26th January, 2019
My home accumulates little bits of fluff – stuff – fragments of materials that lay waste on the floor – usually no bigger than a speck, the size of a small fly, a seed from an apple… These bits appear in every room on every floor. Our apartment is kept pretty tidy and yet every-day I catch myself picking up these small bits off the floors – carpet, tiled, linoleum flooring. In the carpeted bedrooms there is what I call ‘sock fluff’. I’m sure these bits of fluff come off all sorts of clothing, but I think mostly from socks – particularly new socks, the balls of fluffy woolen sock material produced by feet rubbing on the inside of the sock, especially the toe and the heel area where there is the most pressure, or the sock rubbing on the inside of the shoe causing it to collect into little balls, which when you take off your shoes and socks sprinkle out. In the bathroom where I hang up the washing the same ‘rubbing’ action has occurred in the washing machine – lots of different types of materials rubbing up against each other as they tumble around inside the washing machine drum, which when I shake out to arrange on the dryer these balls of fluff float aimlessly down onto the tiled floor. There are definitely more bits of fluff around in the winter than the summer due to many more wooly type clothing being worn and moving around the flat – jumpers, fleeces, cosy nightwear and so on.
In the kitchen and living room these mini balls of matter are harder in consistency and more varied – such as bits of food – crumbs scattered around the linoleum floor gathering in particular areas where me and Mark eat, prepare or discard food, such as near the bin, under the table and near the bread board. The other day I was on the floor of the kitchen and stroked my hand over the floor and felt loads of little bits. I looked at my hand and could not see anything on it but could feel these bits on my hand. I vacuum this area daily, but bits must just float down continuously – small particles in the air, such as pollution from outside that comes in the windows and doors, airborne bits that can float over long distances opposed to the bits that drop where they are created.
Admittedly I have a bit of a fixation around picking up these little bits – hence the need to write about it! I have started to try and identify some of the individual bits I come across – giving time to dissect to try and locate their source. Sometimes a bit of fluff sitting on an un-textured surface, such as a tiled floor can look very much like a small fly – due to the fibers lifting the ball mass off the floor as if to hover, like the legs of a fly raising the flies body off the ground. I invariably find myself swatting fluff thinking it is alive. We have a lot of small flies that breed on the many house plants we have – so an easy mistake to make. Most of the fluff type is what I expect – parts of our clothing, often identified by the colour matches to sweaters in my wardrobe. But there are others, such as specks that are wet, and smear when touched – such as the oil paint my husband walks into the flat from his studio – however I can usually recognize these specks pretty quickly by their vibrant colour and glossy consistency.
Yesterday I spotted two bits that were especially long and thin, opposed to round, therefore this had to be something hard in its material make-up in order hold its slim form. On picking the two similar shapes up off the bedroom floor I could see they were small dry pine needles, and with it being January they were clearly the remnants of a discarded Christmas tree which one of us had bought in on our shoes. That is another thing, winter shoes tend to have more tread on their soles than summer shoes, so less bits are bought in on our shoes in summer than winter. There are hard specks that are grittier like a small pebble (stone, tarmac, earth), that I’m less keen to pick up wondering where they have come from and how they have managed to lodge themselves between the tread of my shoe, to then drop inconveniently onto the floor. Moisture does that very well, sticking stuff, which when dries out releases the material to then drop out.
There are some small marks on the kitchen floor that I repeatedly think are crumbs, and then realise when trying to scrape them up are in fact indentations in the floor (probably caused by a heavy implement such as a saucepan being dropped on the floor at some stage leaving a dent). Concave and convex forms are quite difficult to distinguish when small and near your feet not your eyes – it is an optical illusion when trying to identify if a shape is coming out towards you or going away from you – raised or recessed. The raised for removing and the recessed to live with perhaps!
The shape of these bits I find on the whole appear round in shape – although if I was to look at them through a microscope they would be far from it I’m sure. But being small they are roundish! – like pebbles on the beach that have been rounded by being tossed around in the sea – knocking off their sharp edges – this has also occurred with these bits of stuff in my home – rounded by multiple actions imposed on materials, knife cutting bread and small bits from this action escaping the bread board, sock/shoe/foot friction, washing machine tumbling, wiping food accommodating surfaces and bits getting caught in the action then falling to the floor.
These bits are mostly dark in colour – or maybe it is only the dark bits I notice. Which means there are probably loads of bits on the floor that I just can’t see. It is not a problem that these bits occupying my flat (apart from the wet ones), I just don’t like the look of them on my pale floors – an aesthetic judgement – for me floors appear more attractive when uncluttered by the gathering of dark coloured specs that are not the same colour as the floor. For neat and tidy people like me these accumulating bits are very noticeable – I just have to decide whether to pick them up or wait until I get the vacuum out later.
7th December, 2018
I recently had two crowns replaced on my two lower front teeth (lower central incisors). This was an aesthetic decision after noticing that my previous crowns; which where fitted when I was a teenager after falling over and knocking all the enamel of them; as I have got older have become less attractive! Over recent years my gums have started to recede and there was a significant gap appearing between my gums and the base of the crowns creating a dark shadow, so I decided at great expense to have them both replaced. This process to remove the old crowns, take impressions – negative imprints of my original crowns and the teeth below (live tooth matter) from which a positive reproduction (cast/model) could be formed to create the new crowns and also the intermediary caps, was an intricate series of procedures which stimulated all my senses. Touch (pressure from cutting the old crowns off, sensitivity from my living teeth beneath the crowns), smell (the odour of the old porcelain crowns being cut away mixed in with general dentist clinical smell), sound (cutting, drilling, clanking of tools and machinery) and sight (probably the least sense being activated apart from the bright lights shining onto my face, my focus on the detailed texture of the dentist room ceiling, and the face of the dentist, which I tried not to look at too much.)
The thing that is foremost in most people’s minds when entering the dentist to have work done is – how much pain will there be? More than often an injection of local anesthetic is needed to mask the pain – these are not that pleasant in themselves – a small sharp needle poked into the muscle of the jaw or gum, but once taken affect you are safe in knowing there will be limited pain, although the pressure of cutting and pulling, plus the cold jets of water that clean your mouth during the process still can cause sensations that are not very comfortable.
Pain is an interesting sensation and it partly psychological. As the dentist injected the anesthetic into my gum I tried to shift my instinctual calculations of pain and subsequent negativity to thinking of it as an interesting and even enjoyable sensation, that was not negative, which helped me to feel less discomfort during the second injection. This is all well and good, but it is very easy for these focused positive feelings to be quickly overcome with those more familiar negative feelings associated with pain and often fear, so my attempt to disguise the pain was very fleeting…
Once my mouth was numb I proceeded to experience the rest of the dental process with reduced sensitivity. The thing about a local anesthetic is that you are aware of sensations but not fully, which on one hand is of course a relief not to experience pain, but on the other hand this numbness feels a bit disconcerting, as the ability to sense when things are going wrong have been removed. So, for all I knew the dentist could make a mistake, cut through a live nerve and I would not know until the anesthetic wore off – a sense of feeling out of control and a little removed from one’s own body. There are some people who do not experience physical pain at all, which often means they are unable to protect themselves from harm and as a consequence of this have reduced life expectancy. Imagine burning yourself on the hob of a cooker and not noticing until the smell of human flesh starts penetrate your nose, whereas for most of us if we accidentally touch something too hot we retreat immediately, reducing the amount of damage to our skin and flesh. Sensing pain is an amazing defense mechanism which is difficult to live without – so perhaps we should try and enjoy it more.
The mould making for my new crowns and temporary caps (those fitted between when the old ones are removed and the new ones arrive) was the most interesting of the sensations I experienced – partly because the materials used to do this were soft and kind on my mouth, so I was able to relax and fully engage with the process with very little anxiety. The dentist used different gels/alginates, each one a different colour (materials are often colour coded so that it is clear which does what) to achieve this – pressing my teeth into mouth shields full of these variant materials and waiting until they set before removing – in attempt to get the perfect cast of my teeth. The squidgy gooey feeling of this fluid material seeping between my two front teeth and then becoming rubbery as it hardens. To remove these casts the dentist had to pull quite hard to release them, each time the material suddenly releasing, almost then jumping out of my mouth. She did a number of these in order to get the perfect impression.
I went away from this appointment with my whiter than white temporary caps – they did look a bit odd but seeing as I only had to wear these for a couple of weeks before getting my new crowns I was going to have to put up with them. I did find myself over this period not smiling as much as usual – being rather self-conscience of these two very white shapes glaring out from my mouth.
Two weeks passed and I returned for the fitting of my new crowns. The dentist greeted me with my new crowns presented to me in a presentation case – the crowns perched between a full set of display teeth – like being shown expensive jewellery in an unnecessarily oversized padded box. I heard myself saying – ‘wow these look great!’ – they really did! – they looked just like teeth! A bit disappointing if they hadn’t! I was only going to know if they looked like ‘my teeth’ once placed in my mouth next to the rest of my nashers… Once the dentist had cut away the intermediary caps she placed the new crowns on for me to look at in a mirror. They looked pretty good – not a perfect colour match, but when I looked carefully I realised that the tone of these new crowns was dependent on the amount of light/shadow being cast on them. The slightly thick crowns were never going to be the exact same shape as my other teeth and so the light bouncing off them was always going to create different shadows and tones. I have had them fitted for two weeks now and hardly notice them any more – the over focusing on them in the few days after has been replaced with a general lived-in satisfaction, where I hardly look at them at all – which is probably good enough proof that they have worked, even if I am probably the only person who notices them at all.
21st October, 2018
Putting clothes on in the morning
Depending on whether I am in a hurry, whether I am tired, feeling energetic will depend a great deal on how I put my clothes go on in the morning and how smoothly or frustrating this process can be and end up. Of course it depends a great deal on what clothes I am putting on, but let’s say I am putting on underwear, jeans, a tea shirt and shoes.
I am quite an impatient person so I like to get dressed quickly, which is probably where the problem lies. Most actions when done slowly while relaxed will work better than if tense and are rushed.
As a woman I have to deal with the whole bra thing… Every bra is designed slightly differently and requires a unique way of putting your arms through the arm straps and then fastening the clip behind your back. Some people fasten the clip at the front then rotate the bra into position and then put their arms through the arm straps – very sensible. While I go straight for the arms and then fasten behind my back – it is quicker and after doing this for many years you get pretty good at it, however every bra is designed slightly differently so sometimes the action is quick with the two sides clipping together on the first attempt, while other times it can take four or five attempts to clip the two parts together. You are doing this blind so you rely totally on touch to negotiate the process. Once I have my ‘breast harness’ on. I say this as it does feel like a harness, especially when you are sitting down and the strap around your rib cage can dig in and feel most uncomfortable. The first thing I do when I get home after work is to rip this device off – so much more comfortable without… Sometimes I wonder why I wear one at all. I don’t have very large breasts, but there is some social etiquette out there that says I should wear one. My mum stopped wearing a bra years ago and it suits her. Mind you over the summer, once when we were going out she suddenly panicked that her nipples might show through her top which might be a bit in appropriate at the age of 80 – umm – not sure what I think about that! – in appropriate for who I think!
