Melting Down for Rosemary Lee

This year I'm taking part in Rosemary Lee's Melt Down, included in the Dance Umbrella 2012 programme and which will be performed in Granary Square, Kings Cross, London, on Sun 7, Sat 13 & Sun 14 October.

Originally commissioned for Dance Umbrella 2011, where the piece was performed around a square in Bloomsbury, it has now been reworked suit the busier and more urban location at the back of the station.

Showing you a picture of us rehearsing might be giving too much of the game away, so I've included the image above, where a garment was used as a prop in a warm up exercise lead by our rehearsal master Luke Birch before doing an actual run through of the Melt Down.  To me the image says something fundamental about the piece, and all things for that matter - we are all subject to the one inescapable force, and that is gravity.

background image by John Sturrock, foreground
image by Richard Oliver

vanity weaves

Over a month already since the last weekly post…  Time is a fierce adversary!   Making up for it now with a brand new film of the newly restored weaving time machines. Commissioned privately over a year ago, I teamed up with the genial Marcelo Barbosa to develop these sculptures.

Hacking into old IKEA lampshades, as well as various basketry items originally collected for Hybrid Basketry, the woven capsules rotate inside one another and generate light. They measure time, weaving light and motion in a continuous cycle. Think of them as inverted kaleidoscopes, projecting light patterns onto their surroundings.  This kinetic playfulness is double edged however. The light is trapped in the complex intertwined patterns of the weave and you’ll notice a skull at the centre of one of the capsules. The sculptures are vanitas, reminding us that with each rotation we are irremediably closer to death. All light creates shade.

Only while writing this am I reminded of Come Back, an equally dark and mysterious light installation I created at St Pancras Chambers for the exhibition Shine curated by Up Projects, a London based arts organisation who are soon to celebrate their 10^th anniversary. Come Back consisted of a rotating projection in a darkened room spelling the words that make up it’s title and could only be seen from the outside through a half opened door.  It’s strange to realise how creative thoughts, something I've referred to in my previous post on this blog, tend to come round in circles.

same old thing

cotton and wool, 1995/6 (top) and 
dailymade May 2012 (above)

I’ve taken on reorganising the studio and office this summer, at last! This is some undertaking after years spent hoarding and accumulating stuff. As anything is potential material for work, I have the perfect excuse to keep hold of all sorts of stuff, and crisis point was reached during two recent visits at the studio when the work I produced could hardly be viewed amongst stacks of materials, equipment and tools. So, drastic action had to be taken!

pecan nuts, beads and wire, 2006 (top) and 
dailymade July 2012 (above)

Going through old boxes I was struck how some of the work made almost two decades ago echoed some of my recent dailymades. Some of them have actually found their way on recent posts on the blog.  This made my think of the words of the late genial performer and choreographer Nigel Charnock in an interview with Sonia Baraga.  Artists he said always tinker at the same piece in order to get to that ‘thing’, whatever it is, and ultimately fail to do so.  This doesn’t matter in the end, as the process of getting there is what counts and the ultimate goal takes second place.  Wise words, and Nigel, you will be very sadly missed.

the making of Garland #10 (top), 2006 and prop workshop
for One giant Leap (above), 2012

toothpicks and wire, 1996 (top) and 
dailymade August 2012 (above)

dailymade April 2012 (top) and 
dailymade August 2012 (above)

art for health: remembering and forgetting

Teddy Boys, D.A. haircuts and Camberwell Beauties

‘Memory is a perpetually actual phenomenon, a bond tying us to the eternal present; history a representation of the past’ – Pierre Nora

These last few weeks I have been collecting memories from patients suffering from aphasia with three other artists for Little Boxes of Memories, a project run by Entelechy Arts in partnership with the Museum of London and funded by the Heritage Lottery Fund and Lewisham Hospital Arts Committee.  These memories will provide material for the creation of multi sensory boxes to be used as resources in schools, props in a performance as well as potential exhibits in a future exhibition.

