Sigh, Sam Taylor Wood at Museo Guggenheim, Bilbao

Watching Sigh feels absurd, mesmerising. It was the stand-out work for me at the Guggenheim this weekend.

The film is shown on a number of screens arranged in a circle, so the viewer stands surrounded by the different sections of the BBC Concert Orchestra. We can hear a piece of music, specially written for this work and inspired by one of Taylor-Wood's earlier pieces. The BBC Concert Orchestra are playing, without their instruments. The members of the orchestra are dressed in ordinary clothes (no concert-black) in what looks like a warehouse space. They are stern, absorbed in their playing. They mime the in-between gestures, the taking on and off of parts, the relaxing/limbering up of the mouth. Some forget to hold their instruments when they're not playing, their hands resting open on their knees. It's a beautiful collusion between 'serious professionals' and seems like magic at times, the drummer mimes a sound and it appears.

Here is a short video of San Taylor-Wood talking about the work, with some clips of the work itself. Here is a link to the write-up on the Guggenheim's site.

Thomas Bayrle thoughts from Ice Cream, Phiadon

When did it start?

'It started early. Gottfreid Semper's phrase "All construction comes from weaving" really bowled me over. All of a sudden the material / canvas in front of me was more than just a textured, flat, woven surface. Now this texture was a relief, a three-dimensional flat sculpture. Long before I'd heard these words, I'd been amazed by the repetitive ups and downs rendering the most delicate single thread into a firm, integrated collective structure. The body, an atlas, linen etc were all fabrics, the sight of which would trigger images in me of endless cityscapes, in which I could and would live myself. Materially these fine structures also provided an acoustic connection to the great big lilting 'sing song' which was even more important for me: the rosary, the rhythmic time signature of railway sleepers, Steve Reich and the beat of heavy diesel engines.'

Thomas Baryle, questioned by The Wrong Gallery.
Ice Cream Contemporary Art in Culture, Phiadon Press Ltd 2007

100 pieces of sea grass individually knotted and released into the wind

100 pieces of sea grass individually knotted and released into the wind

Performance, Playa del Magdelena, September 2016

Goodbye studio!

I'll miss the thinking and playing space, whiteness and distinctive utility boxes. Hopefully there'll be a mark II somewhere down the line.

Sweeet

Sweeet

Street drawing, seen on East Street Bristol, May 2016

John Akomfrah, Vertigo Sea at Arnolfini

Akomfrah's show consists of two videos; Vertigo Sea, which was shown at the Venice Biennial in 2015; and Tropikos, a new work. Vertigo Sea is phenomenal, incredibly beautiful, haunting and enveloping. It is a three channel film made up of archival film and photographs, it references Herman Melville's Moby Dick, but the re is much more to it than that. The film looks at the sea and humanity's relationship to it, as a space to travel from one country or situation to another; and as a secret, lawless place where animals and humans can be hunted and exploited. The audience is shown the majesty and awe-inspiring beauty of the sea and it's potential as a space of horror, desperation and suffering. Vertigo Sea is not unpleasant to watch though, it holds you, drawing out feeling and empathy and seducing the audience.

Tropikos is much less grand and seductive than Vertigo Sea, it appears to holds more of a narrative and therefore wants 'interpreting'. It's a little like a silent period drama; all the dialogue has been cut and we're left with the in-between shots, but that's not quite right, because the work feels like a container for huge ideas and thought; the characters are trying to imbue the audience with these ideas. It's big and heavy, worth absorbing and considering.

I was lucky enough to see John Akomfrah in Conversation with Anthony Downey last weekend. It was a brilliant talk, both Akomfrah and Downey were eloquent, interesting and completely generous with sharing their ideas and thoughts with the audience. The questions/comments from the audience were similarly generous, making the whole thing a complete delight.

Vertigo Sea is open at the Arnolfini, Bristol until the 10th April 2016.

Material / Control, Redcliffe Bridge, Bristol

Material / Control was a collaborative, artist led exhibition co-ordinated by myself, Polly Kelsall and Emily Krainc. Bristol City Council kindly gave us the use of the gorgeous, brutalist Control Room on Redcliffe Bridge for just under a week.

Kelsall, Krainc and I created a truly collaborative show, we worked in the space throughout the week. All work had to respond to the Control Room and it's environment, or each other's work. We followed these parameters as we edited and changed the work in the show.

• On leaving the space each day, anything made or left belongs to Material / Control 

• Each edit must reference the space, its content, and/or it’s environment 

• Make new connections between objects, images and works 

• Add or remove 

• Nothing will be permanent 

• Nothing will remain unchanged

We kept a blog throughout the process; from planning and preparation to the final day. It was used to document changes, consider and highlight work and in some instances to present work. You can see my text works reproduced in the previous post to this; they were first 'exhibited' as blog posts at material-control.blogspot.co.uk 

Material / Control, for me, felt like a genuine conversation. It pushed me out of an established way of making and into something which was much more iterative and quick-fire; working with objects and works in an instinctive way, rather than being very thought through and self referencing. I also got to make pieces which were very much my own works, but in a different context and as a way to describe a space. 

Despite our best efforts though, each of us couldn't help feeling a little protective and a little put out at some of the interventions by the other artists. It is hard to let go and on my part there were a few re-arrangements and a few patches of colour that were frowned at and quickly changed. Maybe that was cheating, and it was fun to chat about that feeling in the end - I think we all felt at least one piece or arrangement had been 'ruined' by one or other of us!

The show became a series of call and response gestures. It showed more than anything how three artists can notice such a range of things about a space, and then bring out these things in wildly different and personal ways.