One of my favourite works in the NGV Triennial — and in the gallery altogether. Calm, meditative destruction in infra-red black and white in a cavernous, beanbag-filled auditorium. Post-FOLA decompression and collapse, bumping into Paea — again, so many times — and barely assembling a conversation in my shuffling exhaustion. I had a thought watching Richard Mosse’s Incoming that art works for me only when it’s political, and all art is inherently political, existing as it does apart or outside of language (be it written or spoken). When I look at European mediæval art, I see vast political, theological, philosophical arguments being waged in materiality; the same for religious works in other regions I am familiar with enough to make basic statements on. This is what, for me anyway, makes art that purports to not be political so weak, like Iris Van Herpen’s fashion design, pushing material technology in beautiful ways, yet strangely inert in political’s absence. You’re only playing if you’re not political.
I found this snuck into my suitcase. Stone Tape Theory Altar of Lemmy.
The day after. Removing darkness. De-mummification.
Watching Virginia transcribe one of the many cassette tapes of Stone Tape Theory and I see the name of the street I live in.
Melanie Lane messages with an offer of cassette players. From Germany. Big ’70s portable boxes. Yesterday, our brilliant tech crew sort getting the output to input into the desk and I rack them up. Our tech booth looks dead serious now.
12 in widdershins.
Lemmy watches over us in the biobox, offerings of cigarettes and whiskey.
Blair set up an IR Camera in the Stone Tape Theory blackness. Once a minute a strobe fires. IR camera flickers and pulses half a second later, frothing light burning the screen.
Blair set up an IR Camera in the Stone Tape Theory blackness. Ectoplasmic floating globules, disembodied torsos, glowing eye holes.