever they want, have breakkie and then spend the morning on their own creative stuff, inspired by being in Blackheath and by thoughts for the Bundanon residency.
Saturday lunch - all come together and share lunch.
Saturday afternoon - let's spend say 1-2 hours sharing the work/ideas that we generated during the morning. The remainder of the day I think should be spent planning a timetable for our time at Bundanon and agreeing on a central project.
Saturday dinner - Serena to cook. Julian is heading back to Sydney for work. The remaining 4 of us should do a creative activity. How about we all improvise songs/music on a theme (ie just to muck around and be creative).
Sunday morning - creative time.
Sunday afternoon - more planning (repeat of Saturday afternoon).
Later Sunday afternoon - all clean the house.
Sunday evening - head back home (possibly via dinner at Dan's house).
How does that fit with everyone?
- Serena
Monday, February 11
A life of its own
Where does it come from? Or, as my inner sub-editor would insist I put it (would insist it be put?): from where does it come?
With photography, it seems at times to be a simple matter of ‘capturing a moment’, a scene, a pre-existing slice of life that is there to be witnessed, with the click of a shutter button all that’s required to transfer this graspable, definable, readily perceivable moment to film – or, increasingly, pixels. But of course in that instant a multitude of decisions are being made. For every shutter speed selected countless more are discarded. The edges of the selected scene are determined in part by the parameters of the lens, in part by the judgment as to where the ‘interest’ and 'story' begins and ceases to exist.
How many details are allowed to be brought in? Where will the focus be? What level of implied movement will be allowed, how much will the illusion of time passing be sutured to what is a medium that is necessarily timeless, frozen, terrifyingly still? Because a photograph is implication, a visual fragment redolent of so much more, a form of suggestion that awakens the absent senses to their possibilities, the sound and smell and taste that all existed in that moment.
Working with sound is almost the converse. From the very beginning we are blind. Or, more accurately, we must render ourselves blind to what we have the luxury of being able to see. Again, decisions must be made, certain aspects must be elevated over others. Working with voices, we need to understand that once these voices are recorded, removed from the circumstances and environment of their instantiation, all that is left is disembodied sound that will bear to varying degrees a resemblance to their uttering, but carrying no trace of the visual cues of social interaction.
With ‘found sound’, the exhilaration of the city or exhalation of the earth, there is always a question as to how much of that environment we are trying to evoke, or how much we are content for it to be divorced from its moment of production. On one hand it will depend upon our purposes, our intentions, yet on the other there is always this – regardless of what we may have in our own mind, the message or story we are trying to project, once we use it, release it back into the wild amidst all the other sounds, it will once again take on a life all of its very own.
With the act of writing, it appears even more is left to chance, whim or personal idiosyncrasy. From a seething multitude of words we pluck a random selection and string them into what is hopefully a coherent whole. Like side-show contortionists they twist and turn, toss and tumble, reflecting not a moment or reality, but the inner workings of an imagination run amok.
Yet on closer inspection, one wonders if that is indeed the case. These words are all being drawn from somewhere; they are being placed one after another not as random artefacts, but as known objects being used in a familiar fashion. To make any sense, we rely on certain patterns and concepts, a shared agreement on what is and is not acceptable, understandable. Of course all these rules can be broken, but one wonders if the same is not true of photography, sound, painting, drawing, sculpting, music.
I think it is and it isn’t; there are perhaps common points, cross-over moments, shared traits. But – rather more excitingly - each has its own strengths and weaknesses, each holds a power and a mystery that the others can but struggle to emulate, necessarily failing, falling, yet standing up, dusting themselves off again and jumping out once more into that unknown, where they will either briefly touch that which they seek, or fall into a beautiful mess while striving.
It is this mystery and the opportunity to create work that will take on an unpredictable life of its own that has drawn me to the life between buildings project, as well, of course, as the opportunity to work closely and creatively with Danielle, Rhiannon, Julian and Serena - special people whose own work and ideas and passions I have long admired. I can’t wait to see what happens as we bring all these aspects together, discovering what new spaces are created when all these voices and fragments and ideas collide, coalesce and combine.
- Benjamin
With photography, it seems at times to be a simple matter of ‘capturing a moment’, a scene, a pre-existing slice of life that is there to be witnessed, with the click of a shutter button all that’s required to transfer this graspable, definable, readily perceivable moment to film – or, increasingly, pixels. But of course in that instant a multitude of decisions are being made. For every shutter speed selected countless more are discarded. The edges of the selected scene are determined in part by the parameters of the lens, in part by the judgment as to where the ‘interest’ and 'story' begins and ceases to exist.
How many details are allowed to be brought in? Where will the focus be? What level of implied movement will be allowed, how much will the illusion of time passing be sutured to what is a medium that is necessarily timeless, frozen, terrifyingly still? Because a photograph is implication, a visual fragment redolent of so much more, a form of suggestion that awakens the absent senses to their possibilities, the sound and smell and taste that all existed in that moment.
Working with sound is almost the converse. From the very beginning we are blind. Or, more accurately, we must render ourselves blind to what we have the luxury of being able to see. Again, decisions must be made, certain aspects must be elevated over others. Working with voices, we need to understand that once these voices are recorded, removed from the circumstances and environment of their instantiation, all that is left is disembodied sound that will bear to varying degrees a resemblance to their uttering, but carrying no trace of the visual cues of social interaction.
With ‘found sound’, the exhilaration of the city or exhalation of the earth, there is always a question as to how much of that environment we are trying to evoke, or how much we are content for it to be divorced from its moment of production. On one hand it will depend upon our purposes, our intentions, yet on the other there is always this – regardless of what we may have in our own mind, the message or story we are trying to project, once we use it, release it back into the wild amidst all the other sounds, it will once again take on a life all of its very own.
With the act of writing, it appears even more is left to chance, whim or personal idiosyncrasy. From a seething multitude of words we pluck a random selection and string them into what is hopefully a coherent whole. Like side-show contortionists they twist and turn, toss and tumble, reflecting not a moment or reality, but the inner workings of an imagination run amok.
Yet on closer inspection, one wonders if that is indeed the case. These words are all being drawn from somewhere; they are being placed one after another not as random artefacts, but as known objects being used in a familiar fashion. To make any sense, we rely on certain patterns and concepts, a shared agreement on what is and is not acceptable, understandable. Of course all these rules can be broken, but one wonders if the same is not true of photography, sound, painting, drawing, sculpting, music.
I think it is and it isn’t; there are perhaps common points, cross-over moments, shared traits. But – rather more excitingly - each has its own strengths and weaknesses, each holds a power and a mystery that the others can but struggle to emulate, necessarily failing, falling, yet standing up, dusting themselves off again and jumping out once more into that unknown, where they will either briefly touch that which they seek, or fall into a beautiful mess while striving.
It is this mystery and the opportunity to create work that will take on an unpredictable life of its own that has drawn me to the life between buildings project, as well, of course, as the opportunity to work closely and creatively with Danielle, Rhiannon, Julian and Serena - special people whose own work and ideas and passions I have long admired. I can’t wait to see what happens as we bring all these aspects together, discovering what new spaces are created when all these voices and fragments and ideas collide, coalesce and combine.
- Benjamin
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