At the side of one of Frances Bacon's Pope paintings:
- Awww. He wasn't a happy soul, eh.
- No no, not the happiest...
- I mean, there's no happiness here.. with him.. this one. Poor chap.. what's he doing?
- It says .. Pope. Well he's in pain...
-He's happy now though.
-Who?
-Bacon. In the sky.
-Ah yes.
-Yes...
-depression ...nasty business...
-my cousin's still got it...
and so on...
It felt like upmarket Jeremy Kyle. I don't understand the drawer with Bacon's work. The early work.. the preparatory early drawings he said he never did... all good, interesting, but the meat of it all? Basically: big paintings of lamb chops with razor-like rows of teeth in sunsets. The equivalent of. Decorative. Yawning, aching symbols of pain yet I couldn't feel anything save the pull to buy a little trinket, T shirt or limited edition print from the gift shop. Why does the Tate still STILL STILL chastely call George Dyer his 'closest friend'? Bacon used to be my guilty pleasure .. now he's not that. There seems still to be a hidden narrative that would perhaps raise questions about the work ..if it wasn't so neatly defined, framed, boxed in ... while the boxes - those psychological cages -he paints seem to want to run off the walls and take to the hills. So is it another curating dumb down? I don't know. People seem to love it. It just felt like watching Hellraiser number ten millionth with the nightclub owner who screams at his cupboard begging for the pin guy to give him some pain relief after some uneventful sex. And of course, the portrait of the artist as a miserable screw up, with alcoholism and violence loitering in the wings, falls slap bang into that tired romantic myth.
Still. It let my mind run and start darkly playing with "The Gift", December 23rd. A one off re-enactment performance, probably invited audience only as it will be a challenging piece for me. Post Spank in November and post a trip to aktionistik faschistik freudischtik Vienna. The first year anniversary of my accident. And instead of the op-the MUA - the physios want me to have, I shall be having (doing) this. I nearly died (four seconds between me and Bacon in the sky). Will try to get The Whipping Rooms, Cable St, E1 for it.
Monday, 20 October 2008
Monday, 13 October 2008
Justin Bond at Soho Theatre is dynamic!! Now that is cabaret, or rather, deconstructing cabaret in a trans space. Each song worked as a monologue, beautifully crafted texts aided by the pianist who shook her head like that drummer from the muppets. That is theatre, dripping with all its errors, guts, dark emotion, shimmering dresses, false black eyelashes and edge.
I'm liking the deconstruction vibe ... it gives me some intriguing ideas about Eating Secret - the series of one to ones with lovely Mertle I am launching early next year. But my mind at the moment is on Spank and its forthcoming showing at Rich Mix on November 21 for Gfest. Each time I show Spank it's different and knocks right into what's going on with me. This time will be no different, but as recent events have been electrifying or as the medics say: 'acute' either with PTSD or CPS (I'm collecting these words - they all occurred at the same time - they all cancel eachother out - or will do, at some point), Spank will mirror that. Maybe I will come on as a bolt of lightening. Or a plug socket. I might kickstart it with a brief aside on physiotherapy and the necessity of bullet points. I might wear my black velvet leg brace. I will most certainly be wearing something terribly glamorous and divine - for deconstruction purposes, obviously. Spank - if it is its last natural showing to make way for Eating Secret - is leaving that east end building in style.
Onwards with the day. Or OWTD as the medics would say.
I'm liking the deconstruction vibe ... it gives me some intriguing ideas about Eating Secret - the series of one to ones with lovely Mertle I am launching early next year. But my mind at the moment is on Spank and its forthcoming showing at Rich Mix on November 21 for Gfest. Each time I show Spank it's different and knocks right into what's going on with me. This time will be no different, but as recent events have been electrifying or as the medics say: 'acute' either with PTSD or CPS (I'm collecting these words - they all occurred at the same time - they all cancel eachother out - or will do, at some point), Spank will mirror that. Maybe I will come on as a bolt of lightening. Or a plug socket. I might kickstart it with a brief aside on physiotherapy and the necessity of bullet points. I might wear my black velvet leg brace. I will most certainly be wearing something terribly glamorous and divine - for deconstruction purposes, obviously. Spank - if it is its last natural showing to make way for Eating Secret - is leaving that east end building in style.
Onwards with the day. Or OWTD as the medics would say.
Monday, 22 September 2008
What's New
What's New? Term has just begun. My limp though pronounced is manageable - with painkillers. I'm excited about the academic year ahead. Excited and energised by Spank being scheduled for GFest in November. Eating Secret being launched in February though Mertle Merman is on holiday and not to be seen. Hope she brings back the petticoats. By my oldest friend near Frankfurt getting back in contact with me - after all these years. Stephanie. The joy of google. But. But.
I went to see The Outsiders - a series of three shorts at the White Bear in Oval. The acting was sturdy, actually by the theatre company The Sturdy Beggars. The writing was great. The Arts Council had plumped for a small handful of new writers - and these were three of them. Fair enough. Structurally the second on loneliness and one-nighters looked interesting though drifted off. The first was terrifically well crafted - and beautifully acted. The third; slightly whimsical but cute. But.
But.
I want to be dazzled. Isn't that what live work is about? I don't want to feel comfortable, chuckling away in the darkness. Happy with my lot. Leaving with a sigh and a smile. I want to feel distinctly uncomfortable, I want to feel challenged, pushed, played with, toyed, manipulated and tickled til I scream. That's not a nice feeling. Who wants nice? I don't want comfort. There are many people and I fear the Arts Council amongst those who opt for sturdiness and comfort as opposed to barefaced experimentation. Bums on seats as opposed to risk. Hearing coffers and the jingling of money as opposed to the silence of an audience who don't know whether it is right to clap or laugh so don't do anything. Experimentation need not be frayed at the edges but sturdy too, just in bold strokes. Experimentation doesn't have to mean rubbish or lacking in craft. Push, risk, challenge.
