I’m listening to a Spotify advert that’s telling me the government is helping people become homeowners. And now there’s another advert about a web platform that will make me stand-out online. Something about chicken fillets – all the ways you can cook a chicken fillet…oh good, Lene Lovich is playing. While I’m not paying any cash to listen to this record, I am giving over some brain space in the hopes that I’ll divert my cash to bricks and mortar, HTML code and fowl later on, when I’m good for it. Fair trade, right?
No, I haven’t been updating this blog much lately, because I’ve been moving to London and getting settled there, and concentrating on making work for SPILL Festival in Ipswich instead. Come: I’ll be showing LOAD on Saturday 29th October, 5pm at Ipswich Town Hall. What’s it about? Broadly speaking, inappropriate pleasure and self-exploitation. More fun than it sounds but not exactly light-relief either.
Sat here in my kitchen in Clapton, listening to Dan Deacon and segments about pregnancy tests, writing about my work, what strikes me is how most of the performances I’ve done over the past 12 – 18 months have emerged from similar source material but been completely different in each and every iteration. Trying on and discarding coats in a charity shop. The artistic process generates so much waste – in the rehearsal room and on the road, material and ideas discarded, chopping away at an invisible, endlessly replenishable marble in search of the right form. And titles! Titles! I hate titles. I squirm when I think of I Was A Teenage Volcano and between you and me, I’m not too hot on Load as a title either. But there they are, on the web site, in the search results, maybe even in the collective unconscious, enduring evidence of your questionable aesthetic decisions.
I’m exaggerating of course. It’s just a process of maturing. I’m happy with where the work is right now. But fuck me… those titles.
In other news, I had a great time in Hastings with Curious, courtesy of LADA and their DIY workshops. We questioned boundaries, privacy and permission in someone’s private bedroom, up at Hastings castle and on the beach with some very smart, passionate and provocative collaborators.
OK, while this has been fun, I’m bored of writing now – I’ve done more work than I should be doing on a Sunday already. Have a good one.