Anyway, after putting on my bra I put my nickers on, well actually I do it the other way round. Nickers first and bra second. When you do something so automatic everyday, similarly like cleaning your teeth you can easily forget the details of how you do it when you try to recall it later – it has become fully automatic. Actually when I think about cleaning my teeth as I am cleaning them, I then can’t do it – I forget which set of teeth I clean first. It only works if I do it automatically and don’t think about. It probably does not matter if the process is different to the usual routine, but I think when you hone a process to work really well, you want to keep to it as it works. If you break the automatic routine it can go very wrong. For example, yesterday I left my flat and when I got into the lift to leave the building I looked in the elevator mirror and noticed I had forgotten to put mascara on. How on earth had that happened? I do it everyday. Was I going mad? Was I loosing the plot? Something pretty minor like forgetting to put on mascara can have a serious impact on how we perceive ourselves.
I could not leave the building without my mascara on so I returned to my flat and applied it. Probably no one would have notice at work that I was without it, but putting on clothes and makeup is a routine that you cannot tamper with. It is a routine that prepares us for the day. For me it is the routine that lets me know I am ready for the day, so if the routine goes un-smoothly then it can define the kind of day I’m going to have, perhaps a less smooth one! To be truthful it probably does not, but psychologically in that moment of thinking about the disrupted routine I feel it will and that is enough to actually impact on my day. It may not be the same for everyone, but as someone who likes to be in control and enjoys the feeling of order, for these routines to be disrupted or denied is problematic for me. It is less that it disrupts the day, but that it reveals to me some kind of inadequacy of my own, such as a reduced dexterity, a lack of body flexibility, a memory disfunction, and ultimately getting older – the biggest fear of all perhaps.
So putting my clothes on in the morning can go from a fluid choreography of body and textiles, to a comical clown sketch. I tricky procedure can be putting my second leg through the nicker leg hole, which I can miss and end up catching my toes in the fabric, pulling and stretching the elasticated nickers to the point of almost ripping them. So I pull my leg out and try again, if this happens twice then I can loose my balance, hopping around the bedroom and on a bad day falling into the bed to then try to regain my balance. So I now have my bra and nickers firmly on and are no longer naked and feel safer. Even when walking naked around the flat there is a level of vulnerability, such as the anticipation of someone looking through the window at me, or an emergency and having to leave the building or deal with some emergency inside my flat. Underwear is the bare minimum cover, and for most people is the decent level of appropriateness for being seen in public. It’s funny really when you think about it – that covering our front and back bottom for men and in addition for women their breasts is a sign of basic decency.
These private bits are the sexual and reproductive component of the body, and waste exits, and to keep these protected we need to cover them, or maybe deny we use them at all. A bit like shitting, we all do it but no one wants to think of anyone else doing it. There goes another automatic routine. Do you crunch your loo paper to wipe or do you wrap it around your hands and then apply. I bet you can’t remember, as it is such an automatic action.
With my underwear on I go to the wardrobe and chest of draws to retrieve my jeans and my top. First I put my skinny jeans on. I have a pair that stretches so these are easier to pull on than the non-stretchy type that I have to carefully pull up by pulling by the waist band, but also just below the knee as they are very tight and need pulling over my calf muscles and also to arrange them so they are not twisted, aligning the seam along the inside of my leg. This lower leg action I sometimes sit down to do, or if I am feeling confident I do standing up, leaning double over to arrange the fabric. All these decisions, to sit/to stand are done in a spilt moment, we make these types of decisions every second of our day. Turn the light on or off before putting our shoes on before leaving the house, putting gloves on before or after locking the front door and so on. It is interesting to observe these things we do, as they reveal a lot about the type of person we are. Are you someone who is prepared, organised, thinks ahead, uses your time efficiently? I find it fascinating observing my husband do everyday activities. He can start to hang the washing on the dryer, then half way thorough the task he goes to his computer to deal with a work email, and then moves on to put the kettle on, leaving the cup and teabag sitting by the kettle for the next hour. Sometimes the tea never gets made and the washing takes hours to get hung up. It is beyond me why someone does that, as I would never. I always finish one job before starting another, believing that is the most time efficient way to get through my day. But I am beginning to appreciate that we all do things differently and other ways work just as well (although I still think I get more things completed than my husband and in much quicker time!)
However being quick and efficient might not always be the best way to realise a task. Doing things in parts might give time for reflection, responding to what the brain needs in the present moment and responding to that might be better than postponing into some kind of efficient order. There is always a fear I might forget the things I need to do so the way I deal with that is to do each job to completion and if I don’t, I have to make a note, usually on a small piece of paper that then sits on my desk until it is done and I can then cross it off, which I find very satisfying. Where as my husband jumps from one job to the other and does not write reminders, and still he gets it all done in his way eventually with a few reminders from me! I love watching other people’s ways, it makes me realise how specific and unique each and every one of us gets through our day of tasks and activities.
So I have my trousers on and now I go for my top – Arms, holes, tubes of fabric to negotiate, entry smooth, entry with hitches, then shoes. I sometimes sit down to put my shoes on and other times balance on one leg while I aim my toes into the boot, like bringing a ship into its moorings, being careful not to touch the harbor walls until the boat is in its right position for tying up. I aim my foot into the opening of my boot and if I don’t catch the sides I can push it in, in one smooth action, but if I’m not so precise my foot can get caught on the rim of the boot and my balance becomes off set and I’m likely to hop around a bit re-stabilizing myself by leaning on the wardrobe or any other nearby furniture.
What a complicated skill to get dressed. We do take it for grantage, but when you start to break it down and think about what is happening, it is beautifully choreographed to adjust to the particularities of the garment we are putting on. Our evolving experience of fabrics gives us an enormous amount of knowledge to how to handle our clothes, adjusting our bodies accordingly to maneuver inside the fabric shapes.
2nd October, 2018
Breaking glass and chewing gum
I read once that there are only two ways that stuff breaks, either it shatters through a crack occurring or it stretches becoming so thin it eventually separates. Glass and chewing gum are two good examples of these different types of breakage, one seemingly more dramatic than the other.
On New Year’s Eve my sister-in-law accidentally knocked her wine glass, which fell off the table onto the chair, distributing the remainder of wine on the seat then catapulted onto the hard laminate floor, shattering in all directions. Some parts of the glass that broke off were large, such as the thick stem and others so small I only saw them the day after as the day-light reflected off these tiny shards, dangerously sparkling close to my bare feet! I would have loved to have seen this action in slow motion, to make total sense of the way the glass broke and distributed the wine. A dramatic event enhanced by the sound it made as it met the floor.
Whereas, playing with chewing gum as I pull it out from my mouth, in order to see how long I can stretch it before it collapses and breaks into two parts is a very different breaking process and experience. I don’t much like the sensation of the part of chewing gum that has been pulled out of my mouth, gathered in my finger tips and then pushed back into my mouth, as it feels cool and rubberier than it was when moving around my chewing teeth.
All objects break in one of these two ways to different degrees and as you handle things you learn the breaking point of different materials and objects. I have been working with a silicon type material in my studio for a number of years, constantly learning about its capabilities. I often make a long sausage shape with this material and then fix one end to the wall, by simply pressing the material with my thumb about eye level to the plaster board, and then I watch it stretch. At the point in which it is about to break I race to repair it with my finger, meanwhile other parts of the strand start to stretch and I rush up and down the sausage form chasing the vulnerable parts to squish the material closer together to try and repair it. It is a losing battle as the weight of the material will continually stretch it and eventually break it apart, unless I can keep repairing it until the material starts to dry and go hard. But this does not happen, because as it dries it gets more brittle and is then much more difficult to repair and breaks even more, the stretching break becoming a cracking break and is a lost cause to keep it whole, but an enjoyable challenge to be dancing around a material that cannot and will not be fixed or controlled.
As we go about our daily lives encountering objects we are constantly making judgements to ascertain how we can interact with them! Such as negotiating a weight to decipher whether we can pick it up unaided. When I am moving my artwork in the studio I position my body around the object to see if I can take its weight and then in one move lift and relocate it. It is easier to move an object if it remains at the same height, such as table top surface to table top surface, but it is when I am lifting something from floor to table height or visa versa that it is more straining. It is in that moment of contact with the object and with an initial attempt to lift that I am able to calculate if the job can be done, that the lift can be made from one position to the other. There is a very small margin between can and cannot do. The more experience we get from lifting things the better we are at judging whether it is possible. It is lifting so many different things in our lives that gives us that knowledge of what is achievable and what is beyond our means. This is also true of measuring stuff. Recently I have been making large quantities of bread dough for an artwork. I add 300ml of water to every 500g of flour. I have a measuring jug and scoop the water from a bucket of water using this implement. I am now so accurate at scooping exactly the right amount of water with the jug from the bucket that I hardly have to check the marker on the side of the jug.
I have learnt from having to move large pieces of stone in the past how things can be moved which are beyond my physical capability with very little extra help (mechanical or other). Such as rolling things on wooden poles, balancing the stone on one of its corners (most blocks/boulders of stone have some kind of ‘corner’ to work with) and then turning it to move the distance of the length of the stone and then repeating the action until it is in the desired location. Also, by putting sand directly onto the concrete floor, ideally one can drag heavy stone over the small resilient grains. These methods go back to ancient times when there were no machines to move large pieces of masonry, but imagination, ambition and mathematics.
I remember making physical calculations when making plans to move a block of stone and one way or the other I would do it. I recall collecting a 1 ton block of limestone stone from a quarry. The stone had been lowered onto the back of my 1 ton limit pickup truck. To get it off the back of my truck I placed large pieces of thick foam, like the ones from an old sofa on the ground at the back of my vehicle below the lowered tail-gate. I then slung some strong slings around the bolder of stone and attached them to the building (my then studio exterior wall). I then drove forwards very slowly until the bolder was pulled off the back of my truck falling and catching the foam cushion then rolling onto the ground next to them. I then levered the stone into the position I wanted it, wedging it with wood and then I was ready to start cutting and carving it. Where there’s a will there is definitely a way, and I love how the mind works (you can almost hear the brain ticking over) in relation to the body to make sense of the task at hand.
21st August, 2018
I have a set of delicate glass cups that sit on stainless steel saucers. The glass is incredibly thin and yet is pretty strong. I use one of these cups and saucers every morning to drink my green tea that I pour from a glass teapot – it is quite a ritual for me in the morning to drink my tea with a bowl of muesli and almond milk – preferably on my own listening to the news on the radio.
When I wash up the glass cup I notice it is flexible, I can feel the thin transparent material flex as I wash it with a sponge in hot soapy water. I am careful when I wash it , but not overly as I have a set of six, so if it broke it would not be the end of the world! I think because I wash it quite firmly I can feel the glass bending, as if I am pushing its flexibility to the limit, just within its breaking capacity. I don’t expect glass to bend but I suppose the science will tell me that all glass bends when heated up and with the glass cup being so thin when I wash it in hot water the molecules that make up the material can move. With a thick pain of glass it would need to go into a hot kiln to bend, whereas my small glass cup can bend in hot washing up water. The thing I enjoy most about this, is that every morning I do this it takes me by surprise, and I can feel myself anticipating the glass to break but it never does.
