peripatetic

Vale Kim

2011-12-19T06:43:00.002Z

[From http://kimjongillookingatthings.tumblr.com]

Alas, the "great mental and physical strain" of repeated "high intensity field inspections" has finally done for the world's sexiest dictator.

Australia vs Wales

2011-12-04T22:08:00.001Z

I went to Millennium Stadium in Cardiff yesterday to watch Australia play Wales. My first live rugby international. Even though it was a one-off post-World Cup match (with little to play for really) there was still a great atmosphere, aided by an 1,800-strong male voice choir and the usual excessive pyrotechnics that accompany the introduction of the Welsh team onto the field and leave the rest of us gasping for air in a cloud of burnt paraffin. The Aus 24 - Wales 18 scoreline gave the impression that the match was a bit closer than it actually was, with the Australian team putting the match out of reach with three quick tries following the sin-binning of the Welsh fullback, Leigh Halfpenny, early in the second half. Shane Williams crossed to score the final try of the match in his last appearance for Wales. A fittingly romantic ending to the game.

[Pre-match excitement]

[A little choir]

[Preparing for the National Anthems]

[Scrum]

Techniques of the foot: barefoot running as an alternative aesthetic regime

2011-12-04T15:43:00.001Z

Here's an abstract for a paper I am yet to write. I proposed it for a special issue of a journal a few months ago, but it wasn't accepted. This afternoon I read this blog post by Anton Krupicka in Running Times which reminded me of this 'shelved' abstract:

When I wake and head out the door for arun I pull on my shoes almost without thinking. As extensions of my bodyproper, snug to my feet and laced tightly, my running shoes recede fromconscious attention in what Drew Leder identifies as a process of ‘focaldisappearance’. Accepted through habit as augmentations of my body, I feel theworld from my shoes, the ground beneath sensed as it unfolds before my advance.

While frequently forgotten in theaction of running, the shoe also has a marked tendency to ‘dys-appear’,suddenly presencing itself as a source of pain and distress. As shoe and footmove independently of one another – exacerbated by faulty design, poor choice,or lack of fit – repetitive impacts and adhesions can dangerously re-shape andre-work the foot, deforming it, fracturing it, eroding it. ‘Why does my foothurt?’ asks the author Christopher McDougall at the opening of his influentialbook Born To Run (2010). Perhaps theculprit, he surmises, is not the foot, nor the basic action of running, but therunning shoe itself. The running shoe is, after all, a relatively recentdevelopment, particularly the so-called ‘technical’ shoe with its combinationof padding, hi-tech materials, and ability to control and correct movement.

In this article I will explore recent debatesand controversies relating to the design of running shoes and the emergence of‘barefoot’ running celebrated by McDougall. But, rather than conduct thiswithin the existing frames of sports injury, biomechanics or evolutionaryanthropology, I will approach these debates in terms of aesthetics. If, as JohnDewey has suggested, connection with the environment is the foundation ofaesthetic experience, then an investigation of the mediating function of shoesbetween the body and the physical world is, at root, an aesthetic one. ‘Barefoot’running can therefore be considered as involving an alternative aestheticexperience to that of shod running, one which is centred on a more pronouncedtactile and sensory engagement between the foot and the ground, along with aforegrounding of the autotelic aspects of running itself.

This article will draw on the phenomenology of the body developed in the work of Drew Leder to examine thedifferences in sensory perception between shod and barefoot running, setagainst Alison Gill’s analysis of the rhetoric of running shoes and John Bale’sexamination of ‘running cultures’. My aim is to argue that the divisions anddebates over running shoe design and barefoot running are more fundamental thanmarketing, fitness and biomechanics, but involve the intersection of radicallydifferent aesthetic regimes founded in differing conceptions of the engagementof the human organism with its environment. The practice of ‘barefooting’ isrevealed as a means by which its practitioners seek an experience of the worldthat is more grounded, vital, dexterous, and perceptive.

Edinburgh Marathon

2011-07-22T22:56:00.003+01:00

[Before]

[After]

Walking Gateholm

2010-06-26T13:41:00.012+01:00

Last weekend I visited south west Pembrokeshire, staying at West Hook Farm. While the highlight of the trip was visiting Skomer Island and seeing its profusion of bird life (especially its Puffin colonies) an intriguing part of the weekend was a quick visit to Gateholm Island.

[Gateholm Island viewed from the mainland]

Gateholm is a tidal island or 'half tide islet', accessible only at low tide. We were there at just the right time for a visit, with the tide going out, and so we scrambled down to the exposed rocks and then up via a large inclined slab of rock on the eastern side. Across the level summit of the island is a thick cover of grass and a trail of sorts, visible from the mainland, which leads to a cairn at the far end. But my main experience of this small island was its emptiness, its sheer lack of observable features, and the exposure it affords to the weather. On this day the sun was out, but there was also a strong northerly wind. Underfoot the grass was thick (no rabbits!) and the weave of vegetation had a number of hidden hollows and holes, making walking an unsteady experience.

[Gateholm Island]

The Ordinance Survey map for the area indicates a 'settlement' on the island in the gothic script used to denote the presence of historic features. But, walking across the island we just couldn't see it. The island is deserted, empty, unless you look much more closely for physical traces or, conversely, from much further away. In aerial photographs the evidence of buildings is clear, and the suggestion is that there was a settlement here in the late-Roman/early medieval period with the isolation of the island and its steep sides providing the inhabitants with a naturally defensive position.

[Gateholm Island, aerial view: http://www.gtj.org.uk/en/large/item/GTJ25708/]

I like to think of myself as observant, taking Henry James' exhortation - 'Try to be one of the people on whom nothing is lost' - as a personal motto. But sometimes I just can't see what's there, it simply isn't sensible, because I haven't developed the competence to see it.

Simon Annand: Short Film of The Half

2010-04-06T14:02:00.002+01:00

The Half - the photography of Simon Annand from Ganos on Vimeo.

Performance, architecture, construction

2010-04-03T17:35:00.011+01:00

[London Olympic Stadium under construction]

What are the intersections between performance, architecture and construction? Tim Ingold and Elizabeth Hallam provide a useful orientation in the introduction to Creativity and Cultural Improvisation (2007: 3-4). Here they write:

A famous modern architect designs a building, the like of which the world has never seen before. He is celebrated for his creativity. Yet his design will get no further than the drawing board or portfolio until the builders step in to implement it. Building is not straightforward. It takes time, during which the world will not stop still: when the work is complete the building will stand in an environment that could not have been envisioned when it started. It takes materials, which have properties of their own and are not predisposed to fall into the shapes and configurations required of them, let alone stay in them indefinitely. And it takes people, who have to make the most of their own skill and experience in order to cajole the materials into doing what the architect wants. In order to accommodate the inflexible design to the realities of a fickle and inconstant world, builders have to improvise all the way. There is a kink, as Stewart Brand writes, between the world and the architect's idea of it: 'the idea is crystalline, the fact fluid' (Brand 1994: 2). Builders inhabit that kink.

I've often heard it said that the backstage areas of theatres are like building sites, in that the sort of labour that goes on in both involves similar skills and practices, similar working conditions and dangers. Both sites of labour necessitate precise timing and scheduling, the meeting of deadlines and the skillful handling and processing of materials. Would it be productive to think further about the intersections between theatres and building sites or, more specifically, between the act of performance and the act of construction? It strikes me that approaching construction from the perspective of performance might shed light on why construction and building are so little considered or discussed in wider culture. Building sites are often treated as eyesores, simply necessary pains, rather than sites of becoming that are a central means through which we organize, arrange, mark and distribute the world in which we live. Perhaps the 'ontological queasiness' that Jonas Barish has identified as a part of what he dubs the 'anti-theatrical prejudice' might also influence our dominant views of construction and building.

Anne Bogart on attention

2010-04-02T15:36:00.004+01:00

Here's a quote from Anne Bogart that I came across today. It's taken from a longer blog entry on her SITI Extended Ensemble website:

What we pay attention to creates our experience of the world and this experience, in turn, determines who we become. You see what you look for. We are always surrounded by a myriad of stimuli and information. Any given moment presents a great deal to chose from, multiple aspects of the world vying for our attention. Using the tool of our attention, we hone in on what is useful in the present moment. We have to because we cannot take everything in. Without limiting our attention, we would be afflicted by an overwhelming information overload. This is why each person experiences the same situation in vastly different ways; we each pay attention to different aspects of the world around us. Our attention can be habitual or scattered but it is possible to guide attention consciously via the brain’s executive function: the frontal cortex. Without consciously guiding attention, we are victim to our habitual perceptions of the world. Via habit, for example, we may zone in on the defeatist negative attractions around us, our sense of failure and ineptitude that multiplies and then becomes our reality. But, on the other hand, we can train ourselves to attend to the beautiful things waiting to be noticed. We can become curious and push the perceptions outward towards the surrounding world and society. We can see the miracle of life around us. We can be altered and saved by the situation in which we find ourselves.

In classes I find I'm constantly asking students to practice noticing and attending to aspects of their experience, and to attempt to describe or account for what they notice in as much detail as possible. What is it? What did you see? How was it done? This is based, in large part, on Al Wunder's 'Philosophy of Positive Feedback,' and it is, as Bogart explains, an attempt to train students (and myself) to be attentive, to notice, and to thereby seek out and focus on that which is most interesting, most intriguing, most beautiful.

It's also an important ethic when seeking to be sensitive to the impact and consequences of one's actions in the world. Drew Leder, writing in The Absent Body, explains how, in perceiving the world around us, our sensing bodies disappear, being ecstatic in nature and therefore absent, away from us. He finishes his chapter 'The Ecstatic Body' with a wonderful paragraph:

As I go through the day, my extended body ebbs and flows, now absorbing things, now casting them back onto shore. I do not notice my body, but neither do I, for the most part, notice the bed on which I sleep, the clothes I wear, the chair on which I sit down to breakfast, the car I drive to work. I live in bodies beyond bodies, clothes, furniture, room, house, city, recapitulating in ever expanding circles aspects of my corporeality. As such, it is not simply my surface organs that disappear but entire regions of the world with which I dwell in intimacy. (35)

The art I value most is that which reminds me of those regions of the world with which I dwell in intimacy and yet never seem to notice.

Looking at actors

2010-04-01T21:23:00.007+01:00

[Sir Michael Gambon as Sir John Falstaff at the National Theatre 2005, Stuart Pearson Wright]

I'm re-working an article at present, in response to some reader's comments, and in doing so I've started reading Aoife Monks' The Actor in Costume (2009). This is rather timely given that I've just been to see Simon Annand's exhibition The Half, which Monks refers to in her opening chapter 'Dressing Rooms: The Actor's Body and Costume'. Discussing Stuart Pearson Wright's portrait of Michael Gambon and Edgar Degas' painting Actress in Her Dressing-Room (1879), Monks indicates the disappointment of such pictures which only seem to offer us an insight into actors and acting:

The problem that always undermines portraits of actors in their dressing rooms is that once actors are looked at - even if they appear not to notice - their activity turns into fictional labour, they still appear to be acting even if their averted gaze and their absorption in the task of dressing suggests otherwise. Dressing room portraits promise to reveal the mysteries of acting, but they end up perpetuating it further, making the private life of the actor all the more secretive and unknowable. The "real" actor is in the end a fantasy of portraits of dressing up. (33)

Backstage space is always implicitly depicted from a spectator's point of view. The portraits that Monks refers to are made for those whose access to backstage spaces is tinged with the thrill of transgression and who seek the real behind the imaginary. But what happens if we assume that the backstage is the normative orientation towards performance and attempt to view it, and the other spaces of theatre, as those who work there do? It's my contention that in the backstage actors (in the company of technicians, stage managers, etc.) produce space that accommodates their onstage performances and counters the uncertainty and transience of their own employment and the wearing, alienating machinery of commodity theatre. This is a tactics of coping, a means of maintaining a sustainable artistic practice by producing recuperative spaces where their needs can be met. And it has nothing to do with how they are perceived by spectators, but how they perceive themselves.

Explaining theatre

2010-03-31T14:54:00.004+01:00

What, after all, is there to say? We tell our friend that the theatre is a place where people come and go, obsessively it would seem, through the same exposed rooms and spaces (they have been coming and going across the same exposed space of the Royal Court in London for decades), and where they perform various harmless and inconsequential actions: a bit of wandering around, some waving of the arms, some standing up and sitting down, and playing it all up as they do so, often getting remarkably excited. It is a place too, we tell our friend, where every action that is performed appears planned out or scripted in advance, at least to an extent. This produces a strange effect, we say, in that the people who are coming and going across the space - let's call them the actors - seem to have all the freedom in the world to do whatever they like, even the freedom not to do anything at all. But at the same time they seem constrained, as if all their choices are somehow being made for them somewhere else, and as if every move they make is basically a renewed attempt to deal with this peculiar situation.

Joe Kelleher, Theatre & Politics, 61-2

Three installations/exhibitions

2010-03-30T19:32:00.007+01:00

Over the last weekend I managed - during the course of a visit to London with a hundred theatre and performance students - to get to three very different but equally affecting installations/exhibitions. These were Miroslaw Balka's How It Is in the Turbine Hall of Tate Modern, Simon Annand's photographic exhibition The Half in the V & A Museum and Celeste Boursier-Mougenot's installation at The Curve in the Barbican.

Miroslaw Balka

Balka's How It Is is a huge steel box, welded together and sitting on piles. In shape it reflects the architecture of the Turbine Hall itself, and in size it looms as a hulking presence; viewed from the walkway above the floor of the hall, it dwarfs the figures walking alongside it. Underneath there is just enough clearance for me to walk upright, and as I pass under it I can hear the footsteps of those inside. The entrance is from the far end of the hall, facing the end wall. Here the box presents itself as a large black cavity with a ramp leading up to the opening. Walking in I can make out figures ahead of me in the gloom by the light reflecting off their skin. The details of their faces are indistinguishable. The walls are covered in black felt, absorbing the light. To approach the walls is to experience a dizzying disorientation; just how far is the wall from my outstretched hand? The low level of light - I can feel my eyes working - and the muffled faces of those around me are akin to the experience of Societas Raffaello Sanzio's Purgatorio in the Silk Street Theatre this time last year. Then I faced a figure, half protruding from a wall, struggling to emerge. For one brief second the figure looked at me, making a kind of eye contact, even though his facial features remained veiled in the darkness. Turning around to look back towards the opening of the box, those coming into or leaving appear as silhouettes against the wall of the Turbine Hall beyond. And for all the emphasis on lack of light and the effect of this on sight I am aware of the echoed sounds of activities elsewhere in the hall, beyond what I can see. This reminds me of the Holocaust Tower in Daniel Libeskind's Jewish Museum in Berlin, where light and the sounds of city traffic enter through the slightest of chinks in the bare angular walls of a concrete silo. For more on Balka's How It Is, see the video here.

