Marega Palser & Leona Jones - Tess Wood - Imogen Marooney - Tessa Waite - FFRWD - Rachel Helena Walsh - Jess Parry
The significant forms of the night began with an introduction to shift space, we were welcomed in from the cold of the night and the pain of waiting for something, something that’s been on the tip of our tongues since first lockdown began, a thirst that is not so easily quenched by online stimuli. The tactile and should I say BOSCH of being in a physical environment with performing artists, the eagerness of the human contact and vulnerability was all over me.
The bass and low tones of the evening were set when you were met with a spinning contraption out of a cut and adapted metal coffee can, projecting a most intriguing shadow, attached to old tec of some kind with many wires and attachments. It rattled and clunked a most strange sound, this sound emanated across the space that had interesting echoed acoustics because of the size of the room.
I explored the room and was met with artist Jess Parry removing her boots in readiness.
Exploring further I noticed large installations of cardboard by artist Tessa Waite and what looked like spray paint on large tracing paper towards the back of the room. Projected on the top using an old projector were wet cut outs of hearts and a ominous small metal pendulum hung from the very large ceiling, wires going to a foot pedal and a large ladder by artist Tess Wood.
As I explored the space I noticed around the corner on a small chair, what at first glance, looked like blood on her scarf, hands and fabric was artist Imogen Marooney. I examined the room further to find plastic ducks lined up on a table with a flashing light of different colours, which attacked my eyes. Projected behind were the words disco is dead. This installation was by artist Rachel Helena Walsh. I turn my attention back to the red stains on the fabric and notice that other viewers have now formed a queue, each having red residue painted on there hands with a finger in the chair adjacent to the artist like a red baptism. I became interested in what she might be saying so I take my turn and place in the chair. “turn your hands out and upward like this” “this is beetroot. Do you consent to having it on your hands” I nod rather than answer I cant remember everything she said in my recollection, it went something like this “before this moment you were not alive” she starts to paint the beetroot as she talks her sermon of red “before this moment you wore dead man fingers but now your aware in this moment turn you hands” I obey “you are alive and a beast in this moment don’t forget this moment”.
Bewildered I hold my hands out not to drip on my surroundings, I arise from the chair and continue my journey of oddities. Jess parry is now in full swing, taping a mask of red and gold glitter to her face with big red feathers, it has a feel of burlesque, with her red shoes. It feels as if she might dance but she remains in her chair chewing and regurgitating marshmallows with a red fluid into a dog bowl.
I sit with this a minute, then carry on my way to find myself among the installation of cardboard boxes. In bold letters ‘popcorn’ was printed large on one of the boxes, there seems to be an element of theatre involved, as artist Tessa Waite crawls amongst the boxes whilst popping cut-out, cardboard animal heads on sticks out of a box, similar to a puppeteer. I couldn’t see as much as I wished, whilst on my tip toes above the crowd, I could only catch little moments of gestures.
A announcement is made that a performance will be starting around the corner by artist Tess Wood. To begin with she was sat on top of a large ladder, she stepped down and started to synchronise her movement to the movements of the small pendulum. With a foot peddle and mic in her hands she starts to sing… I cant remember her exact words this is my recollection of what she sung. “My sexuality and poses are not for you” probably nothing like what she actually sung, but then with the peddle sounds and tones repeated, which created a symphony, it distorted the words. It reminded me of a form of throat singing, however the word ‘sexuality’ remained clear to myself. As this creation was automated, she returns to harmonising her movements with the pendulum. A climax is reached as she welcomes the pendulum into her mouth while on her tiptoes, gyrating rhythmically with an up, down motion which was simultaneously disturbing and erotic…. She invited some one from the audience, leaves them with a note and joins the crowd. I could not hear what was spoken from this note however the crowd clapped so I assumed it must be an indication of the end… I am delighted at the questions I am left with such as, what are these hieroglyphics spray-painted onto large tracing paper? What is this Motion of harmonising ? What is the meaning behind the cut out hearts making heart like shadows?……… I join the flock as we move back to the durational work of Jess Parry, returning to that low base tone of the cranking can…… sounds of eating marshmallows in red fluid…. Lured by the sound of duck disco we head to the back of the room Rachel Helena Walsh, in full funeral attire, including a black veil, was beheading plastic ducks with a hacksaw to a bizarre disco song, ducks ping as some of the heads drop to a Metal bucket below the table, some of the ducks remained unharmed……
we have a break in the cold wondering where the others I had arrived with had gone…… we return to the basement and cold concrete and warm body’s in the space (shift).
Jess parry finishes her bowl of fleshy looking squished marshmallow and red fluid and now what must be her own saliva, we are startled by a gentle wrestling of twigs and bell sounds as Marega Palser & Leona Jones make their way to the back of the space, the ducks have now disappeared as if never there. The crowd is slow, but at the back I want to hurry along and follow the rhythm of their movements…. When we get to the back of the room we are met with Marega in a slightly translucent cream dress, and a low hanging light. Beautiful deep sounds can be heard, that I can’t quite place, sounding like a mixture of electronica and familiarity. Marega moves the cohesion of movement and sound becomes one, neither one can be separated from the other visceral in quality an animal like crouch towards the light in total cohesion with the deep sound, I wonder if it’s hot. I wonder if it feels warm I sit down, my hand is still stained with beetroot and I catch the cold and craziness of the concrete floor. I see Marega move curled toes on concrete and I wonder if it hurts, still she moves freely and gracefully but with an animal like nature to the sound and rhythm of the deep, with bones and muscles glistening in the light…… finally she violently swings the light in a circle in cohesion with the sound, letting go for it to move in a self propelled motion. It was a display that was terrifying and fascinating and showcased a great degree of talent to understand distance and space….. she moves slowly towards the back, left of the space, where awaits her a small wooden chair and some sort of metal pan or cauldron on the floor…..there’s a string hanging above the chair with possibly a wire hanger attached. Marega attached her dress to the hanger, whilst removing herself through the bottom of the dress, to crawl from the chair in an animalistic way, leaving the dress to cast a shadow that reminded me of a hanging. The deep sadness overwhelms me so that I become closer and closer to the floor as if to ground myself, touching my knuckles physically to the cold concrete feeling the sound tones in the floor…. Marega, in a simple black leotard, slowly starts to crawl forward over her own body making movements perplexing and beautiful, she eventually sits inside the cauldron spinning about then glides up to a gap in the wall and puts her head through it. The music changes from a tempo that was in tune with her body to now become more and more intense and a-posed to her movements as she begins to walk away………………….,…
A break was called before the last performance, breaks are sometimes useful to sort of regain a sense of reality before you discover something new and wonderful.
The last performance by artist FFRWD, who actually set the baseline and low tone of the entire exhibition with his tin can making sounds. Removing wires and putting them in new places, female to male ports and vice versa on an old analogue system, whilst holding a microphone to different areas, banging with a hammer against metal pipes somehow creating this bizarre techno and electronic sound. Old tec sounds, similar to a dial up tone, that you can’t get any other way, I wonder if you could repeat the same sound if you wanted to. He seems to have an amplifier that has an ability to record and repeat sounds over and over, he has a bottle of beer which seems as if he could be anywhere just relaxing and making sounds. He isn’t, he’s here making unusual and incredible sounds. I haven’t heard anything like it before he seems as if he’s some kind of scientist discovering some sort of new language or a way of communicating through sound. The tones seem familiar, like the sound it used to make when you had dial-up on your Internet, coming to fanatic finale of hammering the instruments which was also very terrifying…… We’ve all missed the tactile nature of the Bosch.
