virtu.all

space filled with quite a good quality darkness . the wings of a metal door come apart . something is emerging there . something flickering and unstable . something resembling a low-frequency pupet, still on the verge of vaporizing . still in the risk of electric breakdown

it is gaining shapes . it is gaining human shapes

there she is…a girl wearing a plain dress, a silver bob framing her face with expression, lacking chemistry of life

she seems to have no joints, and if so, they seem to revolve . she is a lifeless figure with precisely computed moves

her fingers move with a grace of a surgeon robot . her head suggests the flexibility of a very hard to afford android

music and lights cease at once…she collapses the way pupets do when you cut their strings off

hard to understand she is very likely made of flesh and bones

but there comes the shift

another being arises . seriously close to something very near to angelic entity . with the wings auctioned to raise funds for those not fully on board

no more strictly programmed perfection,
as it is replaced by the spiritually drawn perfection

maybe the spirit of something most of us could have become if we were able to wait for our tickets to arrive and desires to come true without being aware of waiting

Yoko Higashino – AntiGravity (dance)

The Museum of Uknown

Standing in a hall filled entirely with a copy of my own shadow. So identical, so impossible to tell it from the original. The copy is there to replace me. For my safety. For my good.

From “The Museum of the Uknown” formerly at Oxo Tower Bargehouse Street, London.

breast feeding

Staring at a pair of chocolate, roughly sculpted breasts sitting on a white board. Air hisses out of the nipples.
I’m advised to press my lips to them, as if they were a mouthpiece. The moment I do it I get a voice, which, instead of coming out of me, forces its way inside.

(acrylic paint on aluminium, kci air system) artist unknown

the cost of…

There’s a girl. An embroidered one, busy reducing the blue in her eyes. Rays and rays of blue cotton thread come out; she acts as if stringing a guitar, tightening the thread, rolling it round her palm. The thread leaves her eyes, leaves the frame defining her 2D self, there is less and less of her, soon she will be with us, enjoying the extra dimension…alas acquiring a form of a thread ball.

Clare Heathcote ( thread on line)

crowd

Quite a lot of people, enough to call them a crowd – they’re all projected onto an A4 plastic tablet. Watching them makes one feel like observing a microculture busy getting on with life – a pulsing matrix of grainy and liquid existence. There are several holes in the tablets – plug holes. The crowd flows off, individuals released one at a time, materialising in the darkness under the tablet.

Sarah Jones – A countenance (instalation)

slotted in

In a park. Three lamps illuminating four paths – four concurrent lines in a green field intersecting somewhere outside infinity. There are people walking, clinging hard to those lines. Despite each of them maintaining a fair level of uniqueness, there is an overall impression of the people fitting into a sort of a slot. Passing the lamps, they obey the rules of organised chaos – different speed, different directions, different expectations – but the slot driving them unites them all. The light keeps fading, gradually wiping out the paths, desaturating the green field, when it is just the lamps remaining. Now, the lamps are a bit reluctant to admit the existence of anything else. Nothing, but lamps. Nothingness.

Nick Stewart

(video)

Erszy Kiss

The usual thing about lyrics is that they need to say something memorable, such as “love is nothing but a rolling cherry” or “dogs will never let you down”.

The unusual thing about Erszy Kiss is that the lyrics carry no moral at all, they work as an instrument. Along with the band, she “plays” those words so convincingly you might feel they used to belong to a long lost culture that has just been melt out of ice. Such a way attracts a lot of freedom; it blindfolds you, spins you around, stops you, takes the scarf off, and it is just entirely up to you to name that landscape surrounding you. There’s a track that makes you feel somehow African, while another one brings you straight to what you think New Orleans might have sounded like back in the twenties or simply wherever you feel like.

Kiss Erszi Music

myspace

The Desperate-To-Breathe Nineteen

Taiyo KimuraUntitled
Nineteen figures most likely made of clay. Their naked bodies with no evidence of sex to be spotted are crammed in a box covered with a crystal clear sheet of glass. Standing there next to each other, they’re rather busy squeezing their necks with their hands as if trying hard to get some air. The thing is, none of them happens to have a head to do that job. Seemingly, the heads sit on the necks, but there is a little problem…the glass separating them from the bodies. Eyes bulged out, tongues stuck out. In the vain quest for oxygen.

coming soon

fragmented

The Ebb and Flow

A living Thing

Winter, Autumn, Summer, Spring

I Rise, I Fall, I Rise

It was like flipping through a book. It was a canvas portraying an infinite number of mirrors. I was watching a woman sitting a row below me. Her fingers. The way she was putting them on her lips. One could hear the rustle of paper, but tears and the sustainable bitterness lodged somewhere deep in her throat belongs to the most silent things in this world. The woman’s lips disappeared. She had to paint them again. One or two strokes of her lipstick and that was it. (wish I could remember what was that about; no title or context surviving)

phoenix

Shards of transparent and green glass embodying a tyre of something which used to be a bike. The wheel keeps turning lazily, it’s glass petals x-rayed by halogen light. The light carries on through a trio of lenses and lands on another trio of white walls creating a breathing image of a luminescent mountain range, or maybe an iddle crystal sea or even something which refuses to be identified, something which is there to be absorbed only by the eyes.

Fragments of a something scattered on the floor the way only a properly smashed something is capable of. Taking a closer look, you can identify remains of a tea cup, a jug and a bust. The light refracts in the fragments with pieces of mirror glued on to them and heads for the wall where it ends up posting three fragile images – a tea cup, a jug and a bust.

Loriot et Melia (instalation)