Simon Annand

At the V & A Museum later that afternoon I finally got to see Simon Annand's photographic exhibition The Half. The exhibition is comprised of actors photographed during 'the half', the thirty minutes leading up to the call for 'beginners' (made five minutes before a performance is due to commence). I bought Annand's book The Half last year when I first heard about the exhibition, but this is the first time I've been able to see the exhibition and experience the cumulative effect of the photographs placed side by side around the walls of a room. The exhibition was made more interesting because of an introductory video and the presence of more recent colour photographs not included in the book (which is made up of purely black and white shots). In the video Annand is shown photographing actors, and his voice is heard discussing his interest in the process. He states that he isn't interested in the backstage environment itself, or in the ephemera of theatre, but in the relationship of actors "with themselves". And in the course of the video he is shown doing something that I suspected from my viewing of the photographs: he instructs one young actor how to look at his colleague as they sit side by side in the dressing room.

By all accounts the exhibition has been immensely popular, and the room at the V & A was certainly well patronized while I was there. Interestingly, there was a search for recognition amongst the images, and people would point out to their friends the actors they recognised, stating their names and listing the roles or occasions in which they'd seen them. So much of this exhibition is actually about faces and faciality; there are full length and three-quarter shots and some certainly focus on physique, but it is the close-ups of actors' faces that is the key to the images and to the affect nature of the exhibition. The faces display, on the whole, a melancholy, pensiveness and weakness as if the beings displayed here are themselves facing an overwhelming force. The actors here are vulnerable, except when shown enjoying the comforts of sociality. With others present in the image there is laughter and a spatial solidarity. Sometimes this is even enjoyed with the unseen photographer.

In this exhibition actors are made to appear as strangely fragile beings, subjected to the unavoidable necessity of time and action. If, as Alice Rayner has argued, a glimpse into the backstage offers "a sense of privileged access to the secrets of the real thing", then this exhibition, I'd argue, does little to demystify the backstage, but the very attraction of the exhibition relies on maintaining the "seeming difference" of that space from the space of the viewer. The actors depicted seem like creatures not unlike ourselves, but they are presented as somehow more aware, more knowing, of the passing of time and of their own mortality. See images from The Half here.

Celeste Boursier-Mougenot

Finally, Celeste Boursier-Mougenot's installation at the Curve gallery in the Barbican Centre brought me real joy. There was a lengthy queue for the gallery. "It's free," the man behind the information desk mentioned apologetically when I asked about the queue. Joining the line, and listening in on the conversation of the couple next to me, an American woman walked up. "Is this the line for the birdies?" she asked. I presumed that she, like I, couldn't recall the artist's name, but just that this was an artwork featuring small birds and electric guitars.

Twenty-five people are allowed in at a time. Stepping through a curtain of chain metal links, a strobe light flashes. Inside is dark with wooden steps leading down. "No food or drink, no flash photography and stay on the wooden floorboards", the attendant had instructed me before I entered. The floorboards are untreated pine, of the type one might find marking a path through a nature reserve. It's a boardwalk really, running through the curved space. On either side are patches of sand with clumps of spinifex grass, so it really does seem to be a boardwalk through a darkened landscape of sand, except that large across the dark walls are projections of rapid fingers working the fret boards of guitars. The projections are in white outline, the guitars are Gibson Les Pauls. Occasionally the body of a guitar is visible. Small speakers line the path, sparsely placed, with the sound emitted being unusually high pitched, insect-like.

As I walk along, the curved space lightens, until I see the fully lit space at the end. Here the gallery broadens out and its here that my fellow spectators are gathered. Four small, open nesting boxes are high up on the wall; one has pieces of dried spinifex grass emerging from it. The wooden boardwalk covers nearly the whole space, except for patches of sand and spinifex. Depending on the size each of these has either a cymbal on a stand, an upturned guitar or bass, or a microphone stand without a microphone. The cymbals are attached upside down, with the concave surface filled with bird seed or water.

In and amongst this are the finches, apparently an equal number of males and females. Some cluster on an amplifier, while other pairs perch on guitars, preening each other. One female chases a male off a guitar; he lands at the other end only to be chased off again, then again. In doing this the female bounces down the strings, with the attached amplifier emitting heavy plosive bursts of sound. One of the other preening couples picks at the strings creating a light rhythm. Two guitars have dried spinifex strands woven in amongst their strings while a nest of sorts is under construction behind a fire extinguisher. A bass growls while the birds themselves emit slight peeps and cheeps. They fly close past my legs, from one perch to another, a whirr of wings. I stand, observing, and the sudden bursts of sound or the quick flight of birds from one spot to the next attract my attention and that of my fellow spectators, turning us around and around in the space. The gallery is a walk in aviary, part nature park, but also part band room. The instruments make audible the birds' presence and movements. It feels like I'm intruding on the birds' space as they feed, preen and build nests. But their actions are also mediated by the guitars. Perhaps what I experience here is a strange ecology of action and harmonics where the very sensitivity of these birds to my presence and that of others is made more apparent by the sensitivity of the instruments.

Soundscapes and Guitars

2010-02-19T21:17:00.014Z

Last year at the Living Landscapes Conference I was privileged to witness Simon Whitehead and Barnaby Oliver's performance PINGS, in which Whitehead and Oliver explored the space between them, linked by sound echoing down a scratchy and distorted mobile phone connection between Whitehead, in a small rehearsal studio in Aberystwyth accompanied by around thirty onlookers, and Oliver, walking with his guitar by the banks of the Maribyrnong river in Melbourne. One of the things that has remained with me from that morning performance was the resonant soundscape that Whitehead created. While the phone connection became increasingly fragile and problematic, Whitehead calmly built up a rumbling storm of noise - an atmospheric condition - balancing a rocking metal bar across the fretboard of an electric guitar, positioning headphones against the pickups, handing out blades of grass for audience members to place between their lips and blow through, and carrying a large piece of sheet-metal on his head which emitted a low ominous growl as he shifted positions, from floor to standing. As I recall we finished by all slowly circling the room; the audience as slow moving cyclonic depression.

I remembered Whitehead's performance again this week when I watched the following video trailer on YouTube for Céleste Boursier-Mougenot's installation at The Curve in the Barbican Centre, London.

There's something brilliant about the interaction between the finch, the twig and the guitar and the sensitivity of the guitar to the slight twitches and fidgets of these almost weightless birds.

Another memorable piece of sound art involving electric guitars is Christian Marclay's Guitar Drag, a piece that evokes the harmonic and destructive exuberance of a rock concert with the threat and dread of an amateur video recording of a crime.

Haruki Murakami on Running

2010-02-10T08:27:00.004Z

One runner told of a mantra his older brother, also a runner, had told him which he's pondered ever since he began running. Here it is: Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional. Say you're running and you start to think, Man this hurts, I can't take it anymore. The hurt part is an unavoidable reality, but whether or not you can stand any more is up to the runner himself. This pretty much sums up the most important aspect of marathon running.

Haruki Murakami, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, vii

Flexibility in Theatre Architecture

2010-02-09T10:51:00.001Z

Drawing on Jeremy Till’s argument that “time, and not space, should be seen as the primary context in which architecture is conceived,” (2009: 95) and in the light of increasing interest in performative architecture, I'm interested in critically examining notions of ‘flexibility’ in the history of modern theatre. While the much-acknowledged failure of modernism’s desire for empty, neutral, infinitely versatile theatre spaces has in some ways tainted the term ‘flexible’ with negative connotations, other softer, less technologically determined notions of flexibility and adaptability seem to be offering new directions in architecture, as well as serving a “desire to create theatre in places rather than containers.” (Wiles 2003: 266) So, over the next couple of months I'm planning to trace a history of flexibility from the functionalist and technologically driven ideas of the modernist movement, via the perspectives of environmental theatre, to the more allusive sense of temporal fluidity achieved through the adaptive re-use of buildings with prior histories and the increasing popularity of temporary, impermanent structures and ‘lo-fi’ architecture. I'll examine how the term ‘flexibility’ has been used in relation to theatre architecture, what sorts of flexibility have been advocated or explored, and what the connections might be between flexibility in terms of space, physical arrangement and social usage. My intention is to shed light on how past notions of flexibility continue to influence the design of new theatres as well as to consider the relationship between flexibility, adaptability and performativity in the design of theatres.

Oskar Schlemmer on Play and Scepticism

2010-02-08T20:56:00.004Z

This semester I'm teaching a module called Improvisation: Spontaneous Performance. This is the second time I've taught it and this year I've asked students to create weekly blog entries as a way of writing drafts for the Reflective Journal they need to submit at the end of the semester. The first entries are starting to roll in and there's the beginnings of some interesting material. Already I'm feeling like I want to put some of my own thoughts up, which I've started to do. Here's my second entry, written today (the actual blog the students write isn't publicly accessible):

I'm sitting in the National Library today reading The Theater of the Bauhaus by Walter Gropius. The final chapter, by Oskar Schlemmer has some interesting material that seems relevant to our investigations into improvisation. Schlemmer writes that from the early days of the Bauhaus the artists involved sensed that the impulse for creative theatre was "the play instinct" (der Spieltraub). (82) This, he explains is "the un-self-conscious and naive pleasure in shaping and producing, without asking questions about use or uselessness, sense or nonsense, good or bad." (82) That strikes me as a good description of what I hope we will be doing in many of the workshops in this module: 'shaping' and 'producing' without worrying about the usefulness or the sense of what we are doing, but taking pleasure in the playfulness. However, Schlemmer goes on to describe how this developed at the Bauhaus:

"We might say that during the course of its development, this state of naivete, which is the womb of the play instinct, is generally followed by a period of reflection, doubt and criticism, something that in turn can easily bring about the destruction of the original state, unless a second and, as it were, skeptical kind of naivete tempers this critical phase. Today we have become much more aware of ourselves. A sense for standards and constants has arisen out of the unconscious and the chaotic." (82)

I think Schlemmer's idea of a 'skeptical kind of naivete' is helpful here when thinking about how, in this module, we can maintain a sense of naive playfulness but also engage in reflection and criticism about that playfulness without destroying it. The hope then is, that a sense of constants (which in our case would be the development of techniques, habits and understandings) would emerge.

Just some ideas. If you have the time or inclination, let me know what you think.

Walter Gropius (ed) The Theater of the Bauhaus. Trans. Arthur S. Wensinger. London: Eyre Methuen, 1979.

The Girls of Llanbadarn

2009-06-13T13:28:00.003+01:00

Watching the BBC programme My Life in Verse I was introduced to the following poem by the fourteenth century poet Dafydd ap Gwilym. It struck me because of its very contemporary expression of feeling and because Llanbadarn church is only a few minutes walk from where we're living. Tomorrow Anthea and I will be visiting Strata Florida Abbey where, according to tradition, Dafydd ap Gwilym is buried.

The Girls of Llanbadarn

I am bent with wrath,
a plague upon all the women of this parish!
for I've never had (cruel, oppressive longing)
a single one of them,
neither a virgin (a pleasant desire)
nor a little girl nor hag nor wife.
What hindrance, what wickedness,
what failing prevents them from wanting me?
What harm could it do to a fine–browed maiden
to have me in a dark, dense wood?
It would not be shameful for her
to see me in a bed of leaves.

There was never a time when I did not love —
never was any charm so persistent —
even more than men of Garwy's ilk,
one or two in a single day,
and yet I've come no closer to winning one of these
than if she'd been my foe.
There was never a Sunday in Llanbadarn church
(and others will condemn it)
that my face was not turned towards the splendid girl
and my nape towards the resplendent, holy Lord.
And after I'd been staring long
over my feathers across my fellow parishioners,
the sweet radiant girl would hiss
to her campanion, so wise, so fair:

'He has an adulterous look —
his eyes are adept at disguising his wickedness —
that pallid lad with the face of a coquette
and his sister's hair upon his head.'

'Is that what he has in mind?'
says the other girl by her side,
'While the world endures he'll get no response,
to hell with him, the imbecile!'

I was stunned by the bright girl's curse,
meagre payment for my stupefied love.
I might have to renounce
this way of life, terrifying dreams.
Indeed, I'd better become
a hermit, a calling fit for scoundrels.
Through constant staring (a sure lesson)
over my shoulder (a pitiful sight),
it has befallen me, who loves the power of verse,
to become wry–necked without a mate.

Text: www.dafyddapgwilym.net

I think there's something growing in there ...

2009-04-22T20:18:00.004+01:00

[This is our laundry]

Performance Theology

2009-04-21T06:57:00.026+01:00

[Salat - Wikipedia]

I've just read an article by Peter Civetta in the Spring 2008 edition of Performance Research entitled 'Body/Space/Worship: Performance Theology and Liturgical Expressions of Belief'. In it Civetta explores the relationship between performance and theology through two case studies: the first being the practice of Jum'ah Prayer in the Al-Nur Mosque in New York and the second looking at the impact of spatial layout on liturgical experience at Grace Episcopal Church in Chicago.

Discussing the first, Civetta observes that the possible meanings of the physical actions in salat (prayers) are rarely (if ever) speculated upon by Muslim believers; the actions are simply learnt and then reproduced. Civetta suggests that a result of this is that Muslims remain open to the experience of the actions: "Without recourse to definitive judgements as [to] what the movements represent, they must sit and experience them for what they are." (9) Reflecting further on this Civetta explains,

From this experience, I gain increased recognition of belief as not wholly thought, not a solely conscious and intellectualized process of discernment and acceptance (or rejection). Performance theology lives as a bodily function; how these people choose to live their lives is in part dictated by what they learn from their bodies (not their minds) in the act of prayer [...] Belief not only gets expressed by the body - an aftereffect of previously determined ideas - but comes from the body as well. (10-11)

With the example of Grace Episcopal Church Civetta comments on the restrictive nature of the building's spatial layout. Built in an English Gothic Revival style between 1898 and 1905 the church is a large and imposing structure that attempts in some way to reproduce the grandeur of European cathedrals. According to Civetta, the physical dimensions of the church - the sheer distances between floor and ceiling and from end to end - suggest "an epic God and a distant God", circumscribing the notion of God as Abba (Daddy). After discussing the positions and features of the high altar, pulpit and baptismal font Civetta turns to briefly discuss the lived experience of the space, commenting that in the weekly life of the congregation the space itself mitigates against intimacy and communality and instead "puts the emphasis for worship on individuality and visuality." (16) He summarises:

In this way, spatiality at Grace Church possesses its own performance theology, and that performance theology has determined to a large extent the possible performance theology of the worshiping congregation. (17)

It's an interesting article and does outline approaches for other performance scholars to take when exploring religious experience; the suggestion to avoid simply theatricalizing liturgy but to take into account its status as worship is a helpful one. At the same time I'm also uncomfortable with the way Civetta uses the term 'determined' in the sentence I've quoted above; can spatiality or architecture actually determine anything? In his analysis he places a great deal of importance on spatiality without, perhaps, taking into account wider sociocultural, historical and theological contexts that might also reinforce the influence of space on the lived experience of the congregation.

