Thursday, 25 March 2010
"This year I've been pretty much the opposite of what I resolved to be - not that I'm not happy - at the moment I love the way I live - it's not healthy and clearly it's detrimental to my work - but my marks haven't noticeably changed. Which is somewhat depressing. Apparently the amount of effort I put [sic] doesn't actually have any impact on end [sic] product - my grades are too similar to warrant the month's work I put in. This year, one resolution I'm making now - having made it half arsedly many times before - this time it's official - despite being 2 months and 7 days late, I'm going to get more sleep. I need to be able to concentrate more, my skin's better if I sleep properly - my body can't really make it more obv"
"This year I've been somewhat detached from reality - I've been at uni - the obvious bubble - and I've been so busy I've barely spoken to my parents, in fact I need to call my dad today. But it means I don't think about the lovely house that's not my home - that we're leaving on friday - after I changed my 'home address' details a year a go [sic] - I've only lived in that house a total of a month. To Dorset"
"This year I've been mostly eating baked beans. That's just a lie. I hate baked beans. I have to always make a multitude of BREAKFAST BAPS (£1.90) unbelievably early on a wednesday morning."
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
Also, it's just a bit beautiful.
In my dream after seeing this I was trying to capture/ take hold of my stream of consciousness; everything I thought of I tried to hold in an image. Then through my dream/sleep I was carrying a string of images which sometimes seemed like a wobbly tower and sometimes like a row of washing all tied together,and I kept trying to reflect,look back,make sure I still had all the memories. It was a kind of anxious recollection, as if I knew I wouldn't remember-like trying to say my lines when I definitely haven't leart them. I could never really see what the images were, and though I thought I'd collected all my thoughts, when I woke up I remembered nothing...apart from this.
Monday, 8 March 2010
The last ten years I have grown up. Not only in size but also in mind. Ten years is a long time. Wow. What has happened. Well ten years ago I was a little girl, not that little. Eleven, ten years ago I was eleven. I'm old. I wasn't the same person. I was a massive nerd who found it hard to make friends. But then I made some friends and things changed. I don't like writing about ten years ago.
The last ten years have happened. one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten.imagine those numbers are a whole year long. That's ten years. I was alive ten years ago. Were you? Well you all were because you're older than ten, but some people aren't. They are small. They have little hands and feet and have to stand on tiptoes to brush their teeth. I remember doing that. Mum gave us a red box...
The last ten years are just ten years in many many more years. years. 365 days. lots of hours 24 in fact in one day.60 mins. shutup this is obvious. nervous laughter. yes because when you read that will happen. anyway.
Sunday, 7 March 2010
Attempt 1: 4 Minutes
Take this...no not
What is it exactly
It is a universal debris trapper and transporter with a beach wood shaft stainless steel radials and
You mean a rake?
Yes but you asked me what it is exactly and I told you exactly what it is
Right so what do I do with this rake...thing
You see those piles of leaves. I want you to sweep them up into an even carpet that covers all the grass.
Attempt 2: 2
Take this. Or that. It doesn't really matter to me you see either way you'll have to choose something but which one. I can see you're still undecided your eyes frantically sloshing from one choice to the other. So many feelings to consider - size, depth, breadth, price, tax, transparency, consistency
Attempt 3: 1 Minute
Take this...go on, you no you want to. its all shiny and i'm pretty sure its got chocolate in it somewhere, probably in the middle of it, yes thats usually where the chocolate lives.
Attempt 1: 4 Minutes
Tall buildings I walked past one day the sun shines of glass windows a lady in a window watering a flower pot she sees me briefly for a second and then looks away twitching curtains an eye through a hole camera shot snap instant 60th second recorded moment photos of a tree taken every month for ten years you watch it grow little blur beside one picture girl running skipping rope jump over playground noises and roundabouts here we go round the mulberry bush dinner bell woman in blue tabbard waves me in a snapshot of a blue school I jumped off that roof there once. We drank fink brau and made promises we'd never keep but it was
Attempt 2: 2 Minutes
Tall buildings with windows that I look through, secretly. 6x4 windows like photographs. A building built of photographs. All the things i've seen. All lights, all lives. Towerblock. Hi-rise. A building of all the things i've experienced. Except all the things i've really experienced. They hide in little drawers out of sight.