That's what I want. And I want it pushed out of kicking and screaming and then cradled by the Arts Council. Squeezed tight. Held. Raised. Why the hell not.
I went to see The Outsiders - a series of three shorts at the White Bear in Oval. The acting was sturdy, actually by the theatre company The Sturdy Beggars. The writing was great. The Arts Council had plumped for a small handful of new writers - and these were three of them. Fair enough. Structurally the second on loneliness and one-nighters looked interesting though drifted off. The first was terrifically well crafted - and beautifully acted. The third; slightly whimsical but cute. But.
But.
I want to be dazzled. Isn't that what live work is about? I don't want to feel comfortable, chuckling away in the darkness. Happy with my lot. Leaving with a sigh and a smile. I want to feel distinctly uncomfortable, I want to feel challenged, pushed, played with, toyed, manipulated and tickled til I scream. That's not a nice feeling. Who wants nice? I don't want comfort. There are many people and I fear the Arts Council amongst those who opt for sturdiness and comfort as opposed to barefaced experimentation. Bums on seats as opposed to risk. Hearing coffers and the jingling of money as opposed to the silence of an audience who don't know whether it is right to clap or laugh so don't do anything. Experimentation need not be frayed at the edges but sturdy too, just in bold strokes. Experimentation doesn't have to mean rubbish or lacking in craft. Push, risk, challenge.
That's what I want. And I want it pushed out of kicking and screaming and then cradled by the Arts Council. Squeezed tight. Held. Raised. Why the hell not.
Saturday, 17 May 2008
So I wait til Thursday for news on the operation. It's best I have it done unless I want the limp and as my GP pointed out to be a 'non functioning human being'. How do doctors speak like this? She's actually very good, this doctor.
At least as they break down the scar tissue I will be asleep and from my last experience of hard core drugs, it's not an altogether unpleasant experience. Perhaps I will visit, as I did the last time, The Wizard of Oz. After the op, more crutches but this time - forewarned - straight into physio - oh, relish the thought. Still. It's all material.
At least as they break down the scar tissue I will be asleep and from my last experience of hard core drugs, it's not an altogether unpleasant experience. Perhaps I will visit, as I did the last time, The Wizard of Oz. After the op, more crutches but this time - forewarned - straight into physio - oh, relish the thought. Still. It's all material.
Monday, 7 April 2008
6 different sorts of painkiller, plus 1 anti-inflammatory. The slow, murky realisation that this may be it: a bad limp, assortment of painkillers every day, the likelihood of more surgery. Arthritis at a young age. A disability. Can he get away with this? The police seem to think so. The Public Carriage Office seem to think so.
On a positive, the physio considers it all very challenging, or, 'full on' as he says with that australian optimism trimming his words while dragging my leg down, up, down up, down, up. 'Here's to the Trams, Caroline,' he laughs, referring to the pills that I have taken 45 minutes before that enables him to do more with the knee. The problem is: my knee won't bend, or do anything. Which throws everything out. The patella is stuck. Walking is a nightmare but walk I must. My upper body has never been so worked out, so fit. Least I was never planning on physical theatre. It's funny that my show now has me talking through the dance moves as opposed to doing them... of course I never did the moonwalk or the backward flip in the first place. But who's to know? Illusion is key to the work.
At least Luka is a total joy. As is revisiting Donna Harraway's Cyborgs, Coyotes and Dogs: A Kinship of Feminist Figurations. As is painkiller-popping for the Tower Bridge show at the end of the month. I guess I am a junkie!
On a positive, the physio considers it all very challenging, or, 'full on' as he says with that australian optimism trimming his words while dragging my leg down, up, down up, down, up. 'Here's to the Trams, Caroline,' he laughs, referring to the pills that I have taken 45 minutes before that enables him to do more with the knee. The problem is: my knee won't bend, or do anything. Which throws everything out. The patella is stuck. Walking is a nightmare but walk I must. My upper body has never been so worked out, so fit. Least I was never planning on physical theatre. It's funny that my show now has me talking through the dance moves as opposed to doing them... of course I never did the moonwalk or the backward flip in the first place. But who's to know? Illusion is key to the work.
At least Luka is a total joy. As is revisiting Donna Harraway's Cyborgs, Coyotes and Dogs: A Kinship of Feminist Figurations. As is painkiller-popping for the Tower Bridge show at the end of the month. I guess I am a junkie!
Saturday, 29 March 2008
the passing of Rio
is really tough, particularly after my accident where I nearly died - a matter of three seconds. Three more seconds and I would have died. But I survived; she didn't. I hope she's resting now and giving spiritual guidance to the dumb foxhounds in the woods. Loss is the hardest thing to deal with. It's a fog drifting aimlessly until it punches you straight and hard. Breathless. Then it goes away leaving ache. It matches all that is in my body with the accident and the injuries. But loss is a coward and it hides in the shadows to wait for the next day, second, hour.
When I am better I'm getting another - I have one eye on Battersea Dogs Home and I've scrutinised every staffordshire bull terrier rescue site in the UK. There are loads of them.. as staffs are no longer fashionable. This country needs a brain test.
I miss my students. I really do.
When I am better I'm getting another - I have one eye on Battersea Dogs Home and I've scrutinised every staffordshire bull terrier rescue site in the UK. There are loads of them.. as staffs are no longer fashionable. This country needs a brain test.
I miss my students. I really do.
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