Finally, reading this article through my own particular 'binocular' view - as a Christian and a performance scholar - I also take it as a challenge to re-examine my own 'performance theology', considering how what I do necessarily impacts upon what I believe and how, in the knowledge of this, I might instead seek to enact a more 'faithful' performance.

Meta-thinking

2009-04-18T08:03:00.000+01:00

From "101 Things I Learned in Architecture School":

The most effective, most creative problem solvers engage in a process of meta-thinking, or "thing about the thinking." Meta-thinking means that you are aware of how you are thinking as you are doing the thinking. Meta-thinkers engage in continual dialogue of testing, stretching, criticizing, and redirecting their thought processes.

Plynlimon

2009-04-17T17:56:00.001+01:00

[On top of Plynlimon (725m) highest mountain in mid Wales]

3 Conferences: 3 Abstracts

2009-04-17T16:51:00.009+01:00

Here's three conferences I'll be attending over the (northern hemisphere) summer, with the abstracts for the papers I'll be giving:

1. Living Landscapes (18th-21st June, Aberystwyth)

Terrains of Power: Performing Parliamentary Architecture

In The Symbolic Uses of Politics (1964) Murray Edelman notes that, “The appropriateness of act to setting is normally so carefully plotted in the political realm that we are rarely conscious of the importance or ramifications of the tie between the two.” (99) This statement is nowhere more relevant than when considering the design, construction, and use of parliamentary buildings and precincts.

Such buildings and precincts perform various symbolic functions: they help to construct a sense of national identity, to represent the processes of government, and to assert the authority and legitimacy of the state. More immediately however, at the level of spatial program and built form, they also promote and entrench certain possibilities for movement and interaction whilst discouraging others. In this respect they exert a material influence on the way in which government operates and the way in which the public interacts with it.

In this paper I apply interpretive strategies drawn from Performance Studies to examine two recently constructed precincts: the Scottish Parliament at Holyrood (2004) and the Welsh Senedd on the shore of Cardiff Bay (2006). By focussing on the performative relationship between bodies and the environment I seek to build on existing studies of civic space and capital city design and, in doing so, to assess the extent to which the design of these new precincts might remain “closely tied to political forces that reinforce existing patterns of dominance and submission.” (Lawrence J. Vale 1992:10)

2. Performance Studies International: "Misperformance: Misfiring, Misfitting, Misreading" (24th-28th June, Zagreb)

Duplicitous Sites: Misperforming Parliament

In The Symbolic Uses of Politics (1964) Murray Edelman notes that, “The appropriateness of act to setting is normally so carefully plotted in the political realm that we are rarely conscious of the importance or ramifications of the tie between the two.” (99) This statement is nowhere more relevant than when considering the design and use of parliamentary buildings and precincts.

In this paper I investigate how the ostensive signification of modern parliamentary buildings can be undercut or exposed by practices that naively or deliberately misperform them. Viewed against a variety of protest actions, this paper focuses on the impromptu performance of the choral piece Lament in the foyer of Australia’s New Parliament House on the 18th March 2003. Performed by a choir of one hundred and fifty women who simply walked into the building unnoticed, Lament was timed to coincide with the then Prime Minister’s announcement of Australia’s commitment of troops to the imminent war in Iraq. Through a close examination of performers’ experiences of Lament I will consider the productiveness of this action in exposing how modern parliamentary architecture remains “closely tied to political forces that reinforce existing patterns of dominance and submission.” (Vale 1992:10)

3. International Federation for Theatre Research: Theatre Architecture Working Group (12th-18th July, Lisbon)

Architecture, Audience and Desire

This paper will argue that audiences are not only constructed through their interaction with theatre auditoriums and stages, but also through the relations between an auditorium and the other spaces known or presumed to exist. The popularity of ‘behind-the-scenes’ tours, ‘backstage’ musicals and plays and actors’ memoirs are all evidence of a western cultural fascination with the actual and imagined realms that lie hidden beyond the stage. Such a fascination derives in part from the spatial delineations that mark out theatre space from everyday social space, backstage from front-of-house, and auditorium from stage. The delineations that separate out the spaces used by spectators and practitioners in more traditional theatres are significant because they create what Alice Rayner has described as “a geometry of seeming difference.” This geometry, Rayner suggests, “carries a powerful affect that connects actual spaces to a more general form of aggression and desire.” (2002: 539)

In this paper I will examine how the geometry that Rayner describes is negotiated in the design and use of a number of more modern theatres in Australia and the United Kingdom. Through this I seek to map out dimensions of the relationship between theatre audiences and theatre architecture and suggest how being an audience to theatre involves a tension between a desire for access to the more hidden realms and operations that sustain a performance and a desire to be denied that access.

Autumn comes to Aber.

2008-10-19T17:10:00.004+01:00

Today, walking home along the Plas Crug, it dawned on me that autumn had arrived. Like spring earlier in the year I'd noticed it coming - the green of the leaves on Penglais hill has been slowly draining away - but suddenly I'm aware that it is here, now; leaves are blowing about the streets, the flags on the prom have been taken down, and the light is increasingly slipping from each day.

So much is happening back home at the moment - engagements and weddings, babies, sickness - that Anth and I are feeling curiously unsettled here. It is good to be here and out of the innumerable places we could be we do feel that it is the right place to be. But we don't have any roots in this place with its strange rhythms and practices. For me it is all too easy to throw myself into work and into the immediacy of teaching and administrative tasks. But then anything concerned with the longer term gets pushed to the periphery. This is a concern.

[Plas Crug]

Anthea by the Sea

2008-09-21T08:04:00.002+01:00

Dancing with Strangers

2008-09-20T19:12:00.008+01:00

I've finally started reading Dancing with Strangers by Inga Clendinnen, almost five years after it was first published (in other words, five years too late). I've come to it having just read Kate Grenville's The Secret River, which tells a fictional historical tale of the clash between the British and the aboriginal people of the Hawkesbury River in the late 18th century. There is something about the histories and narratives of early colonial Australia that I find I'm drawn to, even though the sense of loss in these tellings and re-tellings can be unbearable; perhaps it is an interest in origins or an attraction to the tragic. I think it is also a curiosity of wanting to know what it was like to live then in such a strangely different (to British eyes) place.

Clendinnen's writing is so strikingly clear and her interest in the ethnographic, as well as the historic, engages with the confusions and the fog of life as it is lived. This follows in the vein of Greg Dening's account of the mutiny - and aftermath - on the Bounty in Mr Bligh's Bad Language: Passion, Power and Theatre on the Bounty (1992). Clendinnen writes in her 'Introduction' (p.3):

Historians' main occupational hazard is being culture-insensitive, anthropologists' is insensitivity to temporal change. Both can be insensitive to the reciprocating dynamic between action and context. Together, however, they are formidable, and in my view offer the best chance of explaining what we humans do in any particular circumstance, and why we do it.

I'll post a few more choice quotes over the coming week ...

I have joined facebook

2008-09-18T21:26:00.007+01:00

I have finally succumbed to the cult of facebook.

Down by the sea

2008-09-18T21:26:00.006+01:00

[Anth's photo of the Old College, taken from the tower of St Michael's.]

Where have my summer holidays gone? It was such a perfectly clear day today and the waters of Cardigan Bay were like a lake. I was down at the seafront waiting for a staff meeting in the 'High Victorian' Old College, an elaborate (and idiosyncratic) pile that was originally built as a hotel. It was so quiet at around 10.30 that I could hear the engines of small boats way out in the bay. The weather was so good today you could almost be fooled into thinking that it was actually summer and not the beginning of autumn. But the students are coming ... and there are classes to plan.

TV Licensing

2008-09-13T08:08:00.003+01:00

Anth and I don't have a television. We were recently offered one by some neighbours who are 'upgrading' and this tempted us for a little while, but we said no. We do watch DVDs and stream programmes via BBC iPlayer and whatever is available from the ABC (iView is blocked internationally).

If we were to get a television then we would have to get a TV License, which costs £139.50. Even if we didn't have a TV but watched programmes "as they are being shown" then we would need to pay for the license. This does seem an especially retrograde method of funding the BBC, especially when you realise how appallingly inefficient the whole system is and how laughable some of the license 'discounts' are.

When we stayed in student accommodation the post boxes were literally overflowing with a constant stream of letters from TV Licensing demanding that 'The Occupier' of each unlicensed flat pay for a license or risk being fined. Now most of the flats were genuinely unoccupied, so the letters just accumulated.

At our current address we have already received a couple of letters, each demanding an immediate response. Despite the fact that I've already been in contact to state that we don't have a TV, TV Licensing are unable to record this, or to stop the letters arriving until an inspector has been here to check. In fact, they can't even take down my name. And when might the inspector arrive? "Maybe in six weeks, maybe in six months" replied my helpful telephone operator, "it's an automated system" he added, doubtfully. So the wastage of paper and money goes on!

The thing I find really funny is that if I only own a black and white TV then I only need to pay a percentage of the cost, £47.00. Furthermore, if I am sight impaired or blind then I receive a 50% discount! Apparently, if you make it to the age of 75 then you don't need to pay for a license at all - a worthy reward for years of service to the nation.

Things to do, things to do

2008-09-11T22:40:00.008+01:00

[Plas Tan y Bwlch]

It is almost the end of the week, a week that seems like one long scramble to get everything ready before the start of the new semester. Of course if I wasn't so finicky about formatting all my unit outlines and course readers then everything would take a quarter of the time it does. But then I wouldn't have such beautiful documents, right? And students really appreciate that, don't they?

I suspect it is all just a new form of procrastination. I've noticed that I really enjoy doing paperwork and administration - answering emails, entering marks - because you can easily complete a task and then tick it off. Done. This is the opposite of doing research, or writing an article which drags on forever and involves actual thinking. Its a real pity the latter are such a vital part of my job.

Today, just when I thought I everything settled and ready to roll, I had a conversation in which it became apparent that in fact there was something else to do that I didn't know was mine to do. 'Yes,' I stated, 'I'll get on to that right away'. I then asked a few questions that cleverly disguised how little I actually knew, whilst still delving for an answer. This is rather easy to do as an Australian. It feels natural to make statements which conclude in an upward inflection, thereby mysteriously morphing them into questions.

This reminds me of the habit everyone has here of greeting each other with the question, 'Alright?', to which you are meant to answer 'alright'. I haven't got the hang of this yet, so when people look at me and ask 'alright?' (often with a look of genuine concern on their faces) I immediately freeze, thinking, 'Do I look upset? Is there something wrong with my clothing/hair/facial expression?' This especially catches me first thing in the morning when I arrive sweaty from a brisk walk up the hill, inspired (and slightly deafened) by Bon Jovi screaming into my head that 'It's my life/it's now or never' and come face to face with a well-meaning colleague who stumps me with 'alright?' Yes, yes ... I'm fine really, I am.

And what does the picture of Plas Tan y Bwlch (in Snowdonia National Park) have to do with any of this? On Monday and Tuesday I'll be staying there as part of the induction to my Post Graduate Certificate in Teaching in Higher Education (PGCTHE).

Ten things we like about Aber (despite the rain)

2008-09-08T19:07:00.007+01:00

[Aberystwyth from Constitution Hill - EG]

It has been raining for the past little while now ... so much so that we can't remember the last day it didn't rain. Maybe it was in August? That explains why everything is so green. Now, as the green tends towards more autumnal colours, Anth and I reflect on things we like about Aber after living here for just over six months (in no particular order!):

1. The sea: its just over there ... (we're pointing)
2. The community at St. Mikes.
3. Frequent invitations for a 'nice' cup of tea.
4. Walking home for lunch.
5. The blatant display of consonants on Welsh signage.
6. The smell of oil heaters on cold evenings.
7. Rabbits nibbling the university's fields on the way to work.
8. The cry of the gulls (but not their incessant pooping!)
9. Frequent chance encounters with friends in the town.
10. Cawl, bara brith, and Welsh cakes.

[This is the 11th thing we like about Aber: kneeling sheep - EG]

The Organic Welsh Mango

2008-09-01T19:18:00.003+01:00

Anth and I have been getting a weekly organic fruit and vegetable box from a store in town, who try to source local produce. This has been great because the fruit and vegetables do actually taste better (esp. the carrots) and because there is always the element of surprise coupled with the possible arrival of something that we haven't come across before (Curly Kale, anyone?). In last Friday's box we received something very unexpected: a mango. Now, at first sight, I was pretty sceptical about it being a locally grown mango, and indeed, the sticker on it stated 'Saint Dominigue', so it has travelled a little way to get here. Also, there there wasn't much else in the box, so the mango probably cost in the vicinity of £10. But it tasted like ... mango. What luxury!

[One mango about to disappear...]

'Popty Ping': Hard Data

2008-09-01T07:17:00.002+01:00

Emma has requested 'hard data' regarding the status of the term 'Popty Ping'. Here is Exhibit A from the Centre for Alternative Technology:

Carreg Cennen Castle

2008-08-30T22:47:00.008+01:00

In the days before the invention of the 'Popty Ping' (see previous post) the Welsh used to hang out in castles, or, when the English happened to build their own castles in Wales, the Welsh would hang out around these castles with large amounts of weaponry and menace. Today we visited Carreg Cennen Castle, dramatically set atop a crag at the western end of the Brecon Beacons National Park. We were driven there in style (and relative speed) by the lovely Ceri who we had met at St Mike's in Aberystwyth. Now I spent a significant proportion of my childhood drawing castles and imagining them garrisoned by warrior mice (long story) so the chance to wander through a real live ruined castle with its own cave underneath was very, very, very exciting.

[The walk to Carreg Cennen Castle]

[Anthea and Ceri hanging out in a window recess]

[Anthea remembers what it was like to be a high school teacher ... in case you can't quite make out the inscription, it reads 'latrine outlet']

[On the way down to the cave]

[Enjoying the view]

Self-proclaimed Filmer Holiday

2008-08-28T19:38:00.009+01:00

Today was self-proclaimed 'National Filmer Day' (put it in your diaries now for next year) and to celebrate Anth and I took the train to see the sights of Machynlleth. Any usefully mediocre guidebook will indicate that there are numerous things to see there, including the building that housed the medieval Welsh hero Owain Glyndwr's parliament in 1404, the Welsh Museum of Modern Art, and just out of town, the Centre for Alternative Technology. Bron-yr-Aur cottage, just north of Machynlleth, is known as the place where Robert Plant and Jimmy Page (of Led Zeppelin fame) wrote a number of songs that ended up on Led Zeppelin III, including "Gallows Pole" and "That's the Way".