My focus throughout the project was to collect these memories through making. Symptoms of aphasia being commonly movement as well as speech impairment, I was prepared for a challenge.  I brought in objects and materials to each of the sessions and used these as introduction, 'meeting points', that prompted engagement and exchange.  Over the course of the few weeks more objects and materials were brought in by the patients and furnish their bedside spaces and were shared amongst themselves.  This gave the patients a sense of agency and choice and created a sense of community much needed at a time of loss, fracture and trauma.

ball inspired by T.'s tales of football and cricket

3-way plait inspired by D's recollections of making 
across three generations in her family

Many rich and evocative stories were communicated to us over the course of the few weeks and we are now working on how to represent these in the boxes. This process had started early for me as I responded to the stories by producing objects with the patients, which in turn prompted more conversations and revelations and created a connection between us. Reading studies on memory, I recognised how the fear of forgetting can trigger memory and how the reverse is also true.  Pierre Nora argues in Les Lieux de Mémoire how memory stands in opposition to history rather than being complimentary to it.  He writes 'memory, insofar as it is affective and magical, only accommodates those facts that suit it; it nourishes recollections that may be out of focus or telescopic, global or detached, particular or symbolic'. How accurate the patients' memories were didn't matter so much in the end because it is in the recounting of these itself that the past was reconciled with the present, and the possibility created for future imaginings.

‘Memory takes root in the concrete, in spaces, gestures, images, objects; history binds itself strictly to temporal continuities, to progressions and to relations between things.  Memory is absolute, while history can only conceive the relative.' – Pierre Nora

tales of London recounted by patients about to be released
(London AZ pages)

Intelligent Trouble at the Olympics

Intelligent Trouble's Podia Project at the Horninam Museum

Last week three members of Intelligent Trouble got together at the Horniman Museum, on the occasion of the Olympic torch passing through Lewisham, and made their contribution to the Podia Project.  David Gates, Katy Hackney and myself asked visitors to write down sporting memories and personal accounts of winning and loosing. These messages were then attached to helium filled balloons, secured to the ground, to create podia of different heights on a high spot in the museum’s grounds overlooking South London. 

It was a bright and breezy day, and all went according to plan as the balloons were swept this way and that, making the podia levels indistinguishable from one from another and reaffirming the message shared by most of the participants that it’s not all about winning but simply taking part. 

The inflatable display had many stop and pause over the course of the day, looking at the panoramic view over London, and generally made the most of one of the first sunny days we’ve had in London this summer.  Releasing the balloons at the end of the day and have the messages carried up and away across the city would have been great, but our thoughts went out to the turtles out at sea who fatally mistake remnants of latex balloons floating out at sea for jelly fish, as well as other sea life, and did the environmentally sensible thing by handing them out to the visitors on their way out of the park.  A win-win situation all round.

make bindweed a bonus

for information on twining and other basketry techniques using hedgerow
and recycled materials, see Practical Basketry Techniques

I made a basket last week using bindweed, the parasitic plant that is the bane of gardeners. I had no idea what it would be like to weave with, but once stripped of its leaves, dried and soaked again, it proved ideal to work with. I posted what I made on dailymades and twitter and this prompted such interest from makers and gardeners alike, I collected more to experiment with.

The basket above drew inspiration from a twining project included Practical Basketry Techniques. I next use a bunch of coffee stirrers and bindweed to twine with, inspired by a recent 3D doodle also posted on dailymades.

Experimenting directly with the materials and allowing for their physical characteristics to determine the  shape and pattern of the objects I made was a real adventure. Seeing the Thomas Heatherwick show at the Victoria and Albert Museum at the time I was making these also framed my thinking. As written in the exhibition literature, Heatherwick Studio 'investigate the physical behaviour of materials and celebrate the creative potential of an action or a single moment'. Their ‘creative process becomes one of choosing rather than designing’. So, it is no longer a matter of ‘form over function’ or 'function over form', as material now also has to be thrown into the equation!  Hmmm...

