Remnants

Sweeping BLW, the dust forms a landscape in one corner of the room; how many motes? What are their composition? How might they be used?

They resonate with preexisting plans; since Inland Art Festival I have wanted to explore a means of visualising the scale of the human population. It feels impossible to conceive of numbers beyond a certain point; what would this look like?

To this end I have bought 74kg of flour; a ‘speck’ for every human being, give or take the odd million or so… 

The beautiful ‘druth

 

 

Why Static Island?

Nearly two years ago I experienced something inexplicable.

It was a Saturday morning, and I awoke after an unremarkable night. It was sunny outside, the birds sang in the lilac outside my window, a light wind shifted the curtains. As I sat up in bed, a voice, quite distinctly and nearby, spoke:

“Welcome to Static Island” it said. I use the term ‘it’ deliberately, for the voice was neither clearly male or female. It was a detached, neutral voice, matter-of-fact, and not in the least disturbing.

There was nobody there. No rational reason for what I had just heard.

I had no idea what was meant by the phrase. I have never heard of a ‘Static Island’ and could not make sense of either the sound itself, nor its meaning.

Since then, I have tried to understand what might have been meant by this occurrence; not in terms of what had caused it, but rather what its significance is. I am less fascinated by the mechanics of the utterance; whether it was the regurgitation of my subconscious or a supranatural experience, is not what intrigues me. Rather what this somewhat baffling and strange phrase might mean. Was Static Island a real place? No. Was there some cultural reason I might come across a Static Island? Not obviously. So what was this no-place introduced by a no-body? If it wasn’t a place, what was it? If it came from my own subconscious, could this be seen as the location of the mysterious appellation? Was Static Island in some way a description of part of my mind, or, perhaps, my state of mind? Did my mind have a geography? If it did, what did this look like, what did it mean, why was it, or part of it, a Static Island?

My thoughts were also drawn to John Donne’s thoughts in Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions (1624):

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were; any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Meditation 17

As much as I uphold Donne’s sentiment and the importance of our interdependence, my overwhelming experience of the ‘Static Island’ voice was an isolating one, which served to highlight the ultimate solitude of our individual journeys.

It was from this experience, and the subsequent train of thoughts it provoked, that the residency was conceived. It is part of an ongoing personal dialogue which has been discussed for nearly two years, and which I am keen to continue.