[Machynlleth station]

It was a little wet today which added to the atmosphere; it felt something like being in the Blue Mountains on a sharp April morning - with the mist rising out of the valleys - except here it was so intensely green, really greeny green, as if someone had gone to town with all the shades of green that are on offer in a pack of 72 Derwent colour pencils. Machynlleth itself was a little sleepy and we could rouse no one in the parliament building to open the door, despite the fact that someone must have put the advertising sandwich board out on the street to advertise that it was indeed open. At least we saved spending £1.50 each on what looked like a rather dodgy historical display.

We had more luck at the Centre for Alternative Technology which is a fascinating showcase of practical ecological solutions for everyday application. It's situated in a disused slate quarry and is reached via a water balanced cliff railway. The top car is filled with water - the bottom with people - and then gravity pulls the water-laden car down to the bottom, thereby lifting the people-laden car to the top! While the displays on home construction, energy conservation, waste disposal, composting and gardening were fascinating, the highlight for me was learning the Welsh term for microwave: 'Popty Ping'. I kid you not.

[Centre for Alternative Technology]

[Water-powered cliff railway]

[Anth among the flowers at CAT]

[The Cambrian, seen at Machynlleth station in the afternoon. Its presence exposed the suppressed steam fanatic in many seemingly innocent bystanders.]

Copenhagen capers

2008-08-27T17:47:00.008+01:00

Well, I'm back from Copenhagen, having failed miserably in my attempt to decapitate the city's famous Little Mermaid. In fact, I didn't even get to see the Little Mermaid as it was a bit of a walk to get to reach her. What an anti-climax, eh? However, the conference was very worthwhile, featuring a number of interesting panel discussions, and I was also able to wander about the city and take in the sights, including a guided tour of the Danish parliament or Folketinget. (I'm developing a research interest in the performativities of parliament buildings.) This made up for my rather dreadful (budget-conscious) decision to stay in a hostel and share a room with nine strangers, at least one of whom inevitably suffered from severe sleep apnea. Here follows some photos, and in case you are wondering what Anthea was up to during all this, I have also included one from her too:

[Nynhavn canal]

[Bicycles: everyone cycles everywhere]

[Canal surrounding Christainsborg Slot - my hostel was in an adjacent square]

[Student accommodation University of Copenhagen-style]

[Did I mention that Chuck Norris was in Copenhagen too?]

[Anthea's photo en route to Devil's Bridge via steam train]

What a mess!

2008-08-19T23:25:00.004+01:00

What a mess of a day! I'm glad it's over. I seemed to spread confusion and misinformation wherever I went and my desk has atrophied from a state of creative foment to an impenetrable mound of paper. Time for a break I think. Fortunately, tomorrow I'm off to Copenhagen where, under the guise of attending a conference, I shall attempt to decapitate the Little Mermaid statue for the third time since its unveiling. See here for a report of the last time this occurred.

[That's right sweetie, just look away while I reach for my hacksaw ...]

The Architecture of Creativity

2008-08-14T15:35:00.010+01:00

While compiling readings for a new module called 'Improvisation: Spontaneous Performance', I've come across the work of Keith Sawyer. Apparently he's a professor of psychology and education in the US and "is one of the country’s leading scientific experts on creativity." (Why does he feel the need to describe himself as a 'scientific' expert?) Anyhow, he maintains a blog called Creativity and Innovation and has a website with links to some of his past papers on creativity, improvisation, development and collaboration.

He recently posted a blog entry on architecture, pondering the sort of building design that might enhance or facilitate creativity. (You can find it here.) It looks like this was sparked by the experience of having his university department move into a building that is rather bland and isolating, with rows of identical offices and featureless corridors.

I might stop here, for fear of incriminating myself ...

[A Creative Space?]

Working from home

2008-08-12T14:58:00.005+01:00

I'm just working from home today; firstly, because I can; secondly, because it was raining; and, thirdly, because I felt I'd actually get more done sitting at this table, by the window, than in the office. I'm trying to write an article about space and subjectivity, arguing that the theatrical labour that occurs within the backstage spaces of theatres not only involves the making of theatrical performance but also the making of theatrical performers (specifically, 'professional' performers). Writing is always a laboured, drawn out affair. Today things seem to be working themselves out into an ordered form, but for the last week I've been comforting myself with Franz Kafka's observation: 'All things resist being written down'.

Beware the toad

2008-08-11T19:54:00.003+01:00

[When walking or driving to Ynys-hir, beware the toad]

Prague ...

2008-08-09T14:48:00.011+01:00

Here's some photos from our trip to Prague in June this year to meet up with Em and Chris.

[Anth in Cafe Gaspar Kaspar at the Prague Theatre Institute]

[Despite the persuasive advertising we didn't actually go in]

[Em can't keep a straight face]

[John Lennon Wall]

[An advertising billboard in Václavské náměstí: the play being touted is Our Country's Good by Timberlake Wertenbaker. It's based on Thomas Keneally's novel The Playmaker and deals with the first European theatre performance in Australia, a production of George Farquar's The Recruiting Officer in 1789]

Many faces of Anth and Aber ...

2008-08-08T07:45:00.004+01:00

[April 2008 - AF]

[June 2008 - AF]

[July 2008 - AF]

I can see my house from here ...

2008-08-07T12:10:00.013+01:00

I've been taking advantage of the launch of Google Street View in Australia on the 4th of August to re-visit places back home. This is, of course, a deliberately nostalgic undertaking. From across the other side of the world I can gaze upon my former house and 'walk' the streets of my old neighbourhood. It's all so familiar, and yet oddly disconcerting on at least two levels.

Firstly there is the strange disembodied mode of navigation; my body still holds the memory of walking these streets, of laboriously mowing the grass outside my house. I still retain a knowledge of which routes to take to get to other places, the various uneven patches of grass and pavement, and the peculiar smells encountered. But floating along on Google in fits and starts is so flat by comparison; the places depicted seem to have been dessicated. A mere photograph is static, and a video supplies its own movement, but Google Street View is a curious amalgam. The images are static but continuous and it is I who scroll through or along them. What do I get out of this, a dessicated partial-animation of a place once alive and lived?

The temporal dislocation is another disconcerting aspect. If I look at the image of my old house I can see that it was taken some time ago, when I was still living there. There are pot plants on the porch and I can see my filing cabinet through the front window. One of the windows is open. Maybe I was at home, inside, when the Google van recorded my street? But looking at the scene I can't get over the fact that this place no longer exists as it is depicted. Of course, this is like many of the photos I have with me of people and places, but these don't proport to the virtual timelessness that the Google images seem to offer. The Google images themselves are also dislocated because of the pasting of multiple static images into a continous image. The result is some disturbing representations of headless or malformed humans. Perhaps, as I scroll past, I could even recognise someone in the street who isn't alive any more.

How might a program like Google Street View change the way we relate to the places around us? Instead of seeing it as the loss of place, and a replacement for physical travel, I am reminded of Edward Casey's optimism that 'thinned out' or 'leveled out' places might intensify the desirability of actual places. "The more places are leveled down, the more - not the less - may selves be led to seek out thick places in which their own personal enrichment can flourish." (Between Geography and Philosophy: 685)

You meet really interesting people ...

2008-08-06T09:30:00.002+01:00

Is this advertisement for Cardiff's buses meant to be funny? 'Late wife'?!

It's summer time in Aberystwyth...

2008-08-05T18:44:00.007+01:00

It has been a while since my last post, and consequently there's probably no one out there in the blogosphere who even thinks of checking here for new posts. But the news is that Anth and I are now living and working in Aberystwyth (sometimes described as 'the Brighton of Wales', which is a bit better than the Lonely Planet's 'a faded Georgian seaside resort'). I have decided to revive this blog so as to post photos and observations from my new home on the west coast of Wales. The photos below are provided just to prove that we got a summer - it lasted all of three days.

[Aberystwyth Beach and Promenade - AF]

[South Beach, and yes, it is an Australian flag - AF]

The Man With the Golden Jaw

2007-11-15T11:10:00.000Z

Its Election Time So ...

2007-11-15T10:40:00.000Z

... I'm reading Chimpanzee Politics by Frans de Waal. It seems that the Chimpanzee who becomes the alpha male of the group gets everyone else to back him in his challenge through 'displaying' himself, 'bluffing', alternating between intimidating or supporting the lowly, liberally dosing out goodies, forming loose strategic coalitions of convenience and avoiding brief jocular conversations with shock jocks at airline baggage carousels ... hang on, I think I'm getting confused now ...

Poorly Formatted Poll

2007-07-04T13:54:00.001+01:00

Please contribute to my poll found in the column on the right.

Pretty self-explanatory I think ...

Note: I have now withdrawn the poll ...

I'm Going to Prague ...

2007-05-25T14:35:00.000+01:00

... and this is what I'll be talking about:

‘Implacing’ Theatre Practice: A Theoretical Framework

Despite the increased attention that has been directed towards the function of space and place in the production and reception of theatrical performance little sustained academic attention has been directed towards backstage space and the use of such space by theatre practitioners. In Space in Performance (1999) Gay McAuley concludes that this exclusion of backstage space indicates the extent to which many studies of theatre architecture “are in fact concerned with the building as aesthetic object rather than with its function in a complex social process.” (9)

In this paper I will articulate a theoretical framework through which the function of theatre architecture in performance processes might be better understood. Beginning with Edward Casey’s phenomenological approach to ‘place’, and informed by the work of Edward Soja, I will argue that scholars investigating theatre architecture must take into consideration ‘perceived’ space (space as it is empirically measured), ‘conceived’ space (space as it is represented), and ‘lived’ space (space as it is experienced). The meaning of any place, especially a built place, is always complex and contested, and it is the very tension between ‘perceived’, ‘conceived’, and ‘lived’ space that constitutes the ‘matrix of sensibility’ within which any place is made meaningful.

Such a framework encourages a more holistic understanding of the vital relationship between theatre architecture and theatrical performance and opens up avenues for insight into how theatrical performance is made and re-made in different cultural settings and historical moments.

Best opening line to a story...

2007-05-21T14:09:00.000+01:00

From Franz Kafka's The Metamorphosis:

"As Gregor Samsa awoke from unsettling dreams one morning, he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous vermin."

What is your favourite opening line to a piece of prose, poetry or drama?

Surveillance Culture

2007-05-21T02:35:00.000+01:00

I've just been reading 'Encountering surveillance', the final chapter of John McGrath's Loving Big Brother: Performance, Privacy and Surveillance Space (2004). In it McGrath advances some fascinating ideas about how the development of what he terms a 'surveillance society' in many Western nations has involved distinct cultural shifts as well; in effect, we have developed a 'surveillance culture'. McGrath sees the development of such a culture as radically discontinuous with given representational understandings and as "nothing less than a challenge to our consciousnesses." (219) McGrath argues that to ignore these challenges is to lose any control over the various forms of ourselves that are now in circulation.

What struck me in this chapter was the way McGrath sees our engagement in surveillance as "structured in a profound way by death." (211) While the surveillance cameras that increasingly record our daily movements are often presented as protective, they are also "always potentially filming our deaths." (211) The blurred security footage of UK toddler Jamie Bolger or that of murdered Sydney resident Kerry Whelan that we see broadcast on nightly news programs may seem innocuous, but to watch it is chilling because of our knowledge of why we are watching it. Indeed, McGrath argues that surveillance images of ourselves are traumatic because "our own deaths may appear at any time." (211) In effect, like the appearance of missing or otherwise harmed people, "any appearance of ourselves on surveillance footage can carry traces of this trauma-in-waiting, the ultimate surveillance scene that we, of course, will never, ourselves, see." (211-12)

So, the rhetoric that increased surveillance leads to increased security is patently false. The very fact of surveillance readily admits the ever-present potential for injury and death, increasing our awareness of our own insecurity. Ultimately, in our brave new surveillance culture, harm cannot be prevented, only witnessed.

Finally, while on the topic of surveillance, check out the German film The Lives of Others if you get a chance.

Shoes I: These are my boots

2007-05-19T07:29:00.000+01:00

These are my boots. There are many like them, but these are mine.* I often wear them on wet days. Together we have travelled through many parts of Australia, New Zealand and Europe. In these boots I can stand up all day long and not get sore feet. They provide my feet and ankles with a hard leather exoskeleton, supporting and protecting them from awkward sideways movements. The fact that they are leather is significant. Leather requires care. I have enjoyed heating them in the oven and then lovingly applying bees wax as a waterproofing agent. The warm leather melts and absorbs the wax, producing a marvellous smell and greasy texture.

These boots are heavy and they lend me a sense of weight. I feel confident in these boots. I imagine that they make my feet sound imposing as I advance along corridors. Indeed, in these boots I advance and never retreat. With their enclosing leather and thick, insulating, rubber soles, these boots attach me to the earth. Whilst wearing them I will not easily be knocked over by anything!

And the red laces are also a great conversation starter ...

* 10 Commonwealth Bank Award points for anyone who can name the film I am riffing on with this line.

Walking Country

2007-05-19T04:14:00.000+01:00

There's a beautiful podcast currently available from Radio National's Radio Eye programme entitled 'Ways of Walking Country'. The programme involves interviews with four individuals whose lives engage profoundly with the simple everyday practice of walking.

I've spent a lot of my life walking and no doubt many of you have too! What a simple pleasure that we too often take for granted! Through the act of walking we engage intimately with our surroundings, performing our places of residences and our local surrounds by traversing the 'runs and rills' we find ourselves in. We inscribe and re-inscribe our own embodied maps. Through this the places where we walk also inform who we are; they affect the shapes and habitual rhythms of our bodies.

[Martin Place, Sydney - AF]

When I am in the city I walk faster. Walking through the Devonshire Street tunnel under Central Station I enjoy the mild exhilaration of cruising past and between people, overtaking and sliding through gaps that open around me. I imagine myself as something akin to a V8 Supercar (although stealthier and with less gaseous emissions!) with a similar sense of changing up and down gears. I see a gap, I push into second, third, fourth gear, slide through the gap and then knock back down to second. The tiles underfoot offer little resistance. I can forget my feet; I push from my gut and my shoulders. My legs might actually be propelling me, but in this state I am aware of them only as keeping up to the push of my body through the crowd. Research out of California State University has suggested that city walking speeds have increased by ten per cent over the past ten years. Perhaps the influence of modern transport together with the development of technology that allows for the rapid transmission of ideas and documents leaves our physical bodies straining to keep up in their wake.

