diary (n) one

my mother calls on the landline. i am sure it is her. as i respond she becomes alarmed. are you alright. yes, it’s okay. for the first time she seems to be listening to how it is here (besides: i am glad you are not ill). there is a spaciousness in her listening that wasn’t there before and so i tell her a few of the arguments across home, work, friends, futures.

is there some fun you can have.

i tell her some of the fun.

she proceeds to tell me what to tell the neighbours downstairs. i rarely follow her advice on social interactions. it often seems a little brutal. but i know what she says.

right at the start i realised how i switched into her crisis mode. i felt it in my spine, in my walk and in my focus.

the district with the town i grew up has no single death from covid-19 nor a single infection.IMG_2741

diary (d) d

i loop. time loops. i am repeating myself. time is repeating itself.

i remember a conversation from weeks ago. was it online. was it on the street.

he says: i can’t think straight. i am strangely confused. i seem to go round in circles. i am worried about my cognitive capacity.

i say: ah, yes, mine goes like that as well.

then i continue and say: you know, my mind is a little trippy most of the times. i tend to let it fold into the art stuff. my dream and fantasy sequences are generally a good site for that part of my thinking. what i started doing since mid-March is to let it fold into my day-to-day stuff and conversations more than usually. i almost consciously step into that mode and let it guide me through this strange now. it seems fitting. as i say this i realise that that is precisely what i have been doing. i have a series of messages that give evidence of how my dreams become a thing that is less closely guarded than normally. even my day dreams are the subject of my talking and writing now. as it write this i begin to wonder if my movement also gives evidence of this.

what happens to my walk

what happens to my sense of touch (notably when moving from plank to sphinx to locust and back towards downward dog.

what happens to my core muscles and my stomach when the latter gets nervous and worried.

how does fantasy manifest bodily

is this even a thing.

 

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below the dandelion i correct myself: my dreams were never closely guarded. but what i would guard closely are the bodily sensations, the effects on movement and perception these would cause in me.

diary (d) iii

i keep saying it. this: it don’t want it to become infected. yet, if i don’t, all this is past. it is a nostalgia piece. i don’t make nostalgia pieces. how can this be current. what would that look like. i make work about the now, the moment that is just about to be and that has just about been. it is of longing in the present. it is not nostalgic.

diary (d) 2

IMG_2688i am uncertain of this numbering. it is all wrong in any case. they are not unfolding, they are in fact memory pieces. or rather: to fold forward what was to make it pliable again, to point towards soon.

2 concerns my walk route. it is new(ish) and while all the pavements are familiar, none replicates what was before. there is a short stretch that marks the start of return that is part of before but once removed: now i cross the road to catch the sun, all this started when the sun would make it worthwhile. so, i walk 200 mtrs of very familiar but now on the northerly side, not the usual one.

come to think of it: the whole start is at first familiar, it denotes the main road if i know i take the subway or train. but now i turn right at the lights, then left. this is almost entirely new but as it’s probably become the most often walked turn for the past two months it feels no longer new.

yesterday i notice as i walk on that my stomach is turning. or rather: it bounces to right under my throat. it continues and i need to change my pace. does it settle? it is worst furtherest away, then it begins to ebb a little. as i walk on i remember his comment of how there are three cafes selling takeaway things. i find two but make a point to look at the bakery too. it is newly open, what were seats where E. and i sat not long ago now houses bags of flour. i remember their rolls and their sweets. they were nice things. will i go to acquire some soon? i am not sure. it is most certainly not essential.

a flat white. a coffee made as espresso.

as i walk on i recall the things that have become familiar along this old/new loop. the day with the goldfinches, the heart line, again, again, then a single remained, no none. the runners, the mothers and college-age daughters, the ones that stand in the middle of the pavement. the flower bouquets on the park table, the single child that had climbed the fence to the playground. the four who stood apart and drank a beer. and so it continues.

when i am back on the road from the shops, i realise what remains: how i enquire, how i observe and how these things mingle with each other, poke each other occasionally or run off into the woods. that remains. my mood in which they mingle is changing, or rather: it seems to be more volatile than usual. the detachment has changed as much as my attachment and touch has changed.

 

diary (d) #1

i tend to write my way through and out. there are two formats for this. one, tested, tried, is the response to ‘What’s on your mind, Gesa’, on a computer screen, occasionally a phone. i need to go and check twice what that box says exactly in the process of copying it to here. i am sure the invitation changed over the years too. and still: it is the box that foregrounds a slightly darkened background that focusses my minds and thoughts. once i press post. i read again, i edit, i read again and so it continues. over the day or the one after i add further comments.

two, i open the large moleskine cahier, black cover, mostly, blank pages and click on the top of the 2b mechanical pencil and start with the date of the day and then it continues. the longwriting across the page, the indentations, occasionally an underline, arrows (>>) are favoured. earlier, i sometimes retraced the letters of a word or two to highlight it. i turn the page and marvel and new and older tracings and marks.

oh, and then there is my camera roll.

there is always my camera roll. it sometimes accompanies one.

