People watching the films
Me watching the films
The bits of crap trapped in the gate and projected
The little ridges on the focussing wheel
Managing not to swear
I didn’t like
People watching me
Loud man with honky laugh
Losing track of time
The films tangling in my bag
Feeding in the leader
Text by Helena Haimes
Freezing, cavernous space. Slightly funny smell that I think came from the big woolly cardigan I was wearing – only thing warm enough and with big enough pockets to carry all the films around. My hips looked all lumpy and misshapen. It was dark. Waited for audience. Piddly little lights just about show me what’s what on the projectors. They come in. I start. Grab one of the films clattering around in my pocket, feed its leader in, clunkety clunk, come on, do it in one, YES! (not out loud), turn the dial to ‘play’, there it is, fiddle with focus just because I like it and it makes me feel like I know what I’m doing, move on, repeat x 9. No cock ups. Well, bit of underbreath swearing.
Text by Helena Haimes
Three plinths, three projectors in a not-too-square space.
It’s sunny outside, the entrance is leaking with light.
It’s 6pm; I exhaled the last breath of smoke and I’m ready to go.
I walk to the far corner and turn on the machines, starting from here then there and over there.
The motion of sound has filled the gallery space. The artificial lights shine through the film to the lens and onto the wall. The imageries float and now moving. I have become the extension of these machines and orbit around this small and wonderful planet.
The entrance was leaking with light, but it has slowly disappeared.
It’s getting darker.
There is no light leaking from the door.
The footage is getting clearer.
People are watching.
People are talking.
People are walking.
8.59pm, flashing lights in the space is getting dimmer, the mechanic sound is decelerating.
So it’s over.
text by Joyce Ho
I am in a room that without windows has no windows, there are four chairs, a light switch on the wall that flicks but fails to work.
There is a plug socket in the corner and a shelving unit on the left side of this box room: it showcases the tools and equipment of super 8 film. On top of that there is an angle poise lamp from the 80s. The dim light bounces off the wall and produces a colour of the sunset. Everything has been put together in the most considered way.
I am in a projection room.
I am a projectionist, for now.
I am not alone. There are two voices: a man and a woman talks every now and then, their conversations overlap each other. Neither of them knows that the other exists but their soothing voices seem to be in harmony.
The reaction of the viewers varies; some walked to the door and felt they had interrupted something (while I was playing the film); some showed enthusiasm about the interactive performance; some poked their heads in then ran away.
There are no days and no nights in this room, only voices and moving pictures will be there until it lasts.
text by Joyce Ho
Each time I exhibit a new digital video artwork it will be documented on a single reel of super8 film.
The super8 document will be mediated by a digital interface.
The performance will include the archive of films and a projectionist.
The projectionist will document the performance event with a descriptive text.
The performance will change as the archive grows.
As the projectionist’s descriptions are written they will be added to this blog
Performances to date:
The Projection Room, Phoenix Gallery, Exeter (2013)
Deep Within The Mirror We Perceive A Faint Line, IMT Gallery, London (2013)
Deep Within The Mirror We Perceive A Faint Line, A Rehearsal: Open File, Outpost studios, Norwich (2014)
Deep Within The Mirror We Perceive A Faint Line, Grand Union, Birmingham (2014)