Thursday 26 March 2009
Mysteries explained...
"Hairs are your aerials. They pick up signals from the cosmos and transmit them directly into the brain. This is the reason bald-headed men are uptight."
-- Danny, from Withnail & I
-- Danny, from Withnail & I
Thursday 12 March 2009
Wednesday 11 March 2009
CONTRIBUTOR: Nervous Radiation
Nervous Radiation: The first years of the Dutch Society for Psychical Research“It is impossible to report on our activities, since no phenomena have occurred.”
In 1921 the Dutch Society for Psychical Research was founded by professor Gerardus Heymans. Its stated aim: "We don’t desire to arrange interesting shows a la Rubini, nor to collect sensational stories, nor to satisfy higher or lower emotional needs, or the need for comforting views or nervous shivers. We want to study the phenomena involved scientifically, and without prejudice…”
Nervous Radiation relates the story of the first, trying years of the S.P.R. as gathered from their minutes and proceedings from 1921 until 1925 (the year in which Heymans gave up
his presidency). A talk about empty mailboxes, wild metaphysics, and waiting around for a proper ghost to materialize. Because after all, “Surely not only sentimental old spinsters choose to manifest themselves? ”Jantine Wijnja (1980) works as an artist and is co-director of Artist-In-Residence Hotel MariaKapel. Experiencing a fierce lack of clarity in virtually all aspects of life led to a practice revolving around the notion of ‘articulated haziness’: carefully
rendered crystallizations of, or tributes to obviously unclear events. Recent projects include Wild Metaphysics, a series of lectures concerning the current state of affairs in parapsychological research culminating in a group show, and The Darndest Miracle You’ve Ever Seen, a performance/lecture based on the story of self-proclaimed PK-man Ted Owens. Tuesday 10 March 2009
WRITING: Sense in the Citrus
On the morning of pancake day a sun had been crushed, following the rain of the night with a cool citrus flush. This citrus creased faces from the clouds and curdled the oil of a sick engine’s guts. The pips bent prisms of colour in the puddles from the rain, reflecting cacophonies of patterns in the dampness of haggard streets.
On this day I did wander the dampened down streets for the clouds were low and perfectly placed. Blowing towards the centre of this city passing birds who would twitter yet dampened down by a clutch on a Honda. It’s the drain and the strain of the rush hour through on the high street, and a perceptual awareness that I’ll try to explain, as the sun did try hard that day to hold back the rain. The frayed lemon is the clock; the backdrop is a gust and there was a 4 digit pull from of the hole in the wall.
So these clouds gathered low - merging mindsets in tow, of groups modern and past, of races and faith harboured idyllically safe. The laptops and mobiles and scumbags and youth – the hobos, the business, the cash point, the queues. Their faces, haircuts, clothing all trigger thoughts of where their head is and where heads their course.
Some, who followed the fashions of music and art, sparked the creative combustion of my turbulent heart. I know these disparate cultures so intimately that I’d quote them, but I saw other mindsets as surface colours on oil. In the puddles as they mingled, they curdled like the clouds; colours cascaded the weather system cycle and swarmed through the crowd.
With separate identities in a spectrum alight, each colour connects these mindsets burnt bright. The frail, the strong, the old and the young, the pantone patterns of upbringing, love vibes and angst, fractures and fragments the grey scaled streets. I separated apart states of mind like predicting the weather; it’s a process that’s seasonally safe but not perfect yet. And I colour coded this visually for the weather may change and I want to know where the tethered summer will reign. Storms always come when you can’t flush the drains.
We all move and we separate and float though this space like our own weather system under pressured gravitas. Rooting us down to these dirty haggard streets as the wind bellows free it diffuses faces in clouds, drips trickle back to the sea. We live and we breathe and we wander awake, we disperse out die and back to the lake – some will form puddles with oil stagnate, some will rain free and others shine citrus a spectrum cacophony.
Mathew Humphrey 3/3/09
On this day I did wander the dampened down streets for the clouds were low and perfectly placed. Blowing towards the centre of this city passing birds who would twitter yet dampened down by a clutch on a Honda. It’s the drain and the strain of the rush hour through on the high street, and a perceptual awareness that I’ll try to explain, as the sun did try hard that day to hold back the rain. The frayed lemon is the clock; the backdrop is a gust and there was a 4 digit pull from of the hole in the wall.
So these clouds gathered low - merging mindsets in tow, of groups modern and past, of races and faith harboured idyllically safe. The laptops and mobiles and scumbags and youth – the hobos, the business, the cash point, the queues. Their faces, haircuts, clothing all trigger thoughts of where their head is and where heads their course.
Some, who followed the fashions of music and art, sparked the creative combustion of my turbulent heart. I know these disparate cultures so intimately that I’d quote them, but I saw other mindsets as surface colours on oil. In the puddles as they mingled, they curdled like the clouds; colours cascaded the weather system cycle and swarmed through the crowd.
With separate identities in a spectrum alight, each colour connects these mindsets burnt bright. The frail, the strong, the old and the young, the pantone patterns of upbringing, love vibes and angst, fractures and fragments the grey scaled streets. I separated apart states of mind like predicting the weather; it’s a process that’s seasonally safe but not perfect yet. And I colour coded this visually for the weather may change and I want to know where the tethered summer will reign. Storms always come when you can’t flush the drains.
We all move and we separate and float though this space like our own weather system under pressured gravitas. Rooting us down to these dirty haggard streets as the wind bellows free it diffuses faces in clouds, drips trickle back to the sea. We live and we breathe and we wander awake, we disperse out die and back to the lake – some will form puddles with oil stagnate, some will rain free and others shine citrus a spectrum cacophony.
Mathew Humphrey 3/3/09
Monday 9 March 2009
CONTRIBUTOR: Incoming Audio Transmission
…< Signal >…
…<.,’’’ , : ; >…<””^_. , ¬_ >…< --- - ---- - >…
…<{[}] °°° · »>…< G.,,w..pih >…<… ,, ‘’ >…
…< Interrupt >…
-- Stuart McAdam
Born in Paisley, Scotland 1982. Lives and works in Glasgow. Graduated in 2008 from Duncan of Jordanstone College of Art and Design in Dundee. Recent work investigates language, in particular the idea of signs; manifesting as Spoken Word/Performance, Written/Drawn works, Sound and Film.
Previous exhibitions include New Contemporaries 2009 at the Royal Scottish Academy, Edinburgh and When I Stand on an Open Cart, Wasps, Glasgow.
Future projects include a solo show in Bristol and a research residency at the Centre for Contemporary Arts in Glasgow.
CONTRIBUTOR: The end of a zero
The end of a zero is a performance that will take the form of a jazz funeral as found in the traditions of New Orleans and parts of the American south. Based on both a found photograph of a downed WWII fighter plane and a randomly intercepted radio transmission from Quito, Ecuador, The end of a zero will meditate on cinema and silence, death and duration, photography and muteness as well as music and emotional state.-- G. Leddington
(to be performed at RECEPTION with the Cube Orchestra)
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