21st August, 2018
The inside and the outside
I am very interested in what we see on the outside compared to what is going on in the inside. We can apply this to so many things – whether that is politics, society, people, objects, animals etc. But what I want to think about right now is objects, and in this particular case the functional airplane chair. Objects reflect and reveal so many aspects of our lives, such as when we talk about the furniture we own – the appearance of a sofa, say in pink luscious leather looking all beautiful and inviting to sit on. Of course it has to be comfortable, but what it looks like is essential in our decision to purchase this type of object to fit within our personal taste, the decor of the room where it will go and the statement it will project to all those who see it – lavish, expensive, practical, new/antique and so on… The outward facing exterior of objects is so important, whereas the inside we have different concerns, as to provide the technology to make the sofa comfortable, safe, long lasting, such as using sustainable materials that are fire resistant and so forth. Almost all things have an outer and inner set of concerns and requirements, and this can also be applied to people. In basic terms – the outer appearance, body presentation – makeup, clothes, hair etc, and then the inner and inside – organs and brain capacity that generate belief systems, ambitions, morals and so on…. For example, when listening to politicians communicate on tv, using the familiar rhetoric to attract us to like them and ultimately get our vote, this outward facing act never reveals the mechanisms and workings behind, the actual truth to a political situation, mental and physical health or hidden lies of the individual – always disguising the details as this may not be so attractive, and will surely loose our vote! We are all too often given the surface without the substance, and this happens with so many things – the outside preoccupied with ‘the look of it’ and the inside about how it actually works.
Last time I was on an airplane on a cheap Ryanair flight to Italy I started to investigate the chair in front of me – well as much as I could without making a scene (suspicious behaviour on airplanes never goes down very well!) or disturbing the person sitting in the seat in front of me. Each chair is made of metal, pale grey with crude fixings to hold it together and bolt it to the floor. The ugly mechanism is pure function, with no designed aesthetic consideration from what I could see, especially from the back. The only consideration on the back seems to me to be able to accommodate a small flip down table, so bolt holes on the side of the chair to connect the flip table arms. What makes these seats functional to sit on is the addition of foam padding and fabric covers that are coloured coded to match the airline colour scheme. Also this fabric comes with pockets to hold magazines and space for additional information to be attached, such as a diagram to describe how to belt yourself in and to position your body if the plane is about to crash.
From the front – the seating side you are very unaware of the inside structure of the seat, whereas from behind it is revealed between the gaps of the fabric. The fabric cover reminds me of those hospital gowns you have to wear that do up at the back with quick release ties, exposing your bum. I kind of get their practicality as to be removed quickly in an emergency, but they seem to humiliate you first, exposing your rear as you walk around the ward! The airline seat covers are held together with velcro seams that equally expose what is underneath, but less embarrassing or maybe not!
I think more than any seat I can think of an airplane seat is one that you would expect to be built incredibly well, so to secure you in flight and hold you as safe as possible in the event of bad turbulence, and even worse a crash landing. But exploring the Ryanair seat from behind gave me little reassurance, appearing to be very clunky, and I could imagine these seats easily getting meshed up and distorted in a crash wreckage, in fact I could imagine the crude metal structure causing more damage to a human body than the crash itself, with their angular metal parts, protruding bolts and screw fittings all impacting on flesh and bone.. To me these chairs are a great metaphor for so many of life’s disappointing and often frightening realities – things – objects – people that appear one way and are quite something else when you go beyond the surface!
27th June, 2018
Wear and Tear
I want to talk about the wear and tear and the ultimate demise of material things. Having lost my father last year, I have become acutely aware of how things breakdown, stop working, wear out, fall apart and disintegrate. Everything has a life span whether it is a human being (0 – 117 years – although in the future we may push this further) or a mahogany chest of draws (0 – 1,0000 years at a guess!) all depending on the condition they are kept in and the quality of the materials used.
When I touch an object, I am aware of the impact I am having on its life span. (Life span here I am referring to the timeframe an object/thing is complete/whole, before it breaks down into smaller parts. So, with the mahogany chest of draws – its lifespan will be contained to when it is a box with draws and not bits of rotting wood on a scrap heap.) The computer I am writing on right now – each time I press a key I am slowly wearing down the plastic and the shape of those individual keys. Even when I am very careful to preserve an object, it will still degrade. I notice this particularly with clothing – the effect of wearing, washing and storage on individual items I own – the material qualities of fabric are quite unstable and change very easily. I relish the qualities of new clothes – crisp lines and defined shapes – those created by the designer and manufacturer opposed to the ones moulded, stretched and disfigured by my own body. The environment – air, water, heat, dust, dirt landing and settling on objects without me even touching them affects a materials makeup, appearance and lifespan, and then when I touch with my hands putting pressure on as I lift/hold, this impacts on the object even more, such as wearing the surface away, the object absorbing the grease from my hands which can react causing it to discolour, change shape and breakdown, as well as other affects, such as to change its smell. While reading ‘The Smell of Fresh Rain’ by Barney Shaw, which I highly recommend to anyone interested in the complex experience of smelling, I learnt that metals do not smell, it is only when they come into contact with moisture – when we touch metal – the sweat from our bodies reacts with the metal releasing that metallic odour we most commonly associate with this hard and shiny stuff.
It may not be hardly noticeable but over time the degrading becomes more evident. You see this very clearly where an object has been repeatedly touched or handled by many hands, such as religious objects/relics, handles and railings on public transport or monuments where the act of touching claims will bring you good luck – this you can see on the snout of the famous bronze boar sculpture in Florence made in 1634, which since 1700 there are records evidencing people rubbing its nose for good luck – a very slow wearing away of the bronze, brought to attention by the golden shine created by this human interaction. This wearing away is incredibly slow with materials such as bronze, but never the less it is still changing and is never fixed. The need to fix and stabilise things is very common in our culture – to preserve in museums for future generations, however there is something very re-assuring I find of the inevitable demise and unavoidable state of flux of all material things in this world – I say this as the thought of every inanimate material object remaining the same would create enormous anxiety, (as what to do with all this stuff!) and would only go to highlighting even more our own contrasting inevitable demise. We do however live in a culture of the ‘replacement’ rather than ‘mend’ – iPhones, computers, garden furniture – when it breaks chuck it away for the new version – probably buying the new one on Amazon or through Apple… The need for the new even when the old is perfectly fine – indicates that for some things we do not want to see wear and tear and traces of age while other things we definitely do.
This constant state of flux is in all material things – and even when we come across something old and preserved – a piece of jewelry, furniture or a building we are not experiencing the original but an object that is a rejuvenation and reinvention – a continuous new. Walking thought the building where I have worked for the past 12 years almost all the surface furnishings have changed over that period – furniture, lighting, wall coverings – the widows replaced, doors and floors upgraded, bricks and mortar patched up and treated, electrical wiring replaced, drains redirected and so on – so really this building has very little of its original material appearance to the one I entered those 12 years ago, and almost nothing of the original that was built 150 years ago. This seriously questions my sense of nostalgia for things – such as the storage jar my grandmother had in her kitchen which she used to keep her tea, which when she died I kept as it reminded me so much of her – however it is a different object now in my kitchen, with different tea inside, harbouring different smells, handled by mine and my husband’s hands, with different grease and dirt transferred from our hands onto its surface. So even though subtle it has been changing its appearance extensively over the past 10 years since I took ownership of it.
Accepting that everything is affected by age prompts me to appreciate things more in the present and embrace the inevitable death of all things – or maybe more appropriate the inevitable transformation of all materials from one state to another, however we might choose to evaluate and judge those different stages.
15th April, 2018
Inside Orange Sculpture.
Putting it on was the difficult part. I fed one of my feet followed by a leg through the rubbery bars – weaving them between each part until my foot met and sat on the ground. Once I had secured this foot on the floor I lifted my other and started to weave that through the object too – lacing my way from the top to the bottom. I could feel my balance severely challenged as I moved my second leg through the structure, no longer having a leg/foot outside the sculpture to secure me. I maneuvered myself close to a table nearby, by wriggling a little in order to put one hand on the table top to keep me and the sculpture upright. As I fed my legs down through the object my trousers got hooked on the bars as they passed them – the friction of my dungaree legs coming into contact with the irregular surface of the plastic object caught, pulling my trousers upwards as my legs stretched down towards the ground, exposing the skin of my ankles and lower leg.
Once I had both feet securely on the ground (well as secure as they could be given they were now being held tightly by the sculpture encased around them), I pulled the top bars of the object upwards to sit on my shoulders. This was quite an effort, and as I pulled up and up I could feel the pressure of the object pulling me up at the ankles and knees. It felt that by pushing up the top of the object with my arms that it would eventually lift me off the ground completely, like some magicians levitation trick. Once the top bars of the object were mounted onto my shoulders I was able to stand upright, although a little bow legged. Feeling like a large spring at full extension, but if I were to relax I would quickly concertina towards the floor and entirely crunch up.
The feeling of this object around me was like nothing else I had experienced before. I felt completely incapacitated, and I suddenly thought that if someone came to my studio door right now I would not be able to get to the door to open it. I was literally entangled inside one of my own sculpture – trapped. The only way to get myself out was to fall/roll over with the device locked around me and then on the floor to wriggle my way free.
It made me wonder what it would be like to be inside all sorts of objects/stuff – such as a lampshade, chairs, sofas, tables, or the walls of my studio, the soil in a plant pot, the food on my plate. I was reading the other day in ‘Object-Orientated Ontology’ by Graham Harman how the only way you can fully understand something is to be inside it – like we are with our own bodies, experiencing from the inside out – so maybe this urge to get inside a sculpture I had made was my way to understanding this object better.
You are probably wondering what kind of object/sculpture I have been getting in and out of – well it is a sculpture of which the armature is a clothes drying – one of those 3-storey concertina ones, that can collapse on itself for storage. Mine I had covered with bright orange sculpting silicon, fixing it in its upright and extended position, and then carving into the dried hard coating so that the surface was rough and irregular – hence the catching on my trousers. In covering the dryer with the silicon I had gone over the joints so it could not collapse anymore, but I found when I was inside it and sitting down in it, it moved under the weight of my body braking the silicon seals – so essentially breaking the sculpture through my body movement. As I sat down inside the object I was able to sit in it without it breaking completely, and I tried lifting my feet off the ground to balance inside the object – this was very difficult – however I did manage it for about 8 seconds, before me and object rolled pathetically over onto one side. I was a bit worried that if I got into a very awkward position I might not be able to get myself out – and would have to scream for help to be rescued!
Being held inside this object was like wearing the object as clothing, and it made me acutely aware of particular parts of my body, such as the tops of my shoulders (bone and muscle components) as I pulled up with the object resisting, and the limited bending capacity of my legs when I was initially weaving them through the object.
The main objective of this activity was to take a selfie of myself with/in/on an object. I like the idea of the selfie – that it requires one hand to control the camera as it points back at yourself (without using one of those selfie extenders) – just to use only the extension of one’s arm. This limits what you photograph, and you can’t really get far enough away from the lens to take the object selfie – so the pictures you get are pretty odd and distorted, it said more about the action of taking a selfie than the object I was wrestling with.
18th March, 2018
I did a day weaving at a workshop in Dalston recently - London Loom - run by two very enthusiastic woven clad woman, (they wore woolen woven jumpers, woven earrings and all sorts of other woolly constructed accessories.) The room was set up with 5 small wooden looms and wall to wall spoils of colour coordinating wool and other weave related material - a very colourful and warm room, literally insulated by the materials present.
