Story for performance #16
webcast from Paris at 09:56PM, 06 Jul 05
Not for me that billowing or even cloth for that matter: reminds me too much of flags, patriotism, military celebrations, flagpoles. But wrapped cloth, that is another story, where the intrigue is the object underneath.
Something like those bridges, headlands all wrapped up by that French artist whose name escapes me (of course it is only a google search away). Or Rene Magritte’s drowned figures; their faces wrapped in cloth—the impression of the nose protruding like a beak. But then some may see that as being far to arty.
Maybe if I thought of a cloth full and round it would be sails, full with wind heading downwind: that moment in a sail where things fall silent and calm—the wind tickling the back of your neck, if it is a mellow hot slight breezy day.
But all in all, what about mud between your toes? That appeals to me. Somehow I saw the truth of Jack the Beanstalk—a crappy TV drama the other day (in an idle moment in between)—them gleaming beans and a huge human skeleton. Now there is special effects for you and a busy art department. In the end a cloth with billow is not real if it is fabricated—orchestrated by wind machines. What happens when it runs out of billow?