As part of my performance practice (such as it is) I've spent a lot of time walking in rooms, with others. Just walking. You can learn a lot from just walking, about yourself, your environment, your relationships with others. Choose a room, clear it of furniture and walk. Avoid patterns. Walk perpendicular to the walls, walk parallel to the walls. Walk in a grid; walk in organic curves and spirals; walk back and forth along the same line. Stand still. Walk at different speeds. Enjoy smoothly transitioning between different speeds. Invite some friends to walk with you. Think about other things as you walk. Think about yourself and your body. How does your body move? What do you notice about the feeling of the air on your skin, the proximity between yourself and others, between yourself and the walls?

In the bush my walk is irregular and conscious. It's a thinking walk. Maybe 'thinking' doesn't have the right connotations ... It's a productive walk, a craft. My muscles and joints have to work out the country as they bring me into it. They lift me onto rocky steps and attempt to stabilise me on uncertain, slippery ground. I can't forget my feet and legs. I'm tied to them. I have to keep watching the ground in front and around them so as not to crash down onto it. If I'm encumbered with a heavy pack I find myself grounded, having to hold myself up as I move. Without a heavy pack the tension lessens; I'm unburdened and can scramble and leap ahead. This bush experience is more removed from the everyday. I associate walking in the bush as restorative and regenerative when compared with my everyday urban travels. Is it really?

I thought of this post as I walked, in the sun, to the shops earlier this afternoon. My spongy thongs kept my feet in a clumsy sympathy with the asphalt, the cracks in the concrete pavement and the lumpy grass of the nature strips. Maybe in the next post I'll think about shoes ...

Let me leave you with four photos of less everyday places I've enjoyed walking in. The first three are from a recent traversal of the Milford Track in New Zealand. The final photo is from the Jameson Valley in the Blue Mountains.

Where do you walk?

[Clinton Valley, NZ - BH]

[Mackinnon Pass, NZ -AF]

[Arthur River, NZ - AF]

[Looking towards Kedumba Crossing, Jameson Valley, NSW - AF]

Learned

2007-05-06T00:32:00.000+01:00

[Graduation Day - AKF]

learned (lurn-ed) adj 1 having great knowledge. 2 involving or characterized by scholarship.

Rugged

2007-05-03T13:52:00.000+01:00

[Clinton Valley NZ - AM]

rugged (rug-gid) adj 1 Rocky or steep. 2 with a jagged or uneven surface 3 (of the face) strong featured. 4 Rough , sturdy, or determined in character. 5 (of equipment or machines) designed to withstand rough conditions or use in rough conditions.

Back again

2007-04-21T05:57:00.000+01:00

It's been exactly two months since my last (rather narcissistic) post. Needless to say, a lot has been happening. In particular I've been doing a lot of teaching and have found myself on a treadmill of reading, preparing, teaching classes and marking. I do love it though - and I'm learning more than I think I ever have.

I watched the movie Sophie Scholl: The Last Days last week. Released in 2005, the film details the last five days in the life of Sophie Scholl, a young German woman involved in the non-violent resistance movement known as 'The White Rose' during World War Two. Along with her brother, Hans Scholl, and Christoph Probst, she was executed by the Nazis in 1943 at the age of 22. The film generates a great deal of tension because the outcome of the story is known from the beginning; this serves to focus attention on the reactions of Sophie to her predicament, particularly her courage and faith in the face of certain death. The film carefully treads a difficult line by depicting the heroic nature of Sophie's actions without turning into a piece of hagiography.

I was quite emotionally affected by the film and found myself inevitably reflecting on how I might react in such circumstances. How courageously do I stand by my convictions? Not very. I also found the following quote (attributed to Sophie Scholl) particularly challenging:

The real damage is done by those millions who want to 'survive'. The honest men who just want to be left in peace. Those who don't want their little lives disturbed by anything bigger than themselves. Those with no sides and no causes. Those who won't take measure of their own strength, for fear of antagonizing their own weakness. Those who don't like to make waves or enemies. Those for whom freedom, honour, truth and principles are only literature. Those who live small, mate small, die small. It's the reductionist approach to life: if you keep it small, you'll keep it under control. If you don't make any noise, the bogeyman won't find you. But it's all an illusion, because they die too, those people who roll up their spirits into tiny balls so as to be safe. Safe?! From what? Life is always on the edge of death; narrow streets lead to the same place as broad avenues, and a little candle burns out just like a flaming torch does. I choose my own way to burn.

Happy Birthday to Me

2007-02-20T22:55:00.001Z

[The Birthday Boy]

Yes, I'm 27 today and still going strong! (Anyone wishing to send me a present, please see the previous post.)

Send me to Prague - Please!

2007-02-19T09:55:00.000Z

[Send me here]

Okay, I need $3500. And I want to lay out this challenge up front: who can provide me with a way of raising $3500? Sponsorship? Scholarship? Publicity stunt? Street theatre? I will try (almost) anything. Spread the word people! Blog it. This boy needs $3500.

Why? Because I am a struggling early career theatre researcher with no institutional backing (and no money) who has just heard about the conference of his dreams. Today I received an email advising me that the Architecture Working Group of the International Federation of Theatre Research will be holding their first meeting, in Prague, from the 18th to the 20th June, coinciding with the Prague Quadrennial. This is the conference for me. I attended the Scenography Working Group conference in Prague in 2003, and that was good (and you can read the results) - but this will be better. I have spent four years writing a thesis on the finer points of theatre architecture, and now is the time for me to get out there and discuss the results with the heavies! This will not be a holiday!

(Okay, a little qualification, I do have enough money to live, but my wife has been supporting me rather heavily over the last few years and now I need to return the favour by not directing my income (and hers!) towards conferences, books and other academic follies. So, if you think I'm a bit crazed, think of this as a favour to her.)

That's the gist. Help me out! Who has a killer idea for how I can raise $3500?*

*A free foot massage and simultaneous lecture on the backstage areas of Sydney theatre buildings for the person with the best idea.

Home Truths

2007-02-11T21:31:00.000Z

The Federal Government's increasingly blatant manoeuvring on the issue of climate change is really starting to get to me. Firstly they are going down the well-worn route of casting themselves as the practically minded rationalists, and anyone else (opposition parties, scientists, environmentalists) as idealists and academics, all talk about climate change, but not offering any real world' solutions. The government are set on depicting any possible ways of addressing climate change as 'subject to debate', and are instead trying to play up the worsening drought as the real issue. The absolute short-sightedness of this is daily astounding me. And yet it continues ...

Yesterday, reading the Sun Herald, I was drawn to the headline at the bottom of the front page: "PM's home truths: What John Howard thinks really matters to you." According to the article, Howard has nominated "the home-based issues of economic prosperity, national security and 'self-contained' Australian environmental issues as the keys to a fifth successive victory." The article goes on to quote Howard directly:

"Water, water, water. It's the biggest environmental game in town by a long way. It's within our capacity to do something about it in the forseeable future - it's a self-contained Australian challenge."

Now reading this quote raised a number of concerns. I'll direct my attention to these as dispassionately as possible (but let me leave you in no allusions that I was literally kicking the walls when I read it.)

First is the blatant attempt to posit water, not climate change as the 'big issue'. This is smart politics; even urbanites like myself can turn on the television and see the effects of drought on the Australian landscape. Likewise, hearing the percentage left in water storage and imagining the prospect of turning on my taps at home and having nothing come out is particularly concrete (and elicits a rather direct fear). But incremental increases in temperature or sea levels can't be witnessed so directly and so can be more easily edged to one side.
Then Howard talks about the 'capacity to do something ... in the forseeable future.' Who exactly is he talking about here? Him? His government? The Australian nation? In essence Howard is betraying his very short-sightedness. His idea of the 'foreseeable future' is the next election, not the time when I might be the age he is now. His concept of 'capacity' is measured in terms of how his government might address an issue without incurring political damage. Tackling water entails much less potential for political damage than attempting to curtail carbon emissions.
Finally, there is the breathtaking phrase that water is a 'self-contained' environmental challenge. What!? There's a fundamentally disturbing nationalistic echo to this, aside from the fact that the 'containment' label is simply illogical. It's also an amazing side-step. Howard isn't worried about whether climate change is important (ie: if it is an important factor in influencing the severity of the current drought), he's simply concerned about what impacts us in the here-and-now of an election year. And if that means reifying our national borders to the extent that they seem to be a factor in the environment, so be it!

Finally, and this is going beyond the article I read yesterday, I heard another disturbing - and related - phrase. I can't remember who it was, but I heard a government minister utter the words 'water security' on the radio yesterday morning. And it struck me that 'water security' sounds an awful lot like 'border security'.

So, if you've read this far, help me out. Apart from kicking the walls and blogging, what constructive approach can I take to countering this line of rhetoric from the government and drawing attention to what I see as the most important environmental issues?

A Field Guide to the Birds of Iraq

2007-01-29T01:13:00.000Z

The first Field Guide to the Birds of Iraq, published by Birdlife International and Nature Iraq, was released on the 26th of January! The book describes and depicts the 387 bird species that are recorded as residing in Iraq. Importantly, during the surveys conducted prior to the publication of this book researchers have found that no bird species have gone extinct since the last major survey in the 1970s. Conversely, it seems that some conservation efforts have improved the situation in the important bird habitat of the Mesopotamian Marshes. Former marsh dwelling people have been returning to the area in large numbers and have re-flooded significant areas of formerly drained marsh.

For more information, visit the Birdlife International site here.

By the way, I'm keen ... anyone up for a bird-watching trip to Iraq?

The Face of Jesus

2007-01-27T22:28:00.000Z

[British actor Robert Powell as Jesus in Franco Zeffirelli's Jesus of Nazareth]

If you head over to the rejesus website at the moment you can place your vote in their Faces of Jesus poll. The poll asks for you to consider twelve 'faces of Jesus' and then to vote on the question, 'Which of the pictures above looks most like Jesus as you imagine him to be?' So far 26% of the votes have gone to the 'Jesus of Nazareth' image (see above), with the next most popular being the 'Laughing Liberator' with 14%. The poll site is worth a browse as each of the images has an attached text that explains its history and cultural background.

Which Jesus would you vote for? And be honest ...

I've been thinking about depictions of Jesus because this Saturday I start rehearsals for the NSW Bible Society's annual Celebration of Word and Song. This event started over a decade ago as an Easter gathering for supporters of the Bible Society, allowing them to hear the easter story read, to sing together, and to enjoy musical performances. However, over time the bible readings have grown into staged performances of the biblical texts. Staging the biblical texts poses some really interesting questions: How exactly do you present the character of Jesus, and the context in which he lived and ministered, onstage? What impact do your representational choices have on your audience? Are they helpful? Are they a hinderance? And what do your choices say about how you view Jesus?

It seems that in this age, in which the primacy of the visual has reached an apogee, our imaginations are highly influenced by the variety of movie representations that exist, from the rather ponderous The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965) to Mel Gibson's almost unbearably gory The Passion (2004). Most of these (with some notable exceptions) seek a large audience beyond the church by attempting what you might call 'historical renderings': Jesus is shown in some sort of recreation of 1st century Palestine as he heals the sick, reasons with the scribes and pharisees (who can be easily recognised by their rather impractical headwear) and hangs out with a bunch of scruffy unwashed disciples and various filthy villagers. But does this Jesus get in the way of us meeting the risen Christ on his terms?

[Jo Kenny and Neil Modra perform during the Celebration of Word and Song 2006 - photograph by Ramon Williams]

For last year's Celebration I opted for a rather traditionally inflected stage presentation. Jesus, and the other characters, wore suitably 1st century-ish garb and handled stage properties that evoked a vague historical setting: scrolls, baskets of bread, swords, a crown of thorns, etc. The staging did however include some necessary stylisation. During Jesus' crucifixion, for instance, the actor playing Jesus stripped himself, applied the crown of thorns to his own head and took up a cross bar which he then held across his shoulders. This took place whilst a narrator described these actions being done to Jesus, effectively allowing the audience to imagine the surrounding scene.

This year I've decided to take a new tack. I realise that I have the privilege of creating a performance for an audience who know the biblical accounts of Jesus, who know his teachings, his healings, his death and resurrection. However, at the same time, in what way do they know it? Is it a knowing that is accompanied (or even formed) by various movie depictions of Jesus (like the willowy form of Max von Sydow?) Has their understanding of Jesus been shaped and determined by these cultural images? As a challenge, this year I've decided to stage an ensemble performance in which five actors will together re-tell the story of Jesus. Dressed in contemporary clothing, and gathered around a large table on which sits the remnants of a meal, they will begin to recount (rather than re-enact) the story using the text of the four gospels. From this they will then start act out episodes, thereby presenting some of the characters. But, in each scene, Jesus and the other characters will be presented by different actors (both male and female). I hope that this will be a Jesus who can in some way be heard (and seen) afresh through the testimony of his disciples.

Dredging up some past work

2007-01-27T11:36:00.000Z

The days of thesis writing were long and hard, and I often needed a few hours of rest (approx 8) in the middle of the day so as to keep myself in peak mental condition. Here's something I've dredged up from the past. All the best to the new Immigration Minister Kevin Andrews. I hope his policy announcements don't inspire me to similar creative renderings ...

Censoring God (!?)

2007-01-27T11:16:00.000Z

It seems that on some airlines the version of the film 'The Queen' that has been screened has had all references to God 'bleeped' out. But rather than being a statement by airlines (ala this), it seems that it was just a rookie censor. (Read the news article here. It was referred to on the rather excellent GetReligion blog.)

My thesis is now online!

2007-01-22T12:26:00.000Z

[My workspace in earlier days - AF]

So, it's late. And you can't sleep due to the heat, the snoring emanating from the prone form beside you, the pangs of a guilty conscience, or a combination of all three.* But wait, help is now only a mouse click away! That's right, my PhD thesis, entitled Backstage Space: The Place of the Performer, is now available online! And you can find it HERE.

So, to whet your appetites, here's a classic section from page 2 where I contend that there is a 'significant lacuna' stemming from the lack of focus (to date) on backstage space, and skillfully set the scene for the 250-odd pages of closely argued text that follows. Enjoy!

In recent decades, the humanities and social sciences “have been experiencing an unprecedented spatial turn.”1 This turn has influenced a “move towards more culturally and geographically nuanced work, sensitive to difference and specificity, and thus to the contingencies of event and locale.”2 Within the associated academic fields of Theatre Studies and Performance Studies this has been manifest through increased attention being directed to the function of space and place in the production and reception of theatrical performance, both that which occurs in theatre buildings and that which is site-specific. Despite this, little sustained attention has been directed towards backstage space and the use of such space by performers. It is my contention that this represents a significant lacuna in our knowledge of the complex interrelations between performers, the performances they create, and the spaces and places in which they create such performances.