Once allocated my loom one of the women showed me the basics to using it and how to spin my chosen wool onto a spindle that was then placed inside a shuttle ready to weave with. The loom was already set up with the warp so I could straight away apply my chosen weft, weaving through the fixed dark blue fine strands. There has to be a level of body coordination between feet and hands - the hands pushing the thread from left to right thought the warp while alternating foot pedals that lift up alternate warp to allow the weave to take place. Apologies for not explaining this more technically - but I think you get my drift - in, out, in, out - up, down, up down ...
As I became more familiar with the process I was able to push my thread through quicker and with more rhythm and fluidity - sliding the thread baring shuttle between the warp and catching it on the other side before flipping the warp with the pedals and then pushing the shuttle back through. This repetitive process is the part I really enjoyed the most, plus the sound the wooden loom made as I grappled with it with my wooden tools - wood on wood - creaking, clattering, like the noise of children playing with old fashioned wooden building blocks, or a group of adults playing a game of dominoes on a wooden table in a quiet pub. As you make your weave you roll it up at intervals at the front of the loom, which means that you don't get to see the entirety of what you have woven until the end when you take if off the loom. This reminds me of other processes where the outcome is not revealed until completion, such as traditional printmaking like etching where you don't get to see the final outcome until you peel off the press blankets and lift the etched plate to reveal the image on your prepared paper - this always builds anticipation and creates a sense of surprise, allowing the maker to experience their work a fresh - as if someone/something else has made the work - I suppose in some ways something else has!
Like so many processes once you have tried it yourself you get to appreciate in so much more detail all those objects you come across in daily life that have been made in a similar way. So since I did this weaving workshop I keep checking out the weave on all sorts of fabric surfaces - rugs, clothing, furnishings and so on, brushing my hand across woven items in shops, cafes, restaurants, public transport, friend's homes and my workplace and so on…. Most of the fabrics I come across are of course made by a machine, but even so when you roll your hands across most fabrics you can feel the variety of woven texture and the process of its becoming - from the tight to the loose, smooth to the lumpy weave.
For my woven piece I kept to a palette of orange and grey - but with different variations of these colours, combined with varieties of thickness and textures of thread. Occasionally I took short strands of un-spun wool to introduce moments of bright fluffy orange-ness, and as the day went on I became more clever with creating shapes within my design - squares and diamond shapes by a complicated method of catching different wools from each side of the warf. I'm not going to even try and describe this process as it would take me a page of very boring description to do this - all I can say is that it took a lot of concentration to work out what my feet and hands were doing, and to make sure I repeated with precision these more complicated manoeuvres so not to 'double weave'- my term for sending the spindle through twice across the same warp. As the weave grew in length I kept touching with the palm of my hands the fabric I was creating with all its lumps and bumps. There was a regulatory to the interior, but the edges were a different matter altogether, snaking irregularly caused by my pushing and pulling the shuttle through the warf with varied tensions. These edges revealing a very accurate graph of my physical actions - line/edge = spindle/thread activity. I could look back along theses edge and see exactly my weaving behavior that day - where my body and materials were either relaxed or tense, and all the variants between.
Like every workshop I have done there is always the expectation of ones achievements, the product you take home with you, the thing you can say to family and friend - look at what I did today! My woven fabric now sits hanging over the back of one of our chairs in the living room to show it off! Although I'm really not sure I like this thing with its snaking edges cluttering up our minimal modernist furniture - but what else do you do with a rectangular piece of weave! Hang it up, fold it and put it in a draw, make a very simple square bag out of it by folding it into two and sewing up the sides - but my sides are so wiggly it would make a very awkward shaped bag - umm not sure about that! Anyway, for the moment I am leaving it on the chair to look at, touch as I pass by and reflect on its layers of texture, and the experience I had that day with the two colourful woven girls and a loom.
10th February, 2018
Recently I went on a blacksmithing course. After my experience with working with glass on a short course I wanted to work with another hot material! The fire/heat involved in both these processes dictates so much of the outcome and requires a great deal of fire knowledge and respect if you want to avoid burning yourself as well as get the most from this natural resource. On arriving to the workshop I was confronted by the stoked up forge and the tutor prodding and poking it to great affect - increasing the flames furiously as he increased the air flow from underneath the coals by loosened the coals from beneath, so that the upper pile could generate more heat. I knew this fire was going to be my focus of attention for the next 8 hours and the first 10 minutes was spent running through all the health and safety issues with working with this hot stuff...
Working with mild steel the tutor Jo showed me step by step how to make a toasting fork. It is a good object to start with as it involves stretching, twisting, curving and wrapping the metal rod by heating it in the forge, then with hammer, pliers and other tools manipulating the steel on the anvil or in a vice to shape the material.
It is interesting when you begin to learn a new skill how initially by copying, alongside listening to instructions from the tutor you learn how to manipulate the material, but the copying can also hinder your development, as to remember and simulate exactly what you are shown is difficult even though necessary to initially learn a process. The copying of someone else is essential at first but after some practice you can then start finding your own way - position of your body, tools and material and respond directly to what is in front of you and not the memory of the actions of the tutor. I find it much easier to calculate for myself how I position my body in relation to the task at hand (hands, feet, shoulders), but when you begin to learn a new skill this can take a long time to work out the best position and technique, and help from the specialist tutor can get you there quicker, but once you have the basic knowledge you have to find your own version that makes sense for your own body. For example, Jo was showing me how to bend the hot metal bar around the anvil to make a circular shape, but I got twisted up around myself as I seemed to run out of room - my body in relation to anvil and rod. I was trying to copy the tutor (well remember what he had shown me 5 mins before and then reenact his actions), which by then I had forgotten or had got mixed up!
I found that when left to my own devices I could begin to find my own body position to do the task at hand, which felt more comfortable and natural. Learning from one's own mistakes is often the only way to really make sense of a task, because if not there is no real understanding of how and why an action is successful in achieving a task. Also confidence plays a large part in the development of hands-on skills. To tentatively hammer metal into a shape for one thing takes a long time - you have to use a lot of pressure and power to hit the hammer and that takes confidence. Also confidence to work with fire - to not be afraid of it - to know how close you can get to it. But on the other hand if you become too confident then mistakes can be made - such as picking up a hot piece of metal without checking it first.
So after a bit of practice I began to feel more in control of the material and the tools I was using, although my body was clearly not used to either - resulting in large blisters developing on my hands and a sore hammering arm.
The words that my tutor kept repeating to me all day was - " you can only work with the metal when it is hot", so as soon as it starts to cool down you must put it back in the fire. I had a tendency to work on my metal for too long allowing it to cool down - making more work for myself as cold metal is much less pliable than the hot stuff. I realise why I kept doing this - it was because it took me about 30 second from when I removed the metal from the forge to understand exactly how I should hit it and where, and once I got into position, got going 'and flowing' the metal had already cooled down too much... Again you have to build up your confidence and work quite quickly to make progress - which by the afternoon I was doing much more even with the throbbing blister under my protective glove.
The heat from the forge was incredible and with it also being a hot day I could feel the sweat pouring down the inside of my clothes. There is something quite rewarding about getting that hot - a direct result of hard physical labour - very satisfying on a basic level. The noise in such an environment is also very extreme - as you can imagine metal hammer meeting metal bar at full swing by two/three people working in the same space creates a lot of noise, however after a while although you are aware of the ringing noises you pay less attention to it as you become so focuses on what you are doing/making.
There is a definite rhythm to blacksmithing - not at least the repetitive beating of the hammer on metal, but also the stoking of the fire and the backwards and forwards movement from fire to anvil. These kinds of rhythms contribute to the concentration and focus required to work with challenging material like metal and fire. I am very aware of the moods that accompany my experience when learning a technique like this. From the frustration of not knowing what I am doing and feeling totally inadequate as a maker, to those moments when suddenly things work out and I can push the material to do what I want it to do - a feeling of elation and mass achievement - and a big smile on my face, even thought for the professional teacher what you have achieved is minor to their capabilities - but it feels so good when something appears as it is meant to! It is only when you have more experience that you can begin to respond more intuitively to the material and allow for the exciting mistakes to bring their rewards.
There is always a sense of expectation on a short courses like this to finish up with an object - a toasting fork and knife in my case. Not that I mind whether I own either of these or not - but to have something recognisable in the category of recognisable objects to go home with. I really don't know why I feel this pressure. Maybe I need to prove to myself, the tutor and my husband that I have learnt something and now have a new skill! Or I really want to own a toasting fork and knife made by my own hands, or I'm slightly deluded to think that in a day I can learn any new skill properly! But what I do know is that I am totally fascinated by these experiences in so many ways, such as the relationship/difference between amateur and professional knowledge, the process both physical and emotional when learning a new skill, and how these experiences feed into my own studio practice as an artist - it is all these questions and inquires that I find so fascinating and which keeps me going back for more.
6th January, 2018
The door that has lost its mechanism
At Cubitt where I have a studio the door into the ladies toilet has one of those devices attached that when you open it, it will automatically close after you, it also stops the door from banging closed and instead closes it slowly, smoothly and without making a noise. We had this fitted in order to reduce the noise for the surrounding studios every time someone entered and left the toilet.
On entering the toilet the other day I pushed open the door as I always had with an exact level of pressure needed to push the door open, but instead of the door having some resistance the door had no resistance and opened dramatically, quickly and flinging open wide, slamming into the wall with a very loud crash.
The door mechanism had broken off and was now lying on the table in the toilet reception area, the screws that had attached it to the architecture wrenched from the masonry and wooden sockets of wall and door, evidenced by bits of mortar dust and wood chip still attached to the screws and plugs hanging from the redundant mechanism.
Now, without this mechanism on the door I would need to open and close the door in a very different way from before. 1. I had to apply considerably less physical pressure when opening it. 2. Once inside I had to close the door behind me (with the mechanism it would have closed on it own) 3. Leaving the room I had to carefully pull the door slowly open as not to let the door slam back on the wall 4. Close the door behind me with equal care. So my routine of opening and closing this door had been dramatically altered. You would think well so what! All doors need opening and closing in different ways, something I suppose I had not thought about much before. No door action is the same even if it is the same mechanism and same door type from the same manufacturer. Depending on where and how and who fitted it, it will behave in a different way. For example, the temperature in the rooms/spaces on each side of the door will alter how the door materials expand and retract and affect the doors movement, such as if the wood has expanded in the door it will sit and react differently to the frame it is set within when opening and closing. The size of the rooms, the movement of air in both inside and outside space will affect the way the door opens and closes and so on.
The door into the ladies at Cubitt I had used many times and knew exactly how much pressure to apply to get in and out so that it had become an automatic action. Whereas when entering an unfamiliar door (such as a building one visits for the first time,) then we tend to act with a level of caution as we are not to know how that door will behave – new door encounters we have to establish the affective effort needed to open and close it.
