Version 2 Documentation

Version 2 was performed as part of the Trashing Performance Fringe Event, which took place on the 30th October at ]P E R F O R M A N C E S P A C E[ in Hackney Wick. The performance was a collaborative action between myself and Kris Canavan and is part of an ongoing series by Kris.

Photos by and appear courtesy of  Marco Berardi.

 

 

 

www.kriscanavan.com

www.performancespace.org

Untitled Action Documentation

XXXWhether secretly or not it is important to become different...or else cease to beXXX My cousin's heart still burns in my chestXXX

Pictures captured of an action over two nights at ]P E R F O R M A N C E S P A C E[ on 14/15 October 2011 as part of 2 Nights with 2 Gyrlz. Thanks to both parties for their kind generosity and support. Donations can be made to ]PS[  here for their upcoming event as part of the Trashing Performance Festival.
Photos courtesy of Jade Lucy Boaler.

 

Piss and Sick: Thoughts on Kris Canavan's Version 1

I have for some time been involved in a dialogue both personal and artistic (if you would class the two as seperate) with Nicola and Kris Canavan and whilst I have spent many hours discussing their work and viewing documentation I had yet to see them action. Having unfortunately missed their joint collaboration of their week long residency at 25 Stratford Grove I did witness Kris' action of Version 1, taking place in the converted garage space.

The piece unfolds from the image of a static body, bound to the space by a pulley system of cotton upon which is connected large blocks of frozen urine, collected in the run up to the event. The audience is invited to witness the piece either within the space, or in a more voyeuristic and detached manner through a large window from the yard outside. Canavan signals the beginning of the piece with a bleeding from the head, and then the body begins to move.

To say that Kris falls through the piece would be a gross underestimation of the time that he has spent working through the piece psychologically. There does however appear to be an element of discovery within the piece that can be seen and is captivating to watch; in much the same way that you would stand fascinated as a statician calculates odds in some indecipherable language and the way they move through these equations with a focussed, investigative mind. 

The tension of standing watching the piece with no more than 10 people has to be taken into account. We all know Kris personally but this makes the piece no more important than viewing a stranger actioning at a platform or club event. There is no ego to prove something, nor external preconceptions about the artist that can be prevalent within the context of a multi line up setting. What we are witnessing is a raw, primal message being enacted upon the body.

Version 1 is unapologetically old school in its invocations of previously utilised aesthetics. There are clear nods to the works of Gunter Brus with the body being enveloped in paint and being grotesqued by the piece's mechanics; the cherubic face is twisted and warped by the wrapping of  string cotton around his face and frame. The body is being mashed and traumatised by the voluntary yet robotic turning on its own static axis. This turning raises blocks of frozen piss which melt and break apart, giving some relief to the tension on the body as the load is lightened. There comes an ecstatic breakout where Canavan unhitches himself from the machine and smashes the now cracked blocks with a hammer, scattering shards of yellow ice throughout the space and reaching into the boundaries of the room. 

The piece has to be seen within the social context of the area and the period in which this piece has been crafted.  Jarrow is where Canavan resides and the weight of the historic march to London that took place hangs off the piece and could be viewed as a springboard into unlocking the mystery of the action. This is essentially a social conflict abstractly presented upon the body, with the dripping of black and white paint upon head and torso producing shades of grey.

Whilst the subject matter is heavy the piece is not a difficult one to watch, it is injected with a sense of cheeky rebellion throughout. The word 'SICK' carved into Canavan's chest which is clearly a nod to brandings given in the mainstream media and art press about both body work and the the recent rioting throughout England just weeks earlier. It could be read that the choice of font (a kind of scarification graffiti wild-style) is a direct tribute to the urban youth which were so readily dismissed by the right wing press as thugs and vandals that participated in the political action. We also see a beautiful moment in which he places a tin bowl upon his head and a mischievous affectation as the paint drips down, in much the same way a child would dispose of an unwanted meal.

Kris Canavan is an artist with a mixed legacy; the process of the solo work beneath the aesthetic standing in sharp contrast to his recent investigations with his wife Nicola and performance to camera with Dominic Johnson. This collaborative work can ultimately be seen as poetic affirmation of the ying and yang love brings and investigation of powerplay within relationships. His solo work seems to tread the boards of political dissent and a frustrated need to problem solve his own agitated and enquiring mind of sex and society. Version 1 like much of his work is a beautiful, playful, FUCK YOU.