 

here, i am stumped. i test over the weeks a numbers of routes, routines, patterns and processes and discover much in the process.

how do they relate to all that i collected until mid-March?

how can i conclude something as current when it already feels outdated?

how can i address my desire to leave it untouched and thus uncontaminated?

yet, my processes were always current and would find resolution in the little sliver between present and soon (i steal this line from Warhol and invert its temporal ordering). i am stalling, undecided if that is helpful or not.

 

i pause one. initially in anger, then i realise what the absence offers. i contemplate absence as ending and it seems good. it is spacious. unexpectedly so, was i not just now contemplating loss.

i find a new site for two. then i realise what the discovery offers. i contemplate discovery as opening and it seems good. it is spacious, temporally too. unexpectedly so, was i not just now contemplating loss.

 

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distance…pets 2020

This week is the first that I spent any length of time with my coursework (or other art for that matter). For the past few weeks I have a regular working-alongside zoom for a couple of hours one afternoon where I started to collate and organise my artistic work but this week has me returning to the dissertation draft.

I joined two of the recent tutor-led sessions, one by the London group on Keeping up the momentum (Bryan Eccleshall); and one for the CA pathway on Doing thinking (Rachel White); both of them are in two parts, the latter concluded today, the former will conclude tomorrow.

For the Keeping up, Bryan proposes a series of prompt to work on and let them fold onwards. I do this fairly early on, a couple of people pick my chain up; yet, I fail to return to it. What happens however in the intervening period is that I am becoming a little clearer as what my practice wants to do with social distancing. There are four ideas at the moment:

  1. Drawing/ encounters in socially distanced times. I meet online, offline, accidentally or kind of so a few people. I take note, often in camera form, sometimes in FB posts, none of them yet folded onwards like what I did with the drawing/events in my BoW but they are similar kind of things, only the parameter has changed. I collect.
  2. I explore the role and form of my walks. Previously they were commutes which were so familiar that they often mistake themselves for drifts. These have disappeared and with them my creative thinking/writing space. I no longer find the latter at the end of the former. Instead, I watch and observe the city and its pavement. I also begin to think of some interventions of my own. I have all that chalk pastel in one of my cupboards
  3. The space between my laptop camera and myself. It comes into focus as it feels extensive. It is hidden from view, yet when I am quite distracted it is visible to others. I begin to explore it.
  4. There is possibly a fourth which is the computer camera and screengrab as photographic medium.

Let me add a few documents for these (not ordered) (later)

 

Herz/Stein 2 : stones/ stories

— this is as brief placeholder to point to some of the processes, ideas of how to reconsider Herz/Stein and its contribution/place as part of drawing/contact.

  1. stone/seaweed connections and movements
  2. Herz/Stein as story/character on the staircase (taking the hidden stories, the obfuscation and letting it become fictional). (to follow)

(the previous thoughts on this series are explored here: Herz/Stein:: flicker/tracing books)

1.

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concept maps: touch/contact/body in movement (revisited)

I go back to the concept maps right at the start of the course, put them up on the wall and then take little tours through them. I find three so far:

 

1 touch

i take a little tour across and through my living room wall and the concept maps i made a year ago. their format does neither photograph well nor did it display easily otherwise, so i forgot what i had been doing. touch was map #1, they got less textual, more spacious as i went along.
i of course delight at touché, tocarse, out of touch. google doesn’t translate the pleasure that lives in the middle.
bebopalubop it quietly hums before it moves a little upwards and out of touch. touché. (it possibly touches the ceiling now.)

 

2 contact

:: and for contact. (i had forgotten about the transmission but delighted to find the precursor of ωθήσατε in here already and of course: Ursula Le Guin… i wonder if i thought of anything specific, did i?)

 

3 body in movement

:: body in movement (map #3) is more graphic, less wordy.
site is a graphite smear, i have some misconceptions about audience, ask about the tool as drawing (and find this in some of the autumn things); there is a resonance field which i will keep:

site/event in drawing/contact, January 2020

 

(this clip is the outcome of 18 months trying to get the video clips in a PPT to transfer as videos in export to .mov in Powerpoint for Mac). I have some notes on the process, which I will use too.

But first: the most recent pecha kucha (no narration) from my materials. This one for a brief introduction to my research/body of work for a first hangout with other L3 people across different disciplines.

marginal vision (or: is this peripheral?)

