Performance text 2007
I hunt for spaces, underpasses where I can stage photographs for my current project. I am both in the present, seeing a woman talking on her mobile, yet imagining a staged work. Suited men pass, chatting. I’m both here and somewhere else, I snap ideas, like a tourist.
I go to places I think I know.
A cobbled dead end in Shoreditch, another of those cold, steely late afternoons. A type of light I never get in dreams. This is visceral and present. A photograph can capture this grey, the film loves its flatness. In a striped jumper he forms cigarette smoke around who I am, was. I hear you’re taking ‘pictures’ ?
I work through areas of impasse. To relook, re-enact and hopefully find a way of passing through.
Yellow light on the city at night. A fox looks around the foot of St. Paul’s cathedral. He stares into the camera.
A flash of how the painter died, fell.
Was it in this light? I crush the thoughts out again but my camera wants to search it, make it, pass through it.
To return and look at an empty place.
Burnt.
In a dream.
Years now.
And now?
I go to places I’ve avoided.
Click and there …it is
The smallest movement on a Polaroid.
Made in the sun.
I look again and see something new in one of the prints, a piece of blue falling?
A trapped particle of light,
Icarus
or….
Simply light.
Re-looking at a photograph.
Really looking.
Then a washed out image.
OVEREXPOSED.
Burnt out, like a life thrown out.
Photographs of place as mementos.
Spaces of nothing.
Pause.
I let them develop on the dashboard until the whole surface is filled with small rectangles.
A series of moments.
Alchemical turning
Light
The Sun burns on
I move on to another place with a dashboard as darkroom.