1 Edward Soja, "Thirdspace: Expanding the Scope of the Geographical Imagination," in Human Geography Today, ed. Doreen Massey, John Allen, and Philip Sarre (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1999), 261.
2 Denis Cosgrove, "Landscape and Landschaft," German Historical Institute Bulletin, no. 35 (2004): 57.

*Ie: you went to bed and left the heater running in the midst of summer, thereby exacerbating your partner's sleep apnea and resulting in the midnight realisation that you have foolishly contributed to the further warming of the globe.

Contemplating a bit of writing

2007-01-22T12:12:00.000Z

I need to start writing. This may seem a somewhat strange comment given the undeniable fact that it is written. However, what I mean is that I need to start writing some truly publishable material. This is so:

I can disseminate my wildly original and extremely important research findings to the wider world.
I can place myself in a position where someone says 'Wow! Look at your CV! And all those publications for one so young! Why don't you come and work for me in a meaningful and well paid job?'*
I can provide for my wife (for the first time in at least three years).
I can have the joy of seeing my name in print.

Sadly all I have really learnt in eight years of tertiary education is the ability to procrastinate.

I shall start writing tomorrow.

What are you looking for?

2007-01-19T10:13:00.000Z

Recently I’ve been meeting regularly with a friend - Ashley - and together we’ve been improvising. The style of improvisation isn’t in the vein of the more popular theatresports, but rather is a form of improvisation in which a performer constructs their performance before an audience from whatever starting point they find when they begin. The skill of the improviser is then to develop an interesting, structured, and ultimately satisfactorily engaging performance from that point.

Ash and I are meeting and improvising together for a variety of reasons, particularly the shared desire to be better improvisers, as well as simply to be better performers (the skills involved in improvisation are basic to many styles of performance). Most recently we've been working on text; we've been improvising narratives, characters and contexts.

Last night we had our first audience since we’ve been working together – a very select audience of two. One of these two isn’t particularly enamored with improvisation and so afterwards pressed a few salient questions on us. In essence, she questioned what it is that an audience receives when watching improvisation. What are we giving them? It is our choice to step onstage without anything, so what interest is this to an audience?

It is true that I find perfomances based solely on the display of virtuosity somehow soulless. Sure, acrobats, musicians, actors and vocalists can train themselves to achieve amazing feats. But if I can't really understand why they are performing those feats, here, now, and with this particular audience in this place, then I find I’m often left a little cold. If the virtuosity is used to illuminate some thematic that I find resonates with the here-and-now, or raises pertinent questions about some aspect of the human condition then I find it has a definite reason to be. Does improvisation deliver this in performance? Or is it the process of improvising, and the way the art-form exists within a community of participant-interpreters, that provides each particular performance with a larger resonance? Am I simply engaged in a cheap and energetic form of therapy?

So, with all this in mind, do you go and see live performance (theatre, dance, etc)? If so, why? What do you want? What are you after? Do you ever get what you're after?

[Photo: BAAM - Lynda Ng]

Apt words about Anth...

2007-01-16T00:15:00.000Z

[Anth]

My lovely Anth now has an online tribute to her from her good friend Lusi! If you are so disposed you can view it here. (The post is a long one so just scroll down until you find it).

Addressing Anti-Australian Bias

2007-01-15T00:59:00.000Z

Right, well I've recently got a bee in my bonnet about the way in which Byron has displayed a distinctly Euro-centric bias in the photographs he has been displaying on his blog. What's wrong with a bit pride in Australia, the land of the Hills Hoist, V8 Supercars and VB? We've got picturesque countryside, and we've got culture. (I'm cultured, matter of fact, I'm eating yoghurt as I type this).

So, by way of subtle protest I have hereby included three photographs that were taken on genuine Australian soil, and I am offering points for those who can supply the requested information. The winner will receive the genuine replica boomerang that I recently discovered when I shifted a pile of papers from under my desk.*

Good luck! I await your replies!

Ten points if you can name the town in which this photograph was taken and twenty five points if you can name the street. Hint: the broadcast towers on the hill in the background supply residents of Victoria's second largest regional centre.

Ten points if you can name the town in which this photograph was taken, fifteen points if you can name the event that made it famous, and twenty five points if you can tell me the year in which that event occurred.

Ten points if you can name the highway this concrete pylon supports, fifteen points if you can name the artist who has used it as a canvas, and a fifty point jackpot (!) if you can name the Australian performance art troupe posing in the background.

*You will have to supply evidence of Australian citizenship: a photocopy of your birth certificate or a passport, certified by a JP, will suffice.

Kindness

2007-01-14T13:14:00.000Z

The sermon at church yesterday evening was on one of the fruits of the Spirit: kindness. It will eventually be available online from here. Kindness seems like such a sappy concept, but the power of simple kindness was brought home to me by the actions of a man I met on Saturday.

Anth and I were on our way back from the Southern Highlands (see the preceding post) and on the spur of the moment decided to drop by the Bunnings 'megabarn hardware extravaganza' store at Bankstown. We'd heard there was a bargain on trestle tables going. As it turned out they were a bargain (at $58). So I looked at the table and I thought, as I handed over my credit card to the guy at the checkout, 'Yeah, it'll fit in the car.'

Five minutes later, having unpacked the car in the car park, folded down the rear seats, and then attempted to safely stow the table, I realised the error of my ways. No amount of shoving was going to fit a 1.83 metre table in the boot of a Corolla. So much for me thinking that I'm spatially gifted. Maybe if the car could drive itself and we could walk home separately ... Anyhow, I lug the table back into Bunnings. Home Delivery? That's an extra $30.

So we decide that the excursion has been a rather frustrating waste of time and that we will attempt to return the table and get our money back. In the line up for the information desk we are exchanging some comments with a guy behind us about the cost of the table (and our foolishness) when the man standing behind him asks, "Where do you live?" "Padstow," I reply. The guy pauses briefly and then says, "Well I live at Condell Park, I'll give you a lift."

We're both amazed at this (geographically this stranger is offering to drive past his house a good number of km's to home deliver our table). We wait outside while he finalises his purchases and while waiting Anth and I ponder his motivations. Why on earth is he randomly offering us help?

Riding in his van, and having a chat, I soon realised that his offer of help wasn't entirely random. It turns out that he's a Christian who attends the nearby Condell Park Bible Church (as well as working for Bunnings at another store). Of course he didn't link his faith to the offer of the lift - but for me his act of simple kindness really affirmed the way that Christian faith can and does result in a radical re-shaping of one's priorities and attitudes; as recipients of God's awesome grace we too seek to love and to serve others.

The kindness displayed in his offer of a lift might have only been a small and insignificant thing, but it has given me some mighty encouragement this week.

A Week in the Southern Highlands

2007-01-14T12:38:00.000Z

I've just returned from a week in the Southern Highlands, holidaying with my wife (and her parents!). One of the highlights of the highlands was the Box Vale Walking Track, a walk that follows the route of a disused railway line. The line was built in 1888 to provide transport for a coal mine located at the bottom of the Nattai River Gorge. Unfortunately the mine proved rather uneconomic and it closed in 1896. The tracks, sleepers and wooden bridges were removed, but the cuttings and embankments remain - allowing for an unusually level walk through the bush! The most impressive part of the walk (apart from the view of the Gorge) is just before the end when the line passes through an 84 metre tunnel. Standing in the middle of it is a strange experience - my eyes found it hard to adjust, and so even though I could see the light at either end I couldn't really discern the uneven ground underfoot.

[Box Vale Colliery Tunnel - AF]

Given the level of industrial activity this area once witnessed (an estimated 1000 tons of coal per annum were transported along the railway) I found that the degree to which it has been reclaimed by vegetation was a humbling reminder of how quickly many of our labours fade and are lost.

Zero Degrees

2007-01-05T21:29:00.000Z

Akram Kahn and Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui

Zero Degrees is the first work to take place in the new Wilson Street CarriageWorks. Despite this the CarriageWorks themselves aren’t finished yet; the exterior concreting is largely roughly done, with the main entrance from Wilson Street lacking any signage; exposed bolts mark the spots where the signage will hang. The CarriageWorks are accessed via stairs from Wilson Street. The stairs are accompanied by a wheelchair ramp that zigs and zags, under cover of a large shed that runs parallel to the street. This too is unfinished as yet.

[Wilson St CarriageWorks in 2004 - AF]

The exterior walls of the CarriageWorks retain a colour and resonance, bearing marks and scars as reminders of their previous usage as a site of heavy industry. Contrasting with this are the smooth glassed doors and the warm colours of the entrance, drawing pedestrians in. Inside, the high-pitched roof is left visible. The foyer exists in a space between the original exterior and the new interiors. These interiors are encased in large panels of smooth pre-formed concrete. The original rows of cast iron pillars have been taken as strong guiding lines by the architects. They largely determine the dimensions of the new interiors, with one line of pillars continuing unimpeded down a passage between the 800 and smaller 300 seat performance spaces.

Zero Degrees is performed in a large white box, reminiscent of that in which Peter Brook set his famous A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Behind the rear panel are hidden a quartet of musicians and vocalists. In the space itself are two life-sized dummies. Both are white, but as the performance continues and both are manipulated by the performers one appears more flexible, the other stiffer. Interestingly this reflects the difference between relative angularity of Kahn and the extreme flexibility of Cherkaoui. Indeed, perhaps the casts are actually of Kahn and Cherkaoui’s bodies.

Kahn and Cherkaoui appear from opposite sides at the rear of the stage area and walk to face one another. Kahn is darker in appearance, Cherkaoui lighter, with a line of hair across the top of his forehead (both dancers are bald or balding). They are dressed in clothing that is identically cut; the difference lies in the colours. Kahn is dressed in an olive brown fitted t-shirt and broad pants, Cherkaoui in a blue-grey ensemble. Their entrances, in silence, (the musicians have been briefly illuminated before this – presumably to reveal to the audience in advance that they are performing live) contrast with the final image of the performance in which Cherkaoui carries a stiff, prone Kahn from the stage. However, to begin with, they meet at the centre rear of the stage, turn towards the audience and walk downstage, seating themselves at the very front of the stage.

At the front of the stage both performers begin speaking in unison. The text itself is rather conversational, as are the pauses and rhythms, but the effect of the unison is humorous. The text conveys the experience of travelling across the border from Bangladesh to India, and of having one’s passport confiscated by a border guard seeking a bribe. The text references the culture shock experienced by a western visitor who becomes aware that the usual rules of engagement don’t apply here. Their initial anger turns to fear.

This opening text is followed by a period of intricate arm movements, accompanied by the hidden quartet. The pattern of the performance is thus established, a pattern of downstage text interspersed amongst sections of movement. This pattern isn’t rigidly adhered to; it is also broken in numerous ways. Midway through the performance Kahn himself vocalises upstage, a series of staccato utterances sparks a new rhythmic pattern. Later Kahn repeats an earlier piece of text – this time without Cherkaoui. Finally, following the telling of an encounter with a dead body on an Indian train, Cherkaoui sings what sounds like a lament. Throughout the performance the musical accompaniment also shifts. Affected by a distinctly Indian inflection, the accompaniment contains a strong vocal component. Violin, cello, guitar and percussion join long trailing vocal notes that provide an aural environment that colours the mood of the white box. The shifts in rhythm and pace provided by the musical score are a major source of segmentation in the performance. Segments of movement begin from silence and are seemingly picked up and carried by the musicians.

The movement sequences of Kahn and Cherkaoui shift in tenor. At the outset they involve a playful tangling of arms; whose is whose? Their arms seemingly entwine, ever moving and shifting past one another. The effect is of a gentle unfolding towards and with one another. Soon this is replaced with an agonistic tone. A mock battle of arms and legs is engaged in. Kahn knocks Cherkaoui out flat following a sharp spin. The dancers’ shadows on the rear wall become a mediating focus as they join, and then lengthen and shorten separately. Playful sequences with the mannequins also provide humour and a certain note of reflexiveness. While the mannequins’ lack of response and blankly white exteriors allow the performers to manipulate them and project actions onto them (Cherkaoui, for instance, has one mannequin first caress and then abuse him), they also troublingly signify corpses as they are dragged about the space.

[Kahn and Cherkaoui - akramkahncompany.net]

First Cherkaoui and then Kahn perform solos in the space; Cherkaoui uses his flexibility to roll, tumble, rise and fall from the stage. Kahn sits upstage left on the midriff of one of the mannequins. Kahn’s solos are more upright. He executes a range of spins and turns, including a rapid series of spins – so fast you would think he would lose control. Later Kahn investigates Cherkaoui’s flexibility, rolling and then bouncing him like a basketball. At different times both dancers abuse the mannequins, with these hits or kicks reflected in the body of the other. Cherkaoui in particular endows the mannequins with personality and agency; he seems to expect them to respond.

[Kahn - akramkahncompany.net]

The shifting and often playful relationship between Kahn and Cherkaoui provides the emotional heart of this performance. While they test the limits of the space, of their own bodies, and the forms of the mannequins, it is the testing of each other, the glances, pokes, prods and stimuli they provide and respond to that propel this performance. Indeed, the title Zero Degrees, for me, has resonances of the title of John Guare’s play Six Degrees of Separation. In the white box of the set every gesture, movement and shift in attention, rhythm or speed is exposed and magnified; the dancers blend and separate; their similarities and their very profound differences are made evident as they share the telling of stories and as they weave in and out of each other’s orbit. Contrasting with its minimalist visual aesthetic Zero Degrees is a profoundly humane work.

A postscript: In the post above I don't actually mention anything about the specific experience of being in the audience. This is an oversight as it profoundly affected how I perceived the performance (indeed, it almost ruined the performance). To give you a better idea, I have included below an email I sent last night to 'feedback@sydneyfestival.org.au'. I will post any reply I receive ...

To Whom It May Concern,

Initially, let me say thank you for tonight's performance of Zero Degrees by Akram Kahn and Sidi Larbi Cherkaoui. The performance was excellent - deceptively simple, joyful, and reflective. I caught Kahn's Kaash when it toured Sydney a few years ago, and so being able to see Kahn in Sydney again as part of the festival was great.

Unfortunately this email is a complaint. The seating arrangements in the new CarriageWorks space are not excellent, nor even sufficient, and it is for this reason that I am emailing you. I attended the first night of Zero Degrees and was seated, with my wife, towards the rear of the stalls (seats U9 and U10). I booked via Ticketek, and my booking number was 6532761 (tel). The cost of these seats was $70 and $60 respectively (I have a student concession). Both seats were considered 'A Reserve'.

The rake of the seating in the venue was such that from our seats neither of us could see the front third of the stage area. This was the case for half the audience; everyone from the aisle back suffered from very poor sight-lines. Added to this, the front third of the stage was used extensively by the performers throughout the performance, especially when they repeatedly sat downstage centre to talk to the audience and perform what I presume were small, intricate gestures. Throughout the performance there was a great deal of restlessness as members of the audience shifted in their seats, stood briefly, or moved to the side aisles to stand and gain a glimpse of what was happening onstage.

