Installing for flipside. Exhibition open the 11th - 20th of May 2016, the Galerie Commune, Tourcoing France.
Photo: Amel Charaoui
Installing my work 'Fluid' for the exhibition "Esprit d'Equipe". Opening the 3rd of March at 6pm, at the Maison Folie Hospice d'Havré, Tourcoing, France. Open the 4th-25th of March, 2016. 1:30pm-6pm everyday except Tuesdays.
Am really excited to let you know that I kicked off the flipside project today with a two hour pedagogical workshop at primary school Ecole Jacques Prévert, Tourcoing, The children were really engaged, asked lots of questions and we covered topics such as Australian identity, personal narratives, time, image-making technology and feminism. After living in France for four years I found an absence of contemporary Australian artwork and wanted to make a program that opens up a dialogue about emerging Australian practices in France. So I have been organising a program that presents the work of Hayley Brandon, Pirrin Francis, Sally Chicken and Benjamin Crowley. The outcome is an exhibition in the Galerie Commune, Tourcoing the 12th-20th May 2016 and as part of the program there will be a series of artist talks, pedagogical workshops with local schools and a four day workshop at the Ecole Superieure d'Art Nord Pas de Calais.
I was doing some digital reorganising and found a nice picture of a Threefold collaborative exhibition with Hayley Brandon and Pirrin Francis from our Summer Residency at Boxcopy in Brisbane, 2013.
I was awarded my DNSEP avec les Felicitations du jury / Masters with Distinction today at ESA, Tourcoing. A huge thank you to Leo, the technicians, my supervisors and friends for all the support.
Setting up a temporary analog sound installation at the EPSM in Armentières. Opening this friday from 5pm. If you're lucky you'll hear something fall.
I'm doing a lot of tests at the moment that involve moving while the camera is attached to my body. One idea I'm exploring is rolling. In this process, my body moulds to the earth and gravity is the driving force, I can't control the composition of the camera or the rhythm of my roll. Afterwards my body holds traces of grass, soil, and dew. The process is both playful and disorientating.
A Liminal Breath is screening tonight from 8pm at Cinéma l'Univers, Lille, with a selection of other short films and video art that extend on the concept of 'traces' (such as; the artists mark, ephemera, and histories).
An install shot of one of my latest videos at the exhibition '22.04.1915', l'ESA, Tourcoing. A Liminal Breath is a video essay made in collaboration with Alexandre Guerre as part of a workshop led by artist Antoine Yoseph.
I just wanted to share this piece of text by Terry Park on artist Michael Joo's work Salt Transfer Cycle, 1994. I watched an excerpt of this video work recently and though the video shows Joo's body journeying through many situations I found this text more engaging and visceral, which made it easier for me to enter into the work. This reminds me how we can sometimes be numb to images and their intensities and how effectively text can impart embodied experiences.
He is naked. He swims. But not in water. He swims in a glass case of monosodium glutamate. MSG. He breathes heavily. Rhythmically. His toned arms sweep repeatedly through the white substance, making butter- fly wings in the dust. His long black hair drapes his moist back. The MSG chafes his skin; he bleeds from thousands of tiny cuts. He sweats, and the sweat mixes with the blood mixing with the salt. He swims faster, but he does not go anywhere. He swims in place. The faster he swims, the more he sweats and bleeds, sweats and bleeds.
He is naked. He is now lying face down on a desert floor. The floor is not a sandy yellow, but an alabaster white. He lies on a white plain made out of salt. He licks the ground. Tastes the salt. The crystals prick his tongue. Blood. He crawls, arms and legs wriggling, chest and pelvis gyrating against the salty ground. The salt clings to his body, cuts his body. He slowly rises up and walks, back hunched over, then jogs. Runs. Sweat, blood, and salt trickle off hair, tongue, and flesh, sprinkling his dark shadow and the white ground. His body is now covered in salt. As he runs, the salt penetrates the cuts in the soles of his bare feet. He runs toward low mountains in the fading horizon.
He is naked. He is now in the mountains. But these are not desert mountains. There are tall pine trees, thick with green. The air is cool. He hears birds chirping. He sits on the ground, leaning against a large rock. Thick flakes of salt plaster his face and body. He looks like a ghost, quiet and still. In the distance, there is movement. He is not alone. He is cautiously approached by a group of wild elk. He does not move. They stop. One elk comes forward. It gingerly sniffs him. Then licks. Slowly. Then hungrily. Licks the salt, sweat, and blood from his body. He feels its warm, wet, rubbery tongue lather his body. Eventually the salt is gone. The elk leaves. He is alone again. He breathes heavily. Anxiously. His chest heaves. Suddenly he stands up, leaps into the air, and lands in a vat of MSG. He has (eternally) returned.
Some install pics of my sound work Fishing and. from 'Exactitude is not truth' at Galerie Commune, Tourcoing.
Just wandering around Lille and happened upon this beautifully wrapped piece of architecture.
The urban architecture here is in this constant state of construction and deconstruction. There are all these ghost houses and factories left. You can see where their chimneys, staircases and windows were, and find traces of their wallpaper.