Now for the science bit.  If you are interested in working with bindweed, here are a couple of essential tips:

1. Allow the bindweed to mellow for a day also before stripping the leaves.  The plant material will have softened by then reducing the amount of breakage as you strip. 

2. Coil the stems and allow to dry for 2/3 days before using.  Simply soak in water for a couple of hours before weaving.  NB: Using hot/warm water will reduce the soaking time and bring out the colour in the bindweed.

So, all that's left to say is best with your weeding and weaving...

walking piece

I’ve worked myself up into a state of excited anticipation sending out a group email recently with details of Matthias Sperling’s Walking Piece, which I’m performing at Siobhan Davies Studios as part of the Footfall event tomorrow.  Walking Piece is an installation performance where a diverse group of performers come together to create a single-file loop that continuously circumnavigates the building, passing through a score of playful performative tasks along the way.

I got involved in the project for various reasons.  I was intrigued by its title. Walking is such an ordinary thing, most of us do it, usually without thinking about it. But when you do start thinking about it, it does become rather extraordinary. Walking is not just about moving, it is also about thinking, making a connection with place and site, and also communicating in a social context.

The other reason for getting involved is I recently created a site specific installation at the studios.  A group of three dancers walked up and down the staircase using the metal framework as a device to weave on (click here of details and see previous posts on this blog). I also used the outdoor staircase during the project, so the parallels with Matthias’ piece intrigued me. I am interested in the performance of craft, site responsive approaches to making and developing work and participation, so was curious to get an insight into his way of working. 

Ready Steady Stitch (bobbin lace) #3
Siobhan Davies Studios architectural plan for
staircase, thread & pins on foam

It’s my first time doing anything of this kind.  I did take off all my clothes for one of Spencer Tunick’s human installation a few years back, accompanied by 1000 other people, but it hardly compares.  It’s also been a while since I’ve taken a dance class. After 10+ rehearsals, Walking Piece does feel very familiar.  However, each time we’ve run through it at rehearsal, it feels like it is being reinvented.  This comes from having to perform tasks rather than remember sequences of actions and movements as we walk through the building. The meaning is in the moment, acting in the present rather than re enacting the past. It is a live exchange between the building, the performers and the audience, and I very much look forward to the ‘reinvention’ of the work happening tomorrow.  Performing Walking Piece throughout the day will be like performing it for the first time again, and again, and again…

This is a radical approach for a maker, and I love it!  It resonates with my own practice where I consider the process as much as product, and prompt social interaction through making rather than simply looking at art.  In Walking Piece, the social dimension of the work is essential.  The tasks become meaningless without interaction from others and become almost impossible to perform.

It’s been fascinating to see Matthias at work, and see how he has shaped the piece over the few weeks of rehearsals, responding to how we performed the tasks and then tweaking his instructions to us on what our intentions might be when performing these.  Much food for thought…  I’ve truly taken my head as well as my feet for a walk, and gained trim legs in the process!

Desire Line #3, 2011
jute twine
site specific installation piece in Fermynwoods, 2011

sycamore is for curiosity

Sycamore (Acer pseudoplatanus) grows like a weed in London.  You’ll find it sprouting all over the city alongside fences, railings and buildings. Any bit of unattended ground is an ideal home for this opportunistic plant and with all the rain we’ve had in recent weeks, what were small shoots a while back now amount to small woodland areas.  This is the case near my studio, where I’ve gone out to collect some equipped with a saw and pair of loppers. Who am I to turn down free materials?