Every time I went to the ladies at Cubitt since the mechanism broke, clearly not thinking reflectively I slammed it open with almost as much surprise as with the first time it happened. What was going on here? Why was it so difficult for me to remember to open the door carefully? This was down to a deep rooted muscle memory – well brain and body memory – establishing an automatic interaction with the door built up over days, months and years of using it, and I was clearly finding it difficulty to reprogram myself to open the door differently. It was not just me doing this, but others in the studio, as I found out when leaving the toilet recently, the door been flung open nearly hitting me in the face. The person coming in was genuinely shocked by the doors’ erratic movement and anxious that they might have caused an accident if I had been a few centimeters closer. When a material or object acts/functions in an unfamiliar way this can create all levels of surprise and anxiety for the handler and also those in proximity from marginal to severe. I would say the toilet door scored about 7/10 where as a slate falling from the roof of a building and smashing on the pavement next to you only missing by a few inches (this happened to be recently) scored a frightening 9/10, to peeling blu tac off the wall and it annoyingly pulling with it a bit more wall paint than anticipated a 3/10.
What I found was that leaving the toilet was less dangerous than entering just because the mechanism that had broken off the door lay inside on the table next to the door acting as a visual reminder as one left the room to apply less pressure to the door when opening it to leave. Also, the time spent in the toilet was little enough not to forget about the doors new behavior before leaving. So now I have to conscientiously think about the door when entering in a way I have not had to before. I’m thinking of putting a red sticker on the door as a visual indicator to stop me in my tracks as I career towards the toilet door to open it. I did this at my parents home on one the kitchen cabinets, because one of the doors had loosened and when opening you had to support it from the bottom to stop it dropping down (the hinges were old and could not take the weight of the door anymore so as it opened it dropped down, and so when closing, it was then out of alignment with the cupboard and would not close). By placing a small red sticker at the exact place where one would usually open the kitchen cabinet acted as a reminder to treat this door differently to the others – and it really worked. The sticker has been there for 15 years and still does the trick – mind you it is crazy that it has still not been fixed. I do hope the Cubitt toilet door will be fixed a bit quicker!
14th November, 2017
I was in a restaurant a few days ago having lunch with my partner Mark. I was sat with my back to the wall facing into the center of the room where a few steps ascend from the bar and kitchen space into the main seating-eating area. It is a smart place, a French bistro where the waiters wear tightly wrapped long aprons and are constantly checking everything is satisfactory with your meal – which can be a bit much sometimes – I’m not overly keen on having my glass constantly topped up with wine – never having the chance to get to the bottom of a single measure until the end of the bottle!
As we finished our meal we both looked up suddenly in response to a loud crash, to see one of the waiters hurtle across the room, tray in one hand heading towards the floor at high speed. He had tripped up on one of the stairs and dived forward landing on one knee, his other leg lurching forward to block a full fall. The contents of the coffee cups on the tray lifted up out of their containers and headed downwards to splash and disperse across the floor in slow motion. I know this sounds like a cliché – but it really does feel that time slows down when you witness an incident like this, because you can see the event unfold in front of you but are powerless to intervene in time to prevent the unfortunate outcome. It is as if it takes time for the viewers’ eyes and brain to engage the rest of their body (legs to move, activating torso and arms in an attempt to rush forward and catch the falling waiter and his load), so all you can do is watch like an audience trapped in theatre seats. The waiter amazingly managed to keep the tray upright, and although he maintained control over the tray and to a certain extent the cups and saucers on top, only loosing one of the three, he had no control over the fluid contained in the cups, so the milk and coffee of all three vessels lifted out and headed for the floor, splaying out into a multitude of energetic arc shaped crowns as the substances exploded on impact with the floor.
This dramatic event, of which I had a front seat, displayed a number of material actions and reactions. The different weights and consistencies of the material the waiter was carrying reacted distinctively. The tray at the base held directly by the waiter was the most stable material and the item the handler had the most control of, then the cups and saucers above – one resting on the other with their own potential slippage and then inside these cups the hot unpredictable liquid that moved with the slightest exertion. So from the bottom upward the stack of materials was increasingly vulnerable when subjected to such rapid motion – as being dropped as the waiter fell. The contents of the coffee swept across the floor in the direction of the forward plunging waiter. It becomes clear when observing any liquid spill which direction the action was generated by the shape of the splatter. Looking at the aftermath on the floor I became the forensic scientist deciphering a murder case. Which direction did the killer attack their victim – where did the attacker approach from to cause the blood splatter on the floor… was he attacked from behind or taken by surprise from the side…
A hush fell across the restaurant as the single cup, contents of all three cups and waiter crashed to the floor. Also, as the waiter fell he knocked the table and chairs in front of him – creating a cacophony of jarring noises – ceramics meeting wooden floor, wooden table and chair legs dragged across wooden floor, human body protected by fabric colliding with wooden floor and liquid splashing onto wooden floor and surrounding wooden furniture. I wanted to applaud the waiter for his performance and achievement to hang onto the tray and three remaining cups and saucers, but no one else appeared to want to join in so I refrained and just quietly told the very embarrassed waiter when I left what a fantastic spectacle his fall had been and that I hoped he was ok. I could see that the restaurant manager was annoyed with him, whereas his colleagues where supportive, ‘taking the piss’ out of him in order to lift his spirits. The next few minutes that followed I watched the clean up procedure – two waiters wiping, mopping and brushing up the aftermath while the fallen waiter stood back to recompose. He seemed quite shaken up, from both the fall and the immanent reprimand he was anticipating from his manager at the end of his shift.
The table and surrounding chairs where this spilt liquid had shot underneath was swiftly moved to one side, a waiter came out with reams of blue disposable toweling dropping it on top of the liquid to absorb the majority of the spill, then a waiter with a brush and pan magically appeared sweeping up the broken ceramics, followed by a broom and bucket to mop up the remaining liquid, and then followed by more blue paper to dry and polish the floor. No more than five minutes had passed from the opening fall, and table and chairs were back in position and service was elegantly resumed. It was a magnificent cover up – as if nothing had happened – as if a restaurant of this caliber could never make such a blunder! But if the forensics had returned traces of milky coffee would have been detected travelling between the herring bone parquet flooring, droplets hidden on the legs of the table and chairs and minute fibers from the cotton apron of the fallen waiter wedged between the grains of the wood floor.
Exhibited at Gallery Box, Gothenburg, Sweden. 10/11-10/12 2017
26th September, 2017
The ground we walk on
When walking in a crowded place, we weave paths to avoid collisions with others. We are constantly reading and calculating the surface of the ground we are walking on, the objects protruding from it (bollards, sign posts etc) and people coming towards us, while also being able to have a conversation with the friend walking beside us. Aren’t we amazing! We are constantly taking a visual record of the surfaces around and beneath us to make sure the path is clear and will not cause us to trip or stand on something unpleasant or dangerous, while also reading the body language of the person/s coming in our direction to make sure we do not bump into them. We might be making eye contact, but more likely we are reading their body language, the way they move to calculate which way they are likely to move next. A child or dog can be less predictable and collisions are more likely.
I’m particularly interested in the way we respond to the ground, what it is made of and how we negotiate it. Depending on what footwear we have on, or if we are barefoot will alter how we walk on a surface. For example, in summer when I am wearing sandals with thin soles I am much more careful to how and where I place my feet, not to tread on anything that will push up through the sole, like a sharp stone that could distort the base of my sandal making it uncomfortable to push down on, or to avoid wet areas, such as puddles of water that will seep over the shoe edge and creep between my toes, and probably the most common and uncomfortable the stray bit of grit or small stone that finds its way into the shoe getting trapped under the sole of your foot. Depending on the size of the intrusive material it is likely that you have to stop, take off your foot ware and remove the culprit, or if you are wearing a sandal, to tip your foot upside down to allow the hard piece of stuff to fall away.
I enjoy wearing walking boots in order to minimise these chances of stray intruders so I can walk confidently without worrying about the irregularities below my feet, and instead look up and forward to where I am going. However looking down and really noticing what you are standing on is an education in materials, an acknowledgement of the part of our bodies that are most in contact with the world of stuff and an insight into the environment we are moving through. For example, recently when walking down the streets of Palermo in Sicily I noticed unlike the pavements of London they are covered in loose bits, whether building debris, dog shit or other! In most cities in the UK we take for granted that the payments are kept clean so that we can walk along them without paying much attention to our feet as we do so. This makes getting from a to b pretty straight forward but maybe this clean flat journey disengages us from our feet and our contact with the earth beneath. I found walking the streets of Palermo incredibly visceral, as if the ground was offering up an experience that was a truthful reflection of life around – gritty, irregular and unpredictable, definitely not tidy or artificial. I would even go to say that the experience was life changing in exposing key elements of Sicilian lived life – a dead dog, bird, rat, a carcass of a fish, excrement….. Walking on sanitised pavements is pleasant but you could say artificial, it is whether you want pleasant and nice or real and challenging.
This makes me think of air conditioned spaces, keeping us cool and comfortable inside when outside is hot and uncomfortable, but this can create a very detached environment and I personally would prefer to be more in tune with the spaces I occupy, warts and all….. We are in danger with having so many high tech amenities in our living spaces – heating, air conditioning, air fresheners, dehumidifiers, padded seating, thick piled carpets, the list goes on, to become detached from our environment and also our own physical bodies. The smell of rotten food, exposed weather conditions, our own physicality, such as using our bodies to rest without the support of a chair or stool, ie to squat using the lower part of your legs to support the weight of you own torso. When doing this, not only do you create your own chair but you also become very aware of your own body mass and weight. All these things help us to connect to a vital and more honest environment, which is heightened further when something goes wrong – a loose paving stone that traps water underneath it that when trodden on squirts this water upwards soaking your legs, or more dramatically a sump hole causing the earth to literally disappear from under you.
It is important to be reminded of the planets unpredictable crust, what lies beneath, where things have gone before and where new things will be built on top, and that below the multitude of slick surfaces there hides an array of exciting materials and surprising matter.
12th August, 2017
Why is touching glass so dissatisfying? I was reading ‘Stuff Matters’ by Mark Miodownik, and he was describing how glass was ‘smooth, transparent and cool’, and as these are not human physical qualities we therefore find it difficult to relate to or care about it. Also it is a material that we look through rather than at, and there is a lot of it about! So, maybe not a very special or extraordinary material, and yet it is a miraculous material – its capacity to be totally transparent, very strong, and facility to be distorted to make all matter of lenses (glasses and microscopes etc.)
Well, after reading this chapter about glass in Mark’s book I started to touch glass a lot more, beautiful crafted glass such as the colourful cut vintage wine glasses I have collected over the years, and plain glass in windows, display cabinets and simple drinking glasses etc. When you focus on just clear flat glass apposed to the ornate colourful stuff, it is a bit like drinking water to touch. If asked what water tastes like, I can only say it tastes like water and water tastes like nothing else. I can describe its cool refreshing-ness but not its flavour. I feel the same about plain clear glass when touching it – feels very neutral with no one outstanding characteristic. Maybe it’s transparent-ness affects the way we interact with it. It is like an invisible touch that struggles to go beyond my hand, but remains in the sensory pads on my fingertips. I do think coloured glass has a different sensation to clear glass. This experience of touching the transparent colourless stuff makes me think that our experience of touch is very much affected by what we see, the sensory and visual working together. So if something is totally transparent it feels visually empty and therefore sensory deprived, but if glass is coloured, I experience it differently through touch, as the eyes and the fingers are both working together, or more specifically the hand and the brain are working together.
This brings me to the idea discussed so rampantly in the area of anthropology, the notion that the hands feed the brain, (apposed to the other way around) and through actions of touch the brain is formed and can evolve, for it is the hands when they come in contact with a material send the experience literally up our arms and to our brain where then it is made further sense of. Of course it is not that simple, but given it has been described the other way round for so long – that the brain informs all our physical actions, and through its intellect makes sense of all things physical. This seems to me very limited given that without a physical interaction with things, how can the brain begin to understand the world and the stuff in it other than as an abstract idea.