Attempt 3: 1 Minute
Tall buildings made of photographs. Windows like little portals. I see myself again and again. Too many. I don't want to go it...it's too tall. I pre
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
As well, for one week more on iplayer as part of a series, a series on Radio 4 about letters from young kids in the 60's as a part of an experiment being looked at by them now. Here's the link, and below is the blurb:
Forty years ago, 14,000 11-year-olds across Britain were asked to write about where they saw themselves in the future: their jobs, family lives, belongings, living environments and leisure pursuits. Those essays have now been followed up by the Nuffield Foundation as a way of finding out how far ambition at an early age shapes what happens in later life.
This is the first time that media access has been granted to those who have taken part in their research. As well as evidence of ambition the essays offer detail about how youngsters imagined life would be at 25, with one writing, 'My husband would have just won 200 pounds so we decided to go to the moon for our holiday while we had not got any children.'
The series covers jobs, family lives, living environments, leisure pursuits and belongings that the children imagined owning when first studied. The findings suggest that children who are ambitious go on to enjoy greater success than those with lower aspirations. Once background and ability were accounted for, children did better if they set themselves lofty goals.
It reveals that, even if a child is economically disadvantaged or less able, having high ambitions at around the time they leave primary school means that they are significantly more likely to have a professional job, though not necessarily the one that they predicted.
- Broadcast on:
- BBC Radio 4, 9:30am Tuesday 2nd March 2010
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
How does this affect the way we experience place? What benefits can this technology have? More importantly, what does it not include? If this is the way we record the change and evolution of place, does it perhaps spark a question about what gets left out? It sounds a bit like History with a capital 'H' . Will this technology conform to a particular narrative, or will the personalised content allow the action of mapping space to become a cumulative act: a space where both official and unofficial experiences of the same space get expressed?
This video reminds me of That The Science of Cartography is Limited by Eavan Boland (which you can read about in this earlier post) and Graeme Miller's Linked.
When I go home again,
when I know so many homes, but I mean the home
with the longest vowel, when I wander the old realm,
I pass them on the lane,
boys turned to men,
so I turn back to a boy
to pass them saying nothing. For it's death
to be where one is not, where every breath
is a heaving of the oars
alone at sea.
I could grow white and old
and I will, I am well aware, grow white and old
looking through lit windows of the world
for people in their rooms;
for the blue, cold
light of a TV on
in an empty room . . . girl at a light so bright
she's silhouette . . . a man who hangs his coat
and stands quite still . . . a mother
agrees with someone
over cake . . . the frosted light
of suppertime, of bathtime, of sex.
I don't have what I have from reading books
but stopping by your homes
to see these sights
and wondering forever
who is someone else? Who on earth
are all these people to have known this with,
this world? Whole skies of stars
are a lesser wonder
than all your lights at evening,
all your lives. When the lights go out I'm there,
moving on. When it's dark the stars are clear,
their immaterial eyes
Saturday, 13 February 2010
It started off around Christmas time with me trying to comprehend the decade. There were loads of articles about the "Top 10 X's of the Decade". I was trying to think how we experienced this country from 2000-2010.
I think the work that has come from that is a way of finding a microcosm to that idea. How do we experience space temporally? How do we define it, how do we pack it? Why do we need markers like 'a decade' to make sense of ourselves?
Wednesday, 10 February 2010
A soundtrack helps. Pretend you're in a film.
I went to Roath Park Lake. I walked around here as a kid with my parents. I remember:
- A photo of me in a green, black and purple all-in-one
- Feeding the geese
- Kissing Rachael on a park Bench: "Do you know that geese find a mate for life?"
- A steep side leading down to a play park
- A lighthouse
- Boat rides
- Cherie's Dog
- An intersecting bridge, looking over the lake on one side, and the play park on the other.
Prepare the soundtrack. Make the film momentous. Sigur Ros: Glósóli.
At the roundabout near the north-west most point of the park I see a small green dark path. I press play and head for it immediately (nearly getting run over in the process!) Create a narrative, follow the film.
Things seemed to happen in sync with the music. Feet walked to the drumbeat, birds flew away to the precise timing of a violin interlude. This was a good film.
So where to film my climactic moment? I headed towards the bridge that overlooked the play park, the river and the lighthouse. I decided I would roll a cigarette and sit on a bench there. A great place to ponder the project. to recall ghosts. To reconcile my younger self.
The song was ending. The cigarette was wonky. When I got to the gate, it was closed. I could just about see the bench, but I couldn't reach it. The epiphany moment wasn't to happen. Rather fitting, actually. So my souvenir is my unsmoked cigarette, which sums up nicely the failure in an attempt to connect with a memory of myself. Not so rosy...no slow fade.