For further information and documentation of the work and Kris Canavan please visit:
http://www.kriscanavan.com/index.html

Photo Credit: Rachael Allen

Untitled

Photos courtesy of Chris Watson

I want to put myself absolutely at your mercy for good or evil without any condition, without any limit to your power.

-Leopold von Sacher Masoch

Venus in Furs

Secretly or not... it is necessary to become different or else cease to be.

-Georges Bataille

Acéphale

Dream 3

I dream of deaths.

Multiple ones.

You dying thousands of times in a single flicker.

A car blows up. Shot by police. You hanging from the light fitting with a belt around your neck. Pushing a knife up into your rib cage and waiting for the rouge to run down your chin. You trip and fall down the stairs, when you land theres the solitary crack that means lights out. The city burns and no one answers your screams. A silent poisoning. A frothing cyanide induced suicide. A drive out to the woods, a digging of your own grave and a shotgun to the back of the head. A dousing of petrol and a match to the face. A hammer to the head under a streetlight, the blood running black under the sulphur glow. I stamp on your neck till there is a wet and terminal snap and the gurgling gives out.

Then I wake up.

Rage Actions Showing 23rd July, Bradford, Theatre in the Mill

"I was sick of hearing its morning in America...its f*cking midnight man!...normal people did not listen to Hardcore, and we liked it that way..."

"If you want me to be your friend, I will be your friend. If you want me to be your Father, I will be your Father. If you want me to be your God, I will be your God."

Audiences are invited to observe, participate and feedback on a new ensemble piece from artists Nick Kilby, Alex Herod and Carrieanne Carr Vivianette. Rage Actions (Hour Zero) will take place on the 23rd July, 7.30pm at Bradford's Theatre in the Mill, and is the culmination of a four day intensive devising process, supported by the Mill and presented as part of the Open Space Residency Program.

The event is free and has restricted access; it forms part of Theatre in the Mill’s Open Space programme where artists explore their practice and methodologies. Please contact 01274 235495 theatre@bradford.ac.uk to book or for further information. The action investigates the inculcation of rage within fringe movements, both religious and secular, with particular invocations being made towards the Peoples Temple and the hardcore punk movement prolific within the early 80s of the United States.

The piece meditates on the contemporary theory of mimetic viral infection, Reich's theory of trauma resting within soft tissue and the necessity for theatrics within religious ritual.

The performance will be immediately followed by a question and answer session and feedback, chaired by the Theatre in the Mill's artistic director Iain Bloomfield.

A working notebook of images, audio cut ups, writing and automatically generated text is currently online at http://rageactions.blogspo​t.com/

Contributions and Cuts: Notebook Entries

Cuts seem to be the in thing these days. A cut is a deliberate wound or abrasion, deeper than a scratch but less problematic than a gash or tear. A cut can be done in a clean, controlled fashion- things can be trimmed, cancers can be removed, both physical and social.

Round One: I asked the favour and she sat on top of me delivering blow after blow to my face and torso.

Round Two: She sits on top of me and paints me with lipstick, I am getting pounded by the other. A knuckle ends up in my eye, I hear a squelch so I tap out.

There is a fundamental problem with the governments methods of quashing insurrection and subversion within the arts; artists will make work regardless of receiving funding, working a day job to buy materials or claiming benefits because making work is a job, paid or unpaid that has worth (a quote shamelessy lifted from Michael Mayhew). It is an occupation, both physical and psychological.

Post Modern Bourgeois Cluster Fuck.

It has been announced that Samantha Cameron and various members of David's harem (including mass liar and wanton sociopath Nicholas Clegg) are to 'curate' works at Whitechapel Gallery from the government collection. At this point the idea of George Osborne painting himself white, tapping veins and walking  up and down Tate Modern's Turbine Hall seems like a disgusting inevitability.

News of the World is Fucking Dead.

It came as no suprise that the weeks events involving the criminal activities of various trash tabloids and the proprietary members of government fed into the work being made. A frustration was found at the unrelenting whitewashing and the inevitable apologising, promising of new ways and justice being brought to the table.

We make our homes in your shit.

A physical reaction of dismissing and processing what is essentially fecal matter had to take place; an overwhelming need to deconstruct the lies and create something more tangible, even if it was only a piss soaked ball of grey. The desolate landscape of current politics had to be presented and strung up like the greasy, crippled animal that it was.