Within a few minutes of the performance starting both my wife and I found that the situation was intolerable. We therefore walked to the rear of the seating bank and stood for the majority of the performance. Interestingly, even standing at the rear of the seating bank still didn't allow us a clear view of the front of the stage. All up I found this experience very frustrating. I was frustrated that I couldn't actually see what was going on (and I am 186cm tall) and that despite the great efforts of the performers their performance couldn't be adequately appreciated by at least half the audience.

So, I am asking for a partial refund of my ticket price in lieu of the fact that what was advertised as 'A Reserve' only afforded a partial view of the stage. In fact, ultimately what my wife and I purchased was very expensive standing room. I've been very polite in this email, but I am quite irate at the poor planning of this event - that a third of the stage was obscured by the insufficient rake of the stage is very substandard, especially for a dance performance where to be able to see all of a dancer's performance is essential! I therefore expect that this complaint will be taken seriously.

I understand that the condition of the venue is largely the fault of the venue's management (whom I have also contacted), but I did buy my ticket from the Sydney Festival organisation, so that is why I am asking for a partial refund from you. Perhaps you could provide me with a third off each ticket, considering I couldn't see a third of the stage?

I have kept my receipt and tickets as proof of my attendance and am very happy to produce them in order to receive the requested refund. I have provided means by which I might be contacted below. I would very much like a response to this email. I will be out of Sydney until the 13th of January, but can be contacted by mobile.

I would be very surprised if you do not receive a number of responses from other audience members.

Yours Sincerely,

Andrew

Happy Birthday

2006-12-29T14:10:00.000Z

My grandmother - Una - celebrated her 80th birthday yesterday. Happy birthday!

[Una and Anthea]

Dr Filmer writes ...

2006-11-30T12:10:00.000Z

Well the blog has been rather severely neglected over the past month. And, yes, for those of you who have visited in the past, arguably it has been in a constant state of decline since I first started it ...

Anyway, the big news is that my thesis has come back and has been PASSED, with (almost) NO corrections! (The sole correction picked up by the markers was the use of the word 'proceed' when I should have written 'precede'.) Unfortunately, since then I have noticed a formatting error and a spelling error in the appendix. This was after I had printed and hard bound my final copies. Ah well ...

Today I cleared out my desk at the university and packed my accumulated papers, files and notes in the car, and drove it all home. It was a sad note of finality as I tore down the photographs, pictures and quotes that have looked down on my desk over the last few years. My favourite quote, which I shall pin up at home, is from the geographer David Sibley: "Knowledge and high productivity rarely go together."

7 Days in a Sentra

2006-10-22T22:30:00.000+01:00

Conceptul artist Marc Horowitz, who shot to fame doing his National Dinner Tour of America, is now featured in a new marketing campaign by Nissan in the US. Aiming to appeal to 20 and 30 somethings who, supposedly, use their cars as second homes, Horowitz has spent seven days living in his Nissan Sentra. In addition, he set himself the following rules. He,

Must live 7 straight days out of the Sentra. I am free to come and go from the Sentra.
Must not return to his apartment at any point during the 7 days.
Must assume his normal day-to-day responsibilities, including work and scheduled meetings.
Must personally prepare at least 4 meals within the immediate vicinity of the Sentra.
Must go on at least one date. Hopefully more.
Must not let anyone else drive his car during the 7 days.
Must sleep in a different location each night. Once the location is chosen he must not move.
Must not set foot outside of the car for any reason from 12am – 5am.
Must host at least one “social function” in the Sentra.
Must maintain the highest standards of personal hygiene.

View the resulting short film and Nissan advertisements here.

View his blog here.

What a Difference a Few Words Make

2006-10-19T08:51:00.000+01:00

The 2007 Company B Belvoir Subscription booklet arrived in the mail this week. There's a particularly interesting range of offerings available next year including Howard Brenton's Paul which supposedly "provoked an evangelical backlash" in London last year. Oh those beastly evangelicals ...

What interested me most, however, in this year's booklet is the way Company B has subtly changed the way it represents itself. Over the years Company B has used its advertising - printed words and carefully arranged images - to forcefully tell its own story and articulate a very particular definition of what makes good theatre. Indeed, in an attempt to account for its success and dominant position within the field of Australian theatre, and to maintain that position, Company B has continually represented itself as a company that benefits from a unique origin. That origin is the communal action that resulted in the purchase of the Belvoir Street building in the mid 1980's, thus saving it from demolition:

The originality and energy of Company B productions arose out of the
unique action taken to save the Nimrod Theatre building from demolition
in 1984. Rather than lose a performance space in inner city Sydney, more
than 600 arts, entertainment and media professionals formed a syndicate to
buy the building. The syndicate included nearly every successful person in
Australian show business.

[From the 2003 Company B Subscription Booklet]

This short statement has appeared in numerous Company B publications. Subscription booklets, production programmes and media releases have almost always included this statement as the opening paragraph for any public account of what Company B is and does. Indeed, the action to purchase the building has received more upfront attention than the artistic priorities that the founders of Company B originally articulated. Instead, the artistic success, and the ‘originality and energy’ of Company B, have been represented as coming from a direct community action that involved Australian show business people who were already successful in their own right. In this way, by explicitly locating its origins in the community action to purchase the Belvoir Street building, Company B has sought to position itself as the inheritor of the artistic legacy of the 'New Wave' of the 1970's.

This year, in the wake of the Belvoir Street building's renovation, the wording has changed. Company B's discourse of origin has shifted from one where it "arose out of the unique action" to one where it "sprang into being out of the unique action". 'Sprang into being' is a particularly strong phrase! The rhetoric has been ramped up, hinting perhaps that Company B leapt, fully formed, into the field of theatre to take up its rightful place. Now, too, the building's two stages are described as "artistic watering holes", a particularly resonant metaphor in a land parched by meterological (and artistic) drought. A 'watering hole' is also a distinctly Australian form of oasis too, and importantly, a naturally occurring feature of the landscape.

Given that the Sydney Theatre Company has received a boost to its status through its full-time acting ensemble 'The Actor's Company', it seems to me that Company B is now re-asserting its position in the field of Sydney theatre. Company B is representing itself as a part of the theatrical landscape. It is energetic and inevitable. It offers theatrical performance that is inspired and fed by an architectural edifice once saved via a mythically unique community action and now rejuvinated through renovation.

Famous Filmers to the Fore ...

2006-10-18T01:31:00.000+01:00

Never being one overly beset by retiscence may I proudly introduce to you my (in)famous ancestor Sir Robert Filmer of Kent (b. 1588, d. 1653)!

No doubt a thoroughly charming man ... he unfortunately is usually only remembered for his rather preposterous belief that the English monarchy had a divine right to rule, handed down to them by God, via Adam and the patriarchs of the Old Testament. See Sir Bob's delightful Patriarcha for details! In his defence, Sir Bob did point out that others who saw political power as contractual were inconsistent in their practices by, on the one hand proclaiming that all were free and equal, and yet still claiming that they had supremacy over their wives and children. You could also argue that he inspired John Locke in his thinking (as in, Locke thought that Sir Bob was such a twit he simply had to write something in response).

Sir Robert Filmer ... now there's a legacy!

T.S. Eliot

2006-10-12T05:49:00.000+01:00

I've been reading (and tutoring on) Murder in the Cathedral this week, a text I haven't given sufficient attention to in the past. Pending a further post, here's a section from the Chorus' final speech that caught my attention:

Forgive us, O Lord, we acknowledge ourselves as type of
the common man,
Of the men and women who shut the door and sit by the fire;
Who fear the blessing of God, the loneliness of the night of
God, the surrender required, the deprivation inflicted;
Who fear the injustice of men less than the justice of God;
Who fear the hand at the window, the fire in the thatch, the
fist in the tavern, the push into the canal,
Less than we fear the love of God.

Chorus, from Murder in the Cathedral, lines 637 - 645

Wayward & Absconding

2006-10-11T08:38:00.000+01:00

This week I've been reflecting back on the end of a project in the Southern Highlands of NSW called Wayward & Absconding. The project was a partnership between PACT Youth Theatre in Sydney and the Wingecarribee Shire Council and involved the five members of the performance collective falling32 (of which I'm a part) working with young people from the Wingecarribee Shire (the Mittagong/Bowral/Moss Vale area) over ten Saturdays to create a public performance.

Only seven participants from the area committed to the whole process and so, having expected a larger turn out, we were initially disappointed. But, the privilege of working with a small and enthusiastic group soon overcame that. As facilitators we offered a process of making performance based on games, together with physical and textual improvisation. Thematically we worked with contemporary and historical experiences of being a young person in the area. There was naturally a degree of negotiation involved in the process as we attempted to explain and demonstrate the value of our approach to making performance, but the participants increasingly engaged with us and the material with eagerness, enthusiasm and generosity.

A few observations from this process have remained with me: Firstly, I've learnt that where performance is involved (and you could extend this into other spheres too) people's first and relatively spontaneous reactions to stimuli and situations are often the most engaging, interesting and honest. Given the opportunity to premeditate their actions, the desire to fit in and produce a socially appropriate (ie: funny/insightful) response seemed to lead to predictability and cliche. Given that we were working with teenaged participants, this was an issue. Much of the process involved stripping back the offers the participants made, asking them to do less and to commit to the actions and tasks that each exercise demanded rather than to worry about performing.

Secondly, the practical experience of being involved in 'youth theatre' has also convinced me of its value. Allowing the participants to express and articulate their concerns within the context of the work gave them such a sense of agency. Teaching them performance skills and encouraging them in their efforts led to a growth of confidence amongs many of the individuals. As a group they developed a real solidarity and a pride in what they were putting together. I could also see the benefit to the participants of having people a few years older than they take time to provide them with skills, attention and encouragement.

The final performance took place outdoors on Sunday evening. 70 people attended and the performers guided them through a plaza outside the Bowral Library, negotiating the hedges, trees, broad steps and narrow passageways of the site.

Blackstump Comedy Debate

2006-10-10T03:31:00.000+01:00

Yes, well some photos of me have surfaced on the net ... perhaps I should have attempted a pre-emptive post explaining the third one ...

[http://www.timmalone.id.au]

As I noted in an earlier post, I spoke as part of the Blackstump Comedy Debate over the October long weekend. The topic was 'That Celebrities Make Great Role Models'. I was 1st speaker for the negative, with Andrew Palmer as 2nd speaker and James Scott as 3rd speaker and team captain. We might have lost the debate, but I got enough laughs and the opportunity to strip down a bit onstage (in a Janet Jackson-esque 'wardrobe malfunction'), so that made up for the loss.

Andrew Beeston

2006-10-09T10:27:00.000+01:00

A line from Memento (a gentle film accurately depicting the experience of doing a PhD - do watch it if considering a postgraduate degree by research) will suffice to describe this man:

"... do not believe his lies ..."

I do not endorse his derivative blog in any way, shape or form!

Habitual Prefaces ...

2006-10-05T01:00:00.000+01:00

I habitually preface my statements with:

"At least ..."

Anth habitually prefaces her statements with:

"The thing is ..."

Do you have any habitual prefaces?

Mini MEme

2006-09-20T23:23:00.000+01:00

Here are my answers to Rachel's Mini MEme. Enjoy.

A Piece of Art that you Love
Asian Field by Antony Gormley. Made up of 190 000 hand formed figures, I saw it in July at the Biennale where it filled one half of the upper floor of Wharf 3 at Walsh Bay. The figures surrounded old pieces of industrial machinery that remained in the gallery, adding to the sense of their scale and mass. Working against any sense of uniformity was the individual hand made shape of each figure and the natural differentiations in the shading of the clay, resulting in patterns of grey and red. Looking at them you get this uncanny sense they they are looking back.

I also appreciated that every one of the 350 Chinese villagers from Xiangshan in south China who actually made the work had their name and photograph included on the walls of an equally large adjacent room. So the labour involved in actually making (as opposed to conceiving) the work was acknowledged rather than being hidden or ignored.

A Line in a Song or Line of Poetry that Reaches Your Core

Isaiah 1:18

"Come now, let us reason together, says the LORD: though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool."

Specifically the turn of phrase - "Come now, let us reason together."

An Experience in Nature that was Really Special and/or Spiritual
I walked alone into the Blue Gum Forest in the Grose Valley early one morning. I was entranced by the size and smooth verticality of the trees ... and much touching and hugging ensued ... (that sounds a bit strange doesn't it?)

The Movie that Changed the Way you saw the World.
The Movie? The Girl in the Cafe moved me in a way that few other movies have. That and Dancer in the Dark.

A Piece of Music That Makes You Cry
I'm not sure if any piece of music has specifically - on its own - made me literally cry, so how about almost makes me cry? Midnight Oil's In the Valley.

Ugh

2006-09-20T07:45:00.000+01:00

What has happened to me? I seem to be lacking a little bounce today ...

What has happened to my brain?

Today

2006-09-19T06:47:00.000+01:00

Fun abounds!

The weather is warm; my flat leaf parsley has gone to seed.

Today I have washed socks, finished reading Joe Orton's What the Butler Saw, and watched Richard Brooks' 1962 movie of Tennessee Williams' Sweet Bird of Youth. (Advertised in 1962 as "Provocative Adult Entertainment" - my, my, times have changed.)

Any Paul Newman fans out there? Either of his acting, or his spaghetti sauces?

Just surfing

2006-09-08T06:14:00.000+01:00

Just surfing about and came across the site of Christian performer Richard Beeston. On his Biography page it says: "Richard Beeston is a performer who connects with his audience through great music and honest lyrics." Now I don't want to cast doubt on that at all, but judging by his site's logo (see above), he also connects directly with his audience via probes attached to their shaven heads.

Maybe the guy who designed this logo will see this blog and make a comment? Who knows?

Blackstump '06

2006-09-08T03:24:00.000+01:00

Hey hey, Blackstump is on again this year, although I'm not too sure about the connotations of the whole 'iGod' theme. Is there some underhand corporate sponsorship going on, or is it simply an explicit declaration of something we all already know - that Microsoft is the tool of the Evil One?*

HOWEVER, all that to one side, I need to do a little research for the Blackstump Comedy Debate. The topic is that 'Celebrities Make Great Role Models". What I want to know from anyone who happens past this blog and feels inclined is, which celebrities do you see as the BEST and WORST role models (either for you personally, or for the kiddies) and why?

Do let me know.

*I acknowledge that this might hurt Bill Gates' feelings somewhat, and yes, he does give very generously to charities, causes, etc.

Rumours...