I am very sensitive to this hot wire between my hands (although this can be extended to other parts of my body, such as feet and elbows etc,) and my brain. For example, a repetitive action performed by my hands to learn and master a skill, such as peeling an apple, my brain and hand work in unison, the brain making decisions to how to hold the apple and the knife and my hands responding with an action that is within the capabilities of my physical material body. Everything the hand does is directed by the brain and then the hands send sensory signals back to the brain so it can make the next decision and together the action can take place – but by no means in that order, but as a continues and sophisticated flow between the two. The importance of the hand and brain as an interlocking unit, gives them equal value where there is no hierarchy between intellect and physical interaction, knowledge and dexterous skill. Even if the brain is devoid of its body, such as the body becoming physically disabled, the brain uses its memory of the physical world in order to generate its imagination of physical experience. Without any interaction with objects and stuff there is no intellect of these things. So get of the sofa from your theory books and go and interact with the world, or else the words in the book will have no meaning!
23rd July, 2017
I have to talk about glass, as I am so excited about it!
Yesterday I went on a glassblowing course. Ricky Keech was our tutor – myself and a woman called Sally. Ricky explained very clearly and carefully (very important when you are dealing with very hot and dangerous stuff) each step of the process and then trusted in us to handle it! Well handle is probably not the right word – more a mediated handling, as one thing you never do is touch/handle the molten glass with your hands – even though it looks so incredibly inviting to touch. The furnace had been heating up since 7am so by the time we got started at 10 it was incredibly hot and the glass inside was glaringly pale yellow – almost white. The main reason I was interested in doing this course was my intrigue to work with a material I could not directly handle, and to see how my hand-material engagement skills would be tested, and whether it was possible to ‘feel’ and understand the material through the tools I was using apposed to direct (hand) touch, unlike say working with clay on a potters wheel.
The first thing that struck me was that when you enter the furnace with the long metal rod (long so that you are at a distance from the heat) to gather the molten glass by turning the rod in the liquid crucible, when you pull it away out of the furnace you can hardly feel the material gathered on the end of the rod – how it moves or its weight, due to the relatively small amount of glass gathered which is slight compared to the weight of the rod. It is only when you get considerably more glass gathered on the rod (I know there is a proper name for this rod but as a total amateur I don’t feel too guilty about calling it this) that you feel its weight beyond the weight of the metal rod.
I began to realise as I worked with this material that my understanding of its behavioral qualities was being obtained primarily through vision and not touch. And where I was ‘feeling’ the material through the tools I was using, I was really interpreting the sensation of feeling through what I was gathering visually. In fact visually the moving molten glass appears seductive and calm, not aggressive and dangerous like the fire in the furnace and you almost feel you can actually touch it – but of course if you did you would end up with the most severe burns.
What was so extraordinary for me was how malleable and yet extremely strong it was. I mean that when for example you stretch glass, pulling thin into strands, you think as you pull the glass using pliers it will break – but it doesn’t – it can be pulled so thin and when it starts to dry and fix itself it is incredibly strong. Ricky showed us long strands that he had pulled in glass, which when I saw them I thought they were strands of nylon wire, but when I touched them they were flexible and incredibly strong. Of course you could break them if you wanted, but in the scale of strong materials – thickness to strength – glass must score very high.
The experience of glassblowing was pure wonder – somehow because you are dealing with fire you have to have total respect for the process and maintain extreme concentration. Once you start to make something there is really no stopping, as everything needs to be done while the glass is hot and in constant motion – you can’t put it down and rest! This intensity stops you thinking about anything other than the job at hand – which is a rare thing. I did this course a few months after my dear father passed away and in these moments of glass manipulation I totally released myself from any thoughts of sadness and melancholic memories – only thinking glass, glass, glass. This total uninterrupted concentration I had also with pot throwing, but then again you can always stop the wheel and rest at any point unlike working with glass. Glass is a material that relies on being in constant motion when in it molten state of becoming – turning, turning to stop it being pulled towards the floor by gravity, and being extremely hot in order to shape, so you have to work fast once the glass comes out of the furnace, and then return it to the furnace when it becomes to cool to work with.
So – with my rod in the fire gathering glass from within the furnace crucible and the constant turning so that the material does not fall off you become acutely aware of the changing positions of the rod and your hands that are doing this – although you never really get to look at your hands as you are always focused on the ball of hot matter at the end of the rod. It is like walking with a tray full of cups of tea constantly adjusting the level of the tray to keep the tea from not spilling over the edge of the cups and never taking your eyes off the moving material.
Once you have gathered enough glass onto your rod then other things can happen – pulling, blowing, shaping. One of the ways you shape glass is by taking a thick pile of very wet newspaper about A5 size and an inch thick (so lots of layers); using this as a shield you can with your hand cup the glass to shape as it turns. It is the moment when you almost feel you are touching the hot glass in your hands – pretty amazing.
Blowing glass is another way of shaping. You blow down the metal rod to push air into the ball of molten glass and like blowing up a balloon, after an initial hard exhale the glass begins to expand. Of course being at the other end of the rod you cannot see if the air you are pushing out is creating a bubble or not, so you need another person at the other end of the pipe to say STOP when you have blown enough air into the molten glass ball. If you blow for too long on one gather you are in danger of bursting your glass bubble.
My experience of working with glass was mind changing as far as material experience. I have never worked with a material that I have had so much respect for – a kind of alchemy was taking place in front of me and I was really taken a back. Also the idea of handling but not directly – feeling the materials through tools and other materials and feeling/understanding through visual interpretation. It was totally exhilarating, scary, exciting and quite frankly mind blowing – mind blowing glass blowing…..
22nd June, 2017
On a holiday to Italy, me and my partner Mark rented a small cottage and every time we entered through the front door, usually when returning from the local market carrying piles of fresh fruit and veg, Mark would get his rucksack strap caught on the door handle as he entered the house, this was due to the fact that when the door was pushed open it got stuck halfway due to catching on the uneven tiled floor and therefore making the entrance much narrower, and consequently Mark’s rucksack strap getting caught as he miscalculated the width of the doorway.
With this particular material encounter I am less interested in why it happened – the door height and floor imperfections, but the affects the incident of loose strap catching the handle had on me and Mark in that moment. The primary affect being that it yanked Mark back into the doorway when it got caught, making him agitated and surprised, while it made me laugh, partly due to the fact that it happened everyday, which amused me as I thought after the second time Mark would have adjusted his body position so that there was enough room for him and the bag to enter without catching the handle, and his predictable reaction – how many times can a person be surprised at a predicted incident! Also, when you put one of the straps over your arm while leaving the other to dangle, that functionless loop becomes a hazard waiting to happen! Quite a big loop for catching on things! The design of a rucksack is of course to loop both straps around each arm making it comfortable to carry heavy weights, with equal distribution across the back of the rucksack bearer. When it is used correctly it is a brilliant device, and when back-packing in my twenties with a lot of stuff crammed into a very large rucksack it was amazing how much weight I could lift using this clever object. But when used incorrectly, such as to loop a single strap around one arm it was massively less comfortable and affective.
The upper back of a human can take a lot of weight if the weight is placed high enough on the body, if on the other hand the weight is too low where the back is weaker it can be very painful when carrying a rucksack around for hours. When you see people carrying large weights on their heads (very high up on the body) – such as what I witnessed when I was traveling through Africa – women carrying enormous loads wrapped up in fabric balanced on top of their heads. You can see how when the weight is placed on the top of the body it can take much more weight than lower down the body, and also it is about having the weight central to the body axis so that the head is in the strongest position in relation to the spine, the weight being equally distributed throughout the entire body frame, although you have to build up some strength in your neck if you are going to carry the kind of weights I saw woman carrying in Tanzania.
As we move around we are constantly making spatial decisions so not to bump into things, so that when we do catch/touch/bump into something it often comes as a bit of a shock, as if when we do collide we are annoyed with ourselves for failing to make the right spatial calculations to navigate our way forwards without a collision. I think this annoyance we have with ourselves, (like Mark’s frustration with his rucksack strap on the door handle), is a constant battle, tease and often comedy moment for those watching on, and it happens to me on a daily basis.
Things I get caught up with.
1. When putting my knickers on in the morning and missing the leg hole. This can be a disaster if I loose my balance completely and end up falling over, bouncing off the surrounding furniture.
2. Trying to retrieve items from my handbag. A) Not being able to find them, then as I pull items out they drag other things with them which then jump out of my bag, such as a pen or more private embarrassing items! Which are then catapulted across the room in front of everyone. B) Items getting caught around other things as I lift them out my bag, e.g. my wallet getting entangled around the canvas bag handles which I always carry with me for impromptu grocery buying.
3. My hair getting trapped between my shoulder bag strap and my shoulder, and then pulling my hair free without removing the strap, leaving trapped hair lodged under the strap, wrenched from my scalp. (It is surprising the amount of times I have done this that I am not semi bold on the right hand side of my head.)
4. Zips getting caught up with surrounding garment fabric threads, and more painfully – skin and body hair – Ouch…
11th May, 2017
Where YOU are sitting: amongst books – SMELL
Smell is a fascinating thing, it can take you right back to a single moment in the past and unlock a memory in its purest form. I would say that smell, equal to sound but more than vision and touch has the ability to do this. Perhaps this is because sound and smell literally penetrate the body, seeping in through openings and portals through the outer layers to mingle amongst our organs, whereas when we look with our eyes we are essentially taking an image like a camera and translating the information, a process of recording and sophisticated editing between eyes and brain. The eyes when looking at a scene are registering only a selection of what is fully there in that moment before sending information to the grey matter (our brain), whereas sounds and smells hit us directly and without selection, entering our body unexpectedly to bombard the brain with information with little or almost no editing. It is easier to close our eyes or revert our gaze, refrain from touching things around us, than to close our noses or seal up our ears as we travel through our tactile, visual, smelly and noisy material environment. Smell and sound can recreate exact experiences we had when we heard or smelt something in our past – linking the gap between the present and the past with extraordinary clarity. Also, on a scientific level I found out recently that the area of the brain that responds to and processes smells, and the part that deals with memory are very close together.
I picked up a book the other day and on opening it and smelling the pages I was immediately catapulted back to the moment when I was a child reading a book from the ‘Janet and John’ series. If you were a child growing up in the UK in the 70’s you will know what I am talking about! (I would like to mention at this point that I am referring to a particular book/page smell, not to be confused with a generic book smell that we can all locate in our set of favourite memory odours along with – freshly cut grass, roasted coffee beans and baking bread.) This smell is unique because of particular paper, glue and ink used combined with the age of the book and its history – where it has been placed in proximity to other objects and materials, picking up other smells. Similarly, if I was to describe the smell of cut grass in my mums garden in August last year, it would be different to the grass cut smell in September in my old house in Stoke Newington 6 years ago. The details are important.