Gesa Helms added a new photo.
27 September at 12:38 ·
— with marginal success i am trying to catch the corner of my vision. then i look up and find some above plaster electrics while waiting, far more pliable
(later, the next page, it rained and my tight corner sheltered me but not the page. the rain bled through and now catches the overhead lighting)

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Sam  trying to draw perspective at close up.
It was Ellen who first raised this issue in the stacked chair exercise.

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13/11
This remains demanding, and there are a few drawings from the staircase that attempt this. I tire very quickly and can’t quite concentrate. But I guess that is the nature of this and I wonder where sticking with this insight for a bit longer may take me?

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[insert sketches]

18/11
The issue of tiredness remains. On Friday last week, I abandon the idea to do more work (again) and instead hang. Today, I almost don’t go, then start to walk and notice the pain in my knee and go to the coffeeshop instead. I write it in my list, today:

d. i tire everytime my sketchbook takes its positions. i know this tiredness. either i am going to get sparkles soon or i may be pushing too hard.
e. i want sparkles but on the off-chance that it is the latter, i retreat.

— so, part of the tiredness may relate to the whole setting (institutional) as much as to the peripheral vision task. It can be either edge or too much pressure. It concerns questions of wholeness and holeness… There is something interesting happening here in terms of material/ spatial shifting: the peripheral vision seems to indicate an ‘almost there’ which can also be utopian in constitution. I wonder if the GIS/ excel approach may yield something here.

Three wagging dog tails, just observed:

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6/12

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Herz/Stein:: flicker/tracing books

They each relate to a drawing/contact event. I write about them in evernote and in my sketchbooks but nowhere online.

They develop out of tracing and moving pages, a curiosity how an event translates successively into mark. This translation involves much editing over a series of stages after the drawing.

#1

 

#2

#3

 

I made a talk-through the idea and books here:

 

(there are a few more events to process in this form; should I consider it strong enough — I like how it allows me to move important events into this project; am I concerned that noone knows them?)

Kaleidoscope:: participatory process

This was the first of the three participatory processes I developed during BoW3. It also arose out of discussions around mail art and exchange projects. I had explored the ideas of folding and constructing viewing devices out of simple A4 print outs of verge/weed and to investigate that what was on view inside/outside of the device.

From this, the idea emerged to let others explore what can be constructed, seen, viewed, and recorded with such a simple device.

I sent/ gave three of these to a friend each, with a brief and open description. I also didn’t specify the way of how they show me their record. I hope to have received a couple of these back early in the new year and would like to make this process bigger (possibly also involving others who I do not know).

I decided to give a different image to each of them (and in that way to fold verge/weed into this process).

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Die Luke (hatch):: zine/process idea

I started three interactive/performative processes during BoW 3:

  • Kaleidoscope
  • wild herbarium (autumn 2019 edition); and
  • Die Luke (hatch)

This post concerns the latter and presents a draft idea for a self-print zine, folding instruction (1 page A4, double-sided) and an invitation to a little hide and seek investigation, and potential follow-up.

The idea is to make a single, two-sided zine for participants to print out and fold and to investigate their familiar surroundings to find some locations, to record some associations and to invite to show/share with me.

It follows ideas around un/familiar in day-to-day spaces and ideas of escapes or stepping into elsewhere (though one of the images currently doesn’t offer an escape, but literally, warmth).

The zine construction is as follows:

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The images I want to use are either drawn/photographs (and possibly overlaid on previously photocopied templates):

 

The instruction would be simple:

Find Die Luke and elsewhere

Record associations, observations

Do you want to share them? show me?

struggling for words :: Ωθησατε / Ξέρω

posted a revised and shorted version of this on FB [almost titled]
Gesa Helms added 12 new photos.
3 hrs · (4 October 2019)
Ωθησατε / Ξέρω (struggling for words)
stalling with a lack of site, an inability on my part to be soft and porous enough at the current time
[this is the section that is aka my Brexit shite]
Ωθησατε / push! / google pretends that I am pushed.
I know / Ξέρω
der Rest / το υπόλοιπο (I am thinking of Perec’s Oulipo)
Ouvroir de littérature potentielle, or Oulipo,
xthes / gestern
αλληλεγγύη / Solidarity
ερωτευμένη / in love
exodos going to/ from.
κανένασ / κάπειοσ noone someone anyone
pretty doll (not us)
xorto / grass
eating worlds, doors, oak and wood.
Θάνατοσ στο φασισμό
κρι κρι
die Gebuehr η προμήθεια (της τράπεζας), η χρέωση, το τέλος
the plum that fell onto the car. P. is likely to know that word
here it is: κορόμηλο / wild plum (google briefly assumes fairy, Jutta and I later bake a Zwetschgenkuchen, δαμασκηνόπιτα )
τουσ πελικάνουσ μου, Pelikans too (with questions of ownership).
what sites and narratives do these sit against?
there is also something that I struggle to learn verbs from German (and little words), they are too fragmented for me to make sense and too distant from my day-to-day thoughts to register in this way.
there is also something about the digital form of learning is not tactile enough, it doesn’t stick this way. I go through loops and loops of words that float past meaninglessly.
this is not (yet) the glossary for Research.
[there is a visual order to this, FB ignores it in upload]

ban/n/ister (two parts)