2006-09-07T08:43:00.000+01:00

Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated! Over the week that has (almost) gone by since my previous post I have:

1 - Listened to Björk's SelmaSongs repetitively.

2 - Hosted a Short Film Festival in the Town Hall. (and yes, it did go reasonably well...)

3 - Been sad at the death of Steve Irwin (and then had to hide myself away from the intense maelstrom of hypocritical media fanfare about how mighty, heroic and all conquering he was! If one more person mentions the word 'larrikin' in my hearing - no matter what the context - I'm going to inflict some serious damage by inserting my cricket bat up their left nostril sideways.)

4 - Read Creating Frames: Contemporary Indigenous Theatre by Maryrose Casey.

5 - Delivered a lecture entitled 'Narrative and Performance Segmentation' and resisted the intense desire to play for laughs (Not appropriate).

6 - Watched as my dear wife desperately sifts through mountains of year ten Romeo & Juliet assignments.

7 - Fallen asleep on the couch (twice).

8 - Had a conversation with a Grey Currawong (he was the strong silent type).

9 - Had two cups of chai.

10 - Held one conversation with myself during a tutorial and four while in the shower.

11 - Opened a bank account.

12 - Marvelled at the beauty of the morning sun (three times).

13 - Sat beneath the casuarinas on the banks of the Georges River and listened to the wind.

14 - Realised that there is a scrapbooking shop in Padstow Heights.

15 - Recieved two phonecalls from friends wanting costumes (one wanted to look medieval, the other like Jesus - hey, the same sack suited both!)

Sunday Bloody Sunday

2006-09-01T00:41:00.000+01:00

So I found this via someone else's blog, but it's worth sharing!

Ignite

2006-08-30T05:37:00.000+01:00

Life plods on post-thesis. I've got heaps of work going - which I'm happy about, don't get me wrong! - but it feels like I'm on a bit of treadmill (and not in the fun OK Go sense). As soon as I've got the prep done for one class I'm on to the next. What ever happened to the idea of churning out a couple of journal articles??

However ... a bit of light on the horizon is Ignite, a Christian Film Festival on this Saturday night in the Sydney Town Hall (from 7pm). To enter, all films had to be less than 15mins in duration and be based on a biblical passage that contains the word 'fire'. The top 15 finalists will be shown on the night, all competing for the People's Choice Award and the coveted 'Golden Sparkie'. Tickets are $18. I'm co-hosting again this year (and making a brief appearance on the screen too). So, if you read this, are in Sydney, and find the whole idea even vaguely interesting, why not come along and enjoy the night! See www.ignite.tvs.net.au for further details.

Improvisation

2006-08-22T13:42:00.000+01:00

[Ash and I] [LN]

Ash and I have started improvising - two hours at a time, at least once a week. Together we move and are still; we lie, sit, kneel, squat, crouch and stand; we alternate between lying, sitting, kneeling, squatting, crouching and standing. We speak with one voice; we tell stories one word at a time; we alliterate. We initiate; we respond. We make conscious choices; we make unconscious choices. Ash has a particularly analytical outlook on life - he identifies component elements and creates categories like they're going out of fashion. I'm a little more fuzzy around the edges. Consequently he drives the agenda somewhat. (but I'm not saying that's a bad thing).

We might perform something in a few months' time based on entrances, exits, revealing and concealing.

Currently I'm interested in exploring the transition from moving to speaking. I'm also striving to maintain an awareness of what's happening behind my back.

Collections of Inestimable Value

2006-08-17T06:52:00.000+01:00

For those in need of diversion, here are two websites which feature collections that are of inestimable value to humankind...

Airlineline meals.net

The meal of the week, from Business Class, Emirates flight #280, DXB - HAM, 25 Apr 2006, looks just scrummy!!!

Carthalia - Theatres on Postcards
Make sure you check out the Zámecké divadlo at Ceský Krumlov in the Czech Republic - it's my all time favourite theatre.

The Dullest Blog in the World

2006-08-16T04:55:00.000+01:00

Okay, life rule #23: Whatever you think you are good at, someone else is always better. So, if you thought this blog (or yours) was dull then perhaps you need to visit The Dullest Blog in the World.

Christians, Theatre, and Performance

2006-08-15T04:53:00.000+01:00

A week ago I went to the 'Wesley Institute for Ministry and the Arts' in Drummoyne to speak to students who, this year, have started studying a new subject - 'Drama Ministry' - as part of their creative arts degrees. Over the years I've participated in a bit of 'Drama Ministry', from being part of the group ZeroG, to performing at Blackstump, and directing the 2006 Celebration of Word and Song. So, I was keen to both share my experiences (and prejudices) as well as learn a bit from them.

As I began I tossed in a statement that I could count on one hand the number of people I knew (in Sydney/New South Wales) who made a living from drama ministry. This seemed to spark interest in the students. Who? And why so few? As we continued, I commented that theatrical performance is a dicey business, so many people are attracted to theatre, but so few can manage to eek out a living from it. For those interested in Drama Ministry, targeting your performances largely at a Christian audience means focussing on a very small proportion of the overall population in the country!

And, I added, Christians don't go to the theatre.

Why not?

Why not indeed? At the time I tossed out a few thoughts about why I thought Christians especially don't go to the theatre.

i) From the early church fathers (Tertullian & Augustine spring to mind) there has been a tradition of Christian critique directed at what it is that actors do, as well as a suspicion of that which is theatrical and performative. Christians distrust the suspension of disbelief inherent in theatrical acts. An explicit concern has been the form of theatre as an art: it involves ambiguity and fiction - actors appear to alter their identity in a conscious attempt to deceive.

ii) The church and the theatre often seem to be in competition - from a secular perspective (at least) both offer meaning, purpose and belonging - implicating the individual into a wider story.

iii) Unlike music, theatre and performance (arguably) isn't dealt with anywhere in the Bible.

iii) Perhaps Christians don't go to theatre because their focus is on more worthwhile pursuits: they choose to spend their time and money elsewhere (on the church, the poor, etc.). Theatre just isn't efficacious.

There's more to be said here ... this is just a quick jotting. What do you think? Are Christians uneasy ('ontologically queasy') about theatre and performance?

Funny Bird Names

2006-08-11T01:38:00.000+01:00

In respnse to my blog on Masked Boobies, Emma commented: "You're just picking the birds with the funniest names..." Well, sure, and why not? I could entertain myself for months writing about birds with funny names ...

Perhaps, for starters, I could spend time considering all the different types of Tits? Maybe the Erect-Crest Penguin would raise a titter? Moving on from the innuendo, I could embrace the rather introverted Bittern (As they say: once Bittern, twice shy).

When I want to socialise, I always pick up a pack of twelve Apostlebirds. A good Chat is always nice at a party, but I'd avoid a Gibberbird, and the Pacific Baza can be a bit obstreperous. Following this logic, Skuas frequent the worlds oceans as well as Australians' barbecues. Of course, if I wanted to heat things up, Firetails and Red-rumped Parrots spring to mind.

A Common Noddy is always in agreeance, but I get a bit freaked out when I see them accompanied by a flock of Common Big Ears.

If birds are causing a nuisance in the backyard, be a Hardhead. Sick your Catbird on to them, or grab them with your own two hands and give them a good old Australian Ringneck.

The banning of television - how it changed my life

2006-08-10T21:11:00.000+01:00

My wife is a secondary English and Drama teacher. Last week she set her year nine class a creative writing task entitled 'The banning of television - how it changed my life'. She was a little disapointed by the responses she received (most tended to be a little overly dramatic) and asked if I could write a response that she could use as an example. The stimulus (italicised), and my response, are below. Would I make a good Year Nine student?

'You go home tonight, wake up tomorrow and turn on the television to watch a few cartoons before school. When you turn on the T.V. there is no picture. You're annoyed, but you don't think anything of it. You head off to school and see the newspaper banners saying, "Television banned forever."

You get to school and everyone's talking about it - at midnight last night, the Federal Government closed down all Australian television stations and banned television broadcasts of all varieties, forever. The Government says "television is a social evil, consuming the minds of citizens and re-programming their brains into passive receivers of information." As an act of humanitarianism, television has been abolished.'

I was still a bit confused when I got home from school. I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on the couch. Sensing that not all was well, Sammy sidled up to me and placed her snout on my knee. I scratched the top of her head absentmindedly. ‘Not all television was bad’ I thought. 'I wouldn’t have called it a social evil.’ My hand automatically moved from Sammy’s head to the television remote sitting on the coffee table. Pointing it at the silent television I pressed the red button.

Static.
I changed channel.
More static. White flurries whirled in a senseless storm of noise.
I turned the television off. The screen went black.

Sammy followed me as I walked to the window. In the street some young kids were playing cricket. A mother pushing a pram was talking to an old woman. “Passive receivers,” I whispered to myself. Sammy looked up at me and emitted a low groan. “Ah, it’s alright for you,” I said, “You’ll probably get more attention now.”

At dinner we all sat around the table. Silence. I could tell that mum was happy to be rid of the television. But I’m sure there were things she wanted to watch too. Maybe it served her right – she was always telling me what I couldn’t watch and now the government had told her, along with everyone else, that they couldn’t watch anything.

“What gives them the right?” murmured Dad as he pushed carrots across his plate.
“I think it’ll be good for us,” suggested mum, “as a family.”
“I suppose,” replied Dad. “It’s just that no one asked us what we thought. They just told us what to do.”
“If they had asked us we would have said no,” I commented, not looking him in the face.

After dinner I sat on the couch and looked at the newspaper. On page eleven there was a photograph of a young boy being held in his mother’s arms. Soldiers were pushing her from behind. She was screaming. He was covered in dust.

‘Not everyone gets what they want,’ I thought.

Birds of the World (II): The Masked Booby

2006-08-10T08:33:00.000+01:00

[Masked Booby - www.darwinsgalapagos.com]

On the 25th July I decided to begin a series grandly titled Birds of the World. In today's second instalment I proudly present The Masked Booby! (commence mass hysteria...)

booby, n.

1. a. ‘A dull, heavy, stupid fellow: a lubber’ (J.); a clown, a nincompoop. Also, spec. a cry-baby (dial. or children's colloq.). b. spec. The last boy in a school class, the dunce.
2. A name for different species of gannet, esp. Sula fusca.

[OED 2nd Ed]

I recall it was a hot day in 2002. The sun was beating down upon the earth and my wife (of four days!) and I were picking our way through the Pandanus Palms of Lord Howe Island. Our target, a small outcrop of rock in the South Pacific called Muttonbird Point. Arriving, we stood atop a wooden platform and lifted our binoculars (well, I had binoculars, Anth had to wait). Ahead of us - a breding colony of Masked Boobies!!! There they sat, preening, gossiping and sqaubbling amongst tussocks of grass as we looked on. Honeymooning, birdwatching and a breeding colony of Masked Boobies ... what a wonderful combination.

The Masked Booby is the largest of the Booby species (there are seven extant species), with a wingspan of approximately 1.6 to 1.7 metres. Closely related to gannets, boobies are marine pelargic birds, frequenting the world's oceans. To breed, Boobies form colonies, nesting either in trees or on the ground.

The Masked Booby can be distinguished from other species of Booby by its dark facial markings. It is found in tropical waters between 30°N and 30°S. They are quiet whilst flying, but emit whistles and honks whilst on the ground. Masked Boobies nest on the ground, forming a small depression, often on islands and atolls to avoid predators. They are monogamous and usually produce one offspring per season. At sea, the Masked Booby dives from various heights to catch fish underwater.

Whilst on land Masked Boobies are very entertaining.

Novelty Value?

2006-08-09T08:06:00.000+01:00

Did I say that I would maintain this blog until the novelty value wore off?

Really?

Ever-reliable moi?

Hmmm ... teaching work is taking away all my TIME!

The Chihuahua Crochet Challenge!

2006-08-01T03:45:00.000+01:00

Following my initial photo essay on Minestrone Soup, I asked for any suggestions as to future photo essays. Somewhat facetiously, Emma wrote: 'I want to see a photo essay on how to crochet a multicoloured frilly winter jacket for your Chihuahua - and yes, I want live chihuahua involvement...' Well, Emma, as with all my treasured readers, I take your suggestions seriously.

Here is my response:

1. Purchase a Chihuahua. Make cutesy faces at it to put it at ease. Say 'Who's a georgeous little boy!' repeatedly.

2. Start crocheting. Red is a nice colour.

3. Crocheting is hard work on your eyes and fine motor skills. Like me, you may require some serious nourishment after a hard crocheting session.

4. Chihuahuas are tasty. In fact, Chihuahuas are tastiest when sauteed in a light butter sauce ...

5. Mmmm ... sit and enjoy! It's good to the last bite!

Dum de dum de dum ...

2006-07-31T06:35:00.000+01:00

Cartoon by Dave Walker. Find more cartoons you can freely re-use on your blog at We Blog Cartoons.

Bicycle Safety

2006-07-30T14:27:00.000+01:00

It's now past my bedtime. I've been up finishing a lecture for tomorrow and will probably regret the lost sleep ...

I'm not sure where on the net I found this image, but no doubt I located it while searching for images of the Vienna State Opera. It may well be a hoax, but somewhere deep inside I long to believe that such coincidences indeed happen.

[Vienna State Opera]

Commonplace

2006-07-30T13:49:00.000+01:00

Life in the suburban fast lane ...

[Sunday Morning] [AF]

[Sunday Afternoon] [AF]

One Book (Only one?)

2006-07-27T04:15:00.000+01:00

Having been tagged by Meredith, here they are ...

1. One book that changed your life:
Getting Back Into Place, Edward S. Casey

2. One book that you’ve read more than once:
The Lord of the Rings, J. R. R. Tolkein

3. One book you’d want on a desert island:
Permaculture: A Designer's Manual, Bill Mollison

4. One book that made you laugh:
The Bible According to Spike Milligan.

5. One book that made you cry:
I Have Not Seen a Butterfly Around Here: Children's Drawings and Poems From Terezin.
(Terezin was used as a ghetto by the Nazis during World War Two to hold Jews on the way to Auschwitz.)

The Garden

A little garden
Fragrant and full of roses.
The path is narrow
And a little boy walks along it.

A little boy, a sweet boy,
Like that growing blossom.
When the blossom comes to bloom,
The little boy will be no more.

Franta Bass, 4.9.1930 - 28.10.1944

6. One book that you wish had been written:
The Lessons of Peace, Yitzhak Rabin

7. One book that you wish had never been written:
nah.

8. One book you’re currently reading:
White Noise, Don Delillo

9. One book you’ve been meaning to read:
Theories of the Theatre: A Historical and Critical Survey, from the Greeks to the Present, Marvin Carlson

10. Now tag five people:
I don't know five (blogging) others! How about Emma & Jon for starters ...