This series of books was a learning tool for primary school children – one step closer to reading fluently! This particular ‘Janet and John’ book I did not particularly like because at the age of 7 I found it very difficult to read particularly out aloud as my nerves would literally paralyse me so I was unable to get the words out. I have awkward memories of being forced to read out aloud by my teacher at school and my mum at home from this particular book. The more these well intentioned facilitators tried to guide me with their constant interruptions of corrections the harder it became for me to do the task, the activity usually ending up with me in tears and then unable to read through my blurry wet vision. Ironically however, I also really liked this book but as an object, the blood orange coloured textured flexible canvas cover, and the pictures inside of Janet and John engaged in simple activities, such as filling a bucket of water, buying groceries …… God knows why I found it interesting, when I think back to it now it was a very basic and unimaginative book. Perhaps it was the way the pictures were drawn and painted that attracted me, the use of simple mark making to outline the figures, objects and animals on the page with primary colours filling in the shapes, and the way the text skirted around the images, so that the words and sentences made shapes of their own on the paper.
Recently I smelt a book, one that I picked up in a library (I can’t remember which book it was now, but it definitely was not a children’s book – it was a small paperback of some sort). I was immediately transported back to those childhood book moments wrapped up in all my mixed emotions, and an immense feeling of nostalgia and longing to be aged 7 again. I don’t have the book anymore – the ‘Janet and John’ book – It might be in the attic of my parents house and I suppose I could try and find it, but I’m sure it will not smell the same anymore, and I’m pretty sure if I handled it, it would not be that interesting an object, so better as a memory – even thought the memory is a mixture of good and bad feelings! I’m also not in the library anymore, but sitting in my studio writing about this experience, but I still can hold onto the strong memory of that particular booky page smell that linked me to my long ago booky page smell encounter – an example of where memories can trigger other memories. Maybe if I was in a bookshop right now or in a library like you are, smelling a book; having written this piece of text; I might simultaneously have memories of the ‘Janet and John’ book and the book in the library. I can’t describe the smell or recreate it, but I know the experience and feeling of that smell, as clearly as I am looking at the iPad screen I am writing on right now. But, I can only have the genuine experience if I am actually holding a book and smelling it – a memory of an experience and an actual ‘in the moment’ experience are different things. Also, I think it is easier to conjure up an image of a memory in your head than it is to conjure up a smell memory.
Can you remember a smell that has left a strong impression on you, and have you found it again? Maybe it was a material you handled as a child, food you ate at home or school, a room you lived in or visited. Maybe there is a memory trigger for you in this library right now.
Sited in Dalston CLR James Library, London.
4th April, 2017
Where YOU are sitting – around the big Appestat table.
Humans move and we watch them from our own moving position. We rarely physically experience another person’s body movements through actual human contact, apart from those closest to us – hugging, holding, leaning into and lying up against. Or do we? I am interested in the once removed physical interactions we have through touch, when we are recipient to another persons movements via some kind of interface – object, material…. These interfaces (stuff that two or more people are in physical contact with at the same time) – tables, chairs, flooring can exaggerate and heighten or diffuser and softener our direct experiences of others physical movements.
The other day I was in my favourite café sat at their large table, the kind you might find in a kitchen in an old farmhouse, where families gather for meals and conversation. I believe the idea of the café owner Anneka is to make the environment feel homely having a number of people sat around the same table, so that we might be encouraged to communicate with one another – not something that is promoted in your average café – where small segregated tables and uncomfortable chairs inhibit interaction with other café dwellers. I enjoy this ‘all round the table’ arrangement as you often end up sitting close to others and yet you can still retain your own personal space, a closeness that is comforting but not imposing or confrontational. The table is a bit wobbly, so depending on whom else is sat around it, the table moves in response to each occupant’s body movements. It is usually when two or more people sit down together that the table becomes animated and vibrates the most, as a result of their interactive movements while they talk to each other. When I feel these vibrations and tremors from where I am sat, I indirectly become part of their conversation, sandwiched between the two talking bodies, as the movement is right with me in my arms connected via the table and my iPad as I write. The table’s shifting activity is unique to the individual generating them, and mirrors the conversation they are having, the emotional delivery of their words, the gestures that go with their sentences which are expressed through the actions of their upper body that is connected to the table – hands and arms colliding with the wooden structure, synchronised to the staccato of projected words.
On this particular day I recall vividly this experience, as the table was vibrating more than usual. A woman at the other end of the table was getting incredibly animated, and was expressing herself physically as well as verbally. I was also able to listen to parts of the conversation and became aware that the vibration I was receiving through my wooden transmitter was more exaggerated than the words being spoken. What I mean is that the table was being shuddered, shacked and banged more dramatically than what I understood of the words being spoken, it was as if this individual found it more affective to communicate through their body actions and gestures than with words and sentences. Perhaps they were compensating for their limited and restrained capacity of verbal language, and the body with fewer inhibitions was stepping in to express what they really felt!
The thing is, after getting over the initial annoyance of my computer bouncing around as it leant against the tabletop edge, I started to ‘go with’ the table’s movement….. really trying to connect to this persons language through this particular material engagement (table – wood behavior). It was as if I was actually touching this total stranger, and connecting with them personally. It made me think about whether I, who was sat at the other end of the table, understood the conversations better than the person they were talking to, that I understood the intentionality behind the words being spoken. The direct recipient of the conversation was listening to what that person was saying and may or may not have acknowledged the moving table, whereas I was feeling and listening to the table’s movements, (human body clashing with wood) foremost with the verbal conversation as secondary to my experience.
What is interesting about this is whether our bodily movements express more honestly and perhaps more directly than our use of language when we communicate with one another. Maybe the body is less likely to want or be able to restrain and disguise how we feel, whereas our use of constructed words and sentences we are more in control of. Or is our bodily actions a direct expression of what we are saying and therefore it is futile to separate body and language?
It is important to pay attention to how others physically move when we are talking and listening to them, as this can reveal more than what is being verbally communicated. I also wonder in a world where we rarely physically touch others – strangers (unless of course you are in the industry of touching – masseur, dentist, doctor etc.) that the mediated touch is something we should engage with more, the vibrating apparatus when two strangers are holding/touching at the same time – handrail on a bus, table in a cafe, arm rest on a train…. Also the importance of communicating in ‘real’ physical space, apposed to email, Snapchat, Facebook, phone…. To be able to read the physical and visual signals while we communicate with one another, those subtle body expressions that can reveal so much more than words alone. Humans are sociable animals and need human contact. I’m sure the reason why I like to sit around the large table in my favourite café (apart from the fact they make the best coffee) even when I don’t speak to my neighbour, is that it fulfils a need ‘to feel/touch’ others, mediated touch, actual touch or just visual touch.
Sited in Appestat, Islington, London.
26th March 2017
A stack is a more or less orderly pile or heap. To make a stack is different to building a stack!? When you place things on top of other things to make a pile you have to consider what is below in order to build the stack up to increase its height.
In my fascination to find the difference in building a stack – one where I stacked things on top of each other vertically, placing each part on top of the part below to make a tall stack, and one where I made it horizontally and then stood it upright (vertically) to make a stack. When they are standing vertically they are both stacks, but one is a true stack and the other a fake stack. The word stack suggests an action to stack, which is why my horizontally constructed stack I am tentative to call a stack! Not only do these two stacks appear distinct they also behave uniquely and were incredibly different to make.
Building my stack. Using silicon-based plastic, I made with my hands a small block shape about the size of a standard matchbox. The material is malleable and a little sticky so once I had placed my first block on the floor I made my second block and added this on top of the first block applying a little pressure from above to stick them together. I carried on making similar size blocks and sticking each new one to the one below so my stack would grow up off the floor. The material I was using was fairly flexible, a bit like plasticine but a bit more bouncy so when I got to about 30cm high the stack wanted to bend and fall over. So once I had built a 30cm stack, I left it to dry over night and then continued to build the next section on top. As I built my stack I could see each block I added was accommodating the block/s below. What I mean by this is that my stack did not look orderly and neat, but bent left and right, as I was constantly adapting the stack to maintain its balance so it would stay standing up. Also, as I added each block I pressed down on it a little to stick it to the one below and by doing this I was also pressing down on the blocks below that one, which meant that the bottom blocks were getting more squashed and distorted as I built upwards. Once I got to about 75cm high I knew I was pushing my luck to make the stack any taller. It is amazing when you are stacking stuff that your hands and brain are constantly calculating how to keep the object straight and upright so not to fall over. My brain visually calculating width to height ratio probabilities, based on experience of stacking other stuff, the experience of making this stack and my previous knowledge of using this material, and my hands sensitively feeling for the point at which the material was no longer stable and would not stay straight enough to stay upright. I spent a long time sitting on the floor anticipating the stack to fall over, and many times it did catching it as it fell, and then placed it upright again pushing in from the sides with my hands the still supple plastic form to straighten it up again. There was a point when the material became tacky and hence more stable as it dried out, and I felt I could leave it and it would not fall over. It has been standing in my studio now for 3 weeks and has not fallen. Also I have picked it up and moved it around and it pretty much stays in its upright position wherever I place it, as long as the floor is relatively flat. I’m saying this, as my studio floor is not always!
Making (and faking) my stack – I did after building/stacking my stack…. I did this second stack to find out if it was easier to make a stack horizontally and then stand it up rather than making it vertically as in the first one. You could say this is not a stack but just appears as one! So what I did is take each of my individually hand made plastic shaped cubes and laid them one by one along a flat surface (table top), butting them up to each other to stick them in a long line. This method meant that I could make a very straight and ordered line of cubes in order to make a solid long shape. Once I got my row of cubes to the same length as the one that was standing up on my studio floor (my building stack) I left it to dry over a few days before attempting to stand it up. I knew it would not stand up at the first attempt as the base was probably not flat enough and at the right angle, so after a lot of cutting and shaving to make as good as I could I tried standing it up – it took many attempts of standing and watching which way it wanted to fall and then shaving a bit off the side of the base opposite to the direction of its falling direction. Well thinking that I had my base just right and flat it stood there on the floor next to my building stack (same height) for a minute or two, but then would fall over. Over a period of a day I stood it up again and again thinking that it would stay upright then after 2-10 minutes it fell over again and again and again…… I even tried cheating a bit by threading some wire up through the form to stop it flexing so much – causing it to fall, but that did not work either. Interesting that visually the made stack apposed to the building stack looked more stable and less likely to fall and yet it was the other away around.
My conclusion – I stood for a long time holding gently both the tops of the stacks slightly swaying them a little to feel how they moved. The building stack felt very firm and there seemed to me little flexibility between each stuck block (that made up the stack), and yet the made stack there was a lot more flexibility between each block, so the reason why it tended to fall over some minutes after I stood it up was that if there was any slight movement between two next door stuck together blocks this would slowly put more strain on the block join below and so on and eventually bend enough to pull the whole stack down in the direction of the bend. What I learnt from this was that if you make something in the position/orientation in which it will be permanently placed then it is more likely to hold that position and be strong in that position, whereas if you make something oriented one way (e.g. horizontally) and then move it to be orientated another way (vertically), such as with my made stack then the form is less likely to work, as the material making up the stack has been asked to alter its original behavior from when it was made. When the stack was lying down on the table it made a very strong horizontal line doing as much as it needed to do to be that horizontal line I had placed it in, but when stood up it was not strong enough to hold itself up right and hence kept falling over. Whereas the built stack that was made vertically – bedding down in that position as it was built up block by block, section by section and dried ‘in’ its stable position. It was as if the material had found its natural place and there it remained stable, whereas the made stack was being forced into a new position and did not know how to behave anymore, the memory of the material from when it was made captured inside the form. Strange though – after a few days I was able to find a position where my made stack did not fall down, it was as if the material when given the time to adapt and settle into its new vertical position could now behave as a vertical object and not fall down as often! However it has not adapted totally – I’m still waiting for it never to fall over!