Over the past month I have experimented with taking foldings/moldings off some objects in the staircase: leaves and protrusions of the radiator along with some single folds of handrail, ironworks and some rubbings too of floor marks.

It follows the idea of indexicality and contact. But also a curiosity around memory and medium shift. What remains, what lingers, what gets lost. Effectively too: what is the thing about indexicality.

It is the most literal end of my interest in contact.

  1. folding the bannister into a sketchbook. i move along one stretch, leave a blank page between each.
  2. option a: fold back into the 2d space of the sketchbook as explored with a few single molds earlier
  3. option b: to preserve by dipping in hot wax, encasing the indexical link.

 

1. folding bannister into sketchbook

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2. option a: fold back into the 2d space of the sketchbook:

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3. option b: to preserve by dipping in hot wax

— I decide, after a few tests of dipping the sketchbook pages to dip each of the folded pages into melted beeswax for the entirety of the book:

The resulting object is explored and a little discussed in this video:

 

There are a series of significant things in here:

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The dip/not dip process is messy and leaves the interspersed blank pages as messy. I think they will need to be removed/ altered for the object to work as object.

The process (both stages: initial fold, then dipping) is useful and works: it is performative and works across a whole range of senses: sounds, touch, smell and movement, as well as performative presence.

As part of my test, before proceeding with the whole sketchbook, I dip an empty page of my current sketchbook, then proceed to write in it. It almost seems that this process/ transformation is more significant still:

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I also accidentally, and to my horror, create another encased object: my phone fell into the tub with the hot wax. I retrieve and recover. It curiously records part of the rescue. I post this video in a separate post.

distance/proximity (after Res 2)

18/11

The tiredness when approaching the staircase seems to indicate an edge. I go often, then divert, pause, gather perspective, go or don’t go. Divert.

Sometimes, when I go I am fascinated by the openness of my discoveries.

The fallen ceiling seems to change things. It is so complex and elaborate. Both in what it reveals about the construction age and method of the once ceiling. But also as to how to safeguard the site and the passers-by.

It seems to want to take its own place within this.

I giggle when I realise that M had been talking about his fear of replication: of the halogen ceiling light and various cracks across. And, above all, L was away and would be no help.

The tiredness seems method. As much as the failure in the peripheral vision is.

Are there places where I cannot stand? That I cannot take.

 

Black heat

White heat

 

The tiredness follows me here too.

I feel it. I can actually see it with my eyes struggling to focus.

That edge of the site has bled into my physical ageing process.

I am becoming that edge.

 

And so does the peripheral vision

It is the moment when I catch myself chasing thoughts and scenarios, so vividly and then so utterly out of reach.

It is a process I have known all my life. That inbetween waking and sleeping space where I and all seems to be altogether different. It is so present and yet also always just out of reach.

 

Sometimes we trick ourselves into recognising each other.

 

Depositing scraps is one way of approaching this.

The other is not paying attention at all

(until it comes to you)

And if you ignore it further still it will eventually shout right at your face.

In full view.

 

The various sites of scrap

Here

Facebook

little inlay

messenger

whatsapp

wordpress

Instagram

email

sketchbook

 

Here: inside different notes and notebooks. don’t miss a single one.

 

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schemata/ dream logics

[one of the posts exploring the organising forms, principles, and escape routes in BoW]

the route into the staircase, aka Die Luke, was a dream during summer and its complex staircase arrangement and spatial layout. I sought spaces that could serve as sketching/ research base for it.

recently, I drew the spatial dynamics of the dream itself, and think the idea of a schemata may take me somewhere:

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one of my most recent sessions with the staircase led to this schema (photocopied, printed and layed out on a coffee table surface):

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Then, this morning, I find this schema by the curb, ready for waste disposal:

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satellite objects make love

she liked. (a lot) (and as if liking was important).
her geek got fully piqued when i told her of the relational tables that GIS produces. she: go, go, go (near, and far and explore that distance).
of the glossary she made satellite objects.
i went, predictably to here. (it kind of returns it to drawing/contact, if Brexit wasn’t a thing).

the original song from the album transformer… lou reed satellite of love