The aim was to strip the bark off the wood collected and use it for plaiting and weaving.  So far I’ve used every part of the tree but the leaves, so these trees haven’t been felled in vain. If I was making garments, this approach would be equivalent to zero waste pattern cutting. All this has led to really interesting experimentation.  I’ve assembled, plaited, coiled and twined the leaf stalks to make nest like constructions and baskets.  I’ve bent, split and joined freshly stripped branches to make bowl and plate shaped recipients.  I’ll be working with the leaves next, so keep your eyes peeled on this coming week’s dailymades. I was only looking at an old catalogue of Andy Goldsworthy the other day. Such inspiration… If anyone knows how to work with leaves, he does!

stripped and bent sycamore

sycamore leaf stalks and branches

I’ve yet to find out what will come of all this work I’ve done: the development of new products, fresh ideas and approaches for making sculptures, new activities to be practiced in future collaborative projects… It’s too early to say, but I’ve realised there is something fundamental about working with trees.  It has something to do about connection you’re making with the environment. Phil Macnaghten writes eloquently in his short essay on trees in Patterned Ground: Entanglements of Nature and Culture, about their ‘dynamic temporality’, their ‘contribution to a sense of place’, and their relationship with people being historically ‘intimate and productive, reflected in customs of hunting, foraging, burning, beekeeping, building, grazing, and so on…’.  He also says trees ‘exhibit a rhythmic pattern of persistence and change, from the swaying, bending and twisting of branches, to the growth of leaves and ripening of fruit, to eventual death and decay.  Trees embody an intergenerational model of time’.  It is possibly this idea of time that has drawn me in, something that is of course pertinent to making, and weaving in particular.

sycamore leaf stalks

plaited and coiled sycamore leaf stalks

sycamore seeds, leaf stalks and bindweed

Foraging for sycamore has left me wanting to know much more than simply weaving with bark, so it is no surprise to find out that the symbolic meaning of sycamore is curiosity.

sycamore bark

sugar is forever

Love, Hope, Melancholy and Deceit  (rose, almond flowers, geranium, anemone)
mixed emotion series 2005
glass, royal icing, petal paste, edible colouring

Followers of dailymades might  have spotted the highly decorative cake topper (pictured at bottom of this post) dropped in amongst other creations made out hedgerow materials in recent days. Somewhat incongrous I know. How this came about was being asked to make a wedding cake for a friend of mine who knows of my sugar sculptures and installations. My interest in sugarcraft dates back a while, and oddly enough, came out of my interest weaving and needlecraft. The Tate Gallery asked me in 2005 to lead a lace making family workshop, linked to a re-hang of Tudor portraits paintings in their galleries  featuring elaborate lace fabrics. Thinking I couldn’t sustain the attention of my young participants with stitching (experience has taught me otherwise since), I suggested piping with icing instead to create lace patterns. The project was a great success with some 300 cakes decorated in a couple of hours. I’m sure the prospect of eating your creations at the end of the workshop contributed to this high level of production.

Sweet Nothings: an intimate history of cake decorating
Pump house Gallery, London, 2005

The project did whet my appetite (quite literally) and prompted me to find out more about using sugar as a material to work with. I took up a residency at the Pump House Gallery during the show Ceremony, co-curated by Freddie Robins. I presented the project Sweet Nothings: an intimate history of cake decorating where I invited visitors to decorate a cake according to a theme of their own choosing. I also got professionals in the field to lead various classes throughout the project. This is as close I got to any formal training in cake decorating.

Sweet Nothings led me then to look at the Victorian language of flowers, and produce a number of sculptures using sugar and glass. Red roses symbolise passion and love, yellow ones decreasing love and jealousy, while anemones means deceit to illustrate but a few.  I played around with positive and negative symbolic meanings, and created sugar flowers displayed under cut glass, its refraction interfering with identifying these and reading their meaning. I also liked the way the bitter sweet narratives also said something about sugar’s unusual dual characteristic of being both a preserving agent as well as a catalyst for decay.

Love, Hope, Melancholy and Deceit  (rose, almond flowers, geranium, anemone)
mixed emotion series 2005
glass, royal icing, petal paste, edible colouring

Mirror Mirror 2006
glass, royal icing, petal paste, edible colouring

Pot Pourri 2006
glass, royal icing, petal paste, edible colouring

I refrained of course from any such negativity when making the cake for my friend, sending out a positive message for the occasion with cornflowers for growth and riches, daisies for innocence, and ivy for truthfulness and eternity. I later added a rose to the topper seen below, for love.

cake topper, 2012