I have to say this really brings me back to the whole ‘wall’ thing – which I mentioned earlier that it is a very different thing to make a brick wall vertically and then attach that to the side of a building than making a wall brick by brick from the bottom upwards. (See ‘Stuff and Architecture’ Part 1) In fact making something flat then placing it upright (horizontal to vertical) is a totally different process and which creates very different result to making something vertical vertically.
13th March 2017
Sounds and Smells
When we touch objects we are also listening to them. The sound of an object/material can tell us a lot about their internal structure strength and stability. I used to work in stone, large-scale sculptures using all different types – limestone, granite, sandstone and marble. From choosing my stone blocks in the quarry to working with this hard stuff in my studio I was always listening to the material to acquire knowledge to help me work with it. Every strike of the mallet onto the head of the chisel gave me specific audio information, such as locating the weakness and strength in the material. In order to work affectively with stone you either use the weakness of the material to break the stone away, or avoid the weakness to maintain the mass and the shape. So listening to the stone was essential.
When you split stone (to divide into parts) you drill minimum 20mm diameter holes about 5 inches apart in a line where you want the stone to split, and then you apply plugs and feathers into the holes – two feathers per hole of which you then place a plug between. You then start tapping with a hammer each plug which forces the feathers to open up, applying pressure to the stone and eventually splitting it. As you tap each plug along the line of plugs and feathers the stone makes a ringing sound, created by the metal vibrating within the tight holes, then the sound becomes more hollow and deadened, as the metal no longer is contained within a tight hole, but one that is opening and breaking up, so you tap other pugs some more to get the sound to resonate the same in each. It is all a matter of getting the plug and feathers to work at the same pace, to achieve a clean break along the plugs. Eventually a crack will appear, which is the satisfying bit! And then you tap the plugs along your line to extend the crack in a controlled way. The plugs now sit deep between the feathers, the two feathers then loosen, some of the plugs and feathers falling through the stone and landing on the concrete floor below to produce another type of ringing sound. The stone should now be in two parts, and if according to plan split perfectly between the plug holes and not sheared off in an unpredictable direction, which can happen when working with this energized material.
Smell also plays a part in this process. Once you open the stone you release the trapped air/gases that are within the mass. I love thinking about these captured ancient atmospheres collected when the stone was forming, thousand year old odours, caused by plants and animal life trapped within layers of compacted earth, thrown up from the earths core during a volcanic eruption, or built up on the sea-bed. When working in this incredibly ‘old’ material I often found myself getting up very close to the stone to smell the aroma of its hidden past. To think that at that moment of me cutting into the stone I was releasing gas that was created many years ago. It is a moment of wonder to be the person to witness this fleeting release of ancient smells into the present atmosphere.
The sounds generated by a material help us to gather knowledge about its properties. I often find myself tapping objects to understand them better. Such as a porcelain bowl – if you tap all over its entire surface you can hear how the sound changes. Where it is thin the sounds is very different to where the material is thicker. It is a clever way of gathering knowledge about a object when you cannot entirely visually explore it – such as not being able to see inside an object, so by tapping it you can ascertain where the walls of the objects are thin and where they are thicker, where it is hollow or solid, where it is damaged (a cracked porcelain object generates very particular sounds!) Thin stuff and thick stuff sound different, so to does short and long stuff. By tapping an object with your finger or with a tool (metal tools work best) you can reveal its inner structure, the fibers, molecules, crystals how they are working inside the material, whether they are strong or weak, soft or hard, fixed or changeable.
I have recently being researching the science and physics of materials to help me to understand better how materials behave. Two books I have come across that explore this territory in an accessible and yet incredibly intelligent way are: ‘Storm in a Teacup. The Physics of Everyday Life.’ By Helen Czerski and ‘Reality is Not What it Seems. The Journey to Quantum Gravity’ by Carlo Rovelli.
3rd February 2017
Inside and Outside
Our interaction with objects and material is mostly a surface experience. Walking on stone paving, not entering the stone and its internal gases, holding a metal fork, but not entering the molecule structures of irons and chemicals locked inside. However, we do enter fluids and malleable materials more easily, such as water, wet clay, and food – vegetables, fruit, meat, and cheese as we cut, grate and crush them. It is mostly the hard stuff we merely skate, glide, and stroke across the surface. And it is these hard surfaces we most rely on to construct our environmental infrastructure – buildings, roads, machines and vehicles etc, for the obvious reason that they are stable and strong.
So perhaps we should think, imagine what is behind these hard surfaces that surround us – to think about the materials we are touching – not just the outer coat but also the inner matter and workings.
You can tell a lot when touching a surface to ascertain what is inside. I had a funny experience recently in a supermarket in Sicily in Italy. My partner asked me to find an aubergine. He had looked thoroughly through the fresh fruit and vegetable section and could not find one, which was very odd considering Sicilians use a lot of aubergines in their cooking. I then went to look and could not see one either. Being a little bored as Mark waited to be served at the meat and cheese counter I lingered again in the vegetable area focusing on a pale round vegetable about the size of a small melon, it was white and pale green, with a slight hint of purple around the stalk, a vegetable I did not know, and yet when I picked it up, I immediately knew it was an aubergine. It looked nothing like the dark purple long bulbous shape vegetable I was familiar with, but it felt exactly like an aubergine. When you handle an aubergine it has a very particular tactility, like no other vegetable I have come across – firm but also spongy, a bit like a natural sponge that has gone hard when dried out, but still enough give to feel its springy quality, and wrapped in a skin of rubbery squeakiness, like a rubber ball. On handling it I could imagine what it looked like inside, from my previous aubergine cooking experiences.
It proved to me the necessity to handle stuff to really understand what I was encountering and that appearances can be extremely deceptive.
Often the outer surfaces of living things is different to the inside, a design mechanism to protect what is inside, like the skin of a tomatoes or the skin and hair of an animal, both protecting the flesh inside. These things have a different material on the outside to that of the inside, like our own bodies, the skin wrapped around, muscle, bone, and veins. Whereas other things the outside material can be the same as what is inside, such as a pebble on the beach or a carrot, but by being exposed to the air, earth and other elements has become slightly harder on the outside and more than often different in appearance. It all seems to come down to protection, where a living thing needs to be protected, it creates or acquires a tougher skin, where as a manmade object – inanimate object such as a sawn piece of wood or a building brick, does not have a skin to protect its inner stuffness. Maybe this is because it is strong and durable right to its core, but more likely it has no mechanism to build a protective skin. Of course we design and make all sorts of skins to protect objects we own – from phones and computers covers to clothes, and these in themselves have an inner and outer materiality.
Whether it is a brick or an aubergine, there will always be an outer experience and an inner one, that we may or may not access, unless we choose to interact with it, which might mean breaking or destroying it to do so…..
6th January 2017
Stuff and Architecture.
The word Stuff is both a noun and a verb – the stuff that is material and matter, and the action of stuffing to fill and form objects. Are the objects that have been designed on a flat digital screen insensitive to the materials that are used to fill/stuff these digital ideas in becoming actual objects in real space? Enormous amounts of objects are designed on computer screens which in order to become actual objects in the world – take matter and stuff it inside the designs, often irrespective of what the form or the material can do or requires.
In digital software there are samples of materials shown as surface texture which can be digitally and virtually wrapped around designed objects and architecture on the screen to give the designer an idea of how the thing he/she is designing will appear once manufactured in a given material. Well, the appearance of a material or surface of a material does not say much about how the object/building in that chosen material will behave when it is built. So, the designer has to think about both the properties of the material chosen to use and whether they can function in a building and what it will look like. It seems to me some things/objects produced lean more towards the requirement and fulfillment of the experience of the screen than the requirement of the physical object to be used in real space. Let me explain – On visiting Zaha Hadid extension at the Serpentine Gallery in London when it first opened, while sitting in the restaurant eating my over expensive salad, the swooping organic architecture over and around me seemed to have one foot still firmly in the computer and digital space, and was not totally occupying the space I was in, this was evidenced in the clunky way the pillars met the ground, a gap appearing between pillar and floor breaking up the continuous flow and it was definitely not swooping..! A feature perhaps less relevant on the screen, but while I sat by this pillar staring at the floor I was so very disappointed by the lack of thought given to how this column met the ground, and considering how chairs and tables where pushed so close to the pillars, I’m sure others would come into contact with this connecting point and have similar thoughts. The digital form, the surface affect had overridden the material, the substance, and the matter – revealing a gap between design and production.
Have a good look at a new building and decide for yourself how much of it was designed in the ‘real’ and how much on the computer screen.
Many years ago buildings evolved and changed while they were being built, as the materials being used dictated how they would be applied, builders and architects working closely solving problems as they went along in working out the best way to proceed. There was a time when builder and architect were the same profession. You can see such decision making in old churches where an extra pillar or buttress was added creating a less symmetrical structure and revealing a trace of problem solving and a more organic approach – evidence of decisions being made as the building went up, accommodating new demands as they arose. Obviously the technology we have available today means we can predict future problems and through various advanced digital software can calculate the strength of structures and materials. However the relationship between architects/designers and builders could have gone too far the other way, to a point that builders have little or no investment in the buildings they are constructing, caring very little about the vision of the whole building and from my experience cutting corners with detail. I’m not talking about lack of standards, but a lack of uniformed vision and concern for the whole, connecting one material, object, architectural feature with another fluidly, with a vision that relates to the original design but goes beyond the screen to the real, evolving as it grows in actual space .
I often look at buildings going up in London – they seem to have landed like space ships, as if they could take off as quickly as they docked. They do not grow out of the ground, but are constructed and hover in space (which is interesting in itself!) Frames and structures go up and lastly sections of cladding added to the outside to create surfaces, that can ‘look like’ brick, solid stone, ceramics and so on, and yet this illusion is only sometimes millimeters thick rather than the actual building material thickness! – I’m sure a good strategy to build things quickly and more economically. You may say what is the difference; it looks the same – but look carefully. For example, a slab of clad replica brick constructed like a jigsaw in a factory away from the building site appears very different to a brick wall built ‘with’ actual bricks on site, from the bottom upwards by a bricklayer. The first is a form stuffed with bricks and the second is built brick. The brick in the second behaves like brick traditionally does, each brick responsive to the cement and brick layer below and on top, and as the builder constructs the wall this way he/she is making decisions in response to the material the brick is made of and materials in proximity, whereas the first set of bricks, made in a factory as large cladded sections was probably constructed horizontally, rather than vertically. These large slabs of brick formations are then attached and hung to the building facades, looking all the same, each a replica of the other panel of bricks, the cement between the bricks uncompressed by the lack of weight from the layer of bricks being placed on top.
So, if you look carefully at such buildings – there is a brick wall, but not one that sits on the ground but floats in the space defined by the digital environment rather than the physical one. One is probably no better than the other – just different. So, when you encounter contemporary urban architecture explore the brickwork and the way the material has been put together, as it will reveal a lot about the journey of design to realization, and the tools that have been used.