A multi-authored live publication exploring critical responses to live art as part of the Steakhouse Festival 2018
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In 2020, 27% of US Tumblr users had an annual household income of over $100,000.
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the seven most frequently used words in ‘Shape Of You’ by Ed Sheeran
| bean
on
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- Libby
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On Writing
And the contortions of duration
The presence of the body
The echoes of the work
The ghost of thoughts not written
The heavy eyelids
The digital noise
The sound of typing
The associative play
The city melts into my eyes
The work is on my skin
I carry it with.
-Diana
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How long have we got?
- Madeleine Botet de Lacaze, the radical transgression of cutting leaves, the instant reminder to think beyond the surface
------
- Begoña Grande as the brain shuts down, as the mind wanders, a kick in the cells
- Begoña Grande, the scar on her body appearing in front of our eyes, the scar on her body disappearing in front of our eyes, she can and will do this again
------
On live writing and endurance, one day I will tick that off my list
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DV8 office, slightly opened doors, the packed boxes inside
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Toynbee Studios on a construction site; how long have we got?
-Bojana
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Queen
| Kira O’Reilly
On the edge of disgust and glamour lies the sparkling emerald lizard queen. What are you doing, i wonder. What's going on?
She is resembling a snake.
She mixes eggs with green glitter. She swims awkwardly within it.
The audience around her stands and sits in silence,
I pop in every now and then and see it getting messier and messier.
Still, I wonder.
She is naked and it's not too warm, she smothers raw egg on her skin and then dips it in bowls of glistening greens.
It seems like a wanted dream.
I wish to speak to her, I dread for an explanation.
At the beginning, when she enters the room, she is wearing a dress. The dress was so particular I could not but think that the whole performance was born from the dress itself. Made of trillions of dark green sequins, wrapping her body with awe.
- Aliche
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Four Elements
| Begoña Grande
Water
There is an ominous bag of water hanging above the performer’s head, suspended via a pulley.
Blood is taken. The needle takes some time to tap the vein, with multiple attempts before the tube starts to turn an unmistakably arterial red. It follows the snaking length of tube to the bag, before drops spiral into the water. They momentarily curl up, suspended within astounding clarity, before colouring the water translucent red.
Later this bag is dropped from height onto the performer, punctured by the needle between her teeth and showering her. Water splashes out from the forehead it strikes in fine spray.
Earth
A ring of dirt holds back the bloody water from flowing freely. It is a yellowy brown, like builder’s sand.
Air
There is an audible intake of breath as the blood drops into the water, before a hushed moment of silence.
The front row of the audience are connected to the performer by hooks through her skin. These hooks lead to fishing line that fans out at either side of her body, each leading to the audience member. It causes them to lean forward, their length limiting the distance they can move back.
Breathing becomes shallow and several people sit down as they try to take in more oxygen. Nobody faints.
Fire
A blowtorch is ignited from the back of the room and brought forward through the crowd, it’s blue gas flame hissing as it goes. A wire brand is heated to a red-hot glow and pressed swiftly into the skin of the performer’s stomach. It leaves an infinity symbol in blistered relief.
The same flame is then used to singe through the twine connecting the audience to the performer. People lower their arms as smoke curls out of the severed thread.
The performer leaves, followed shortly by the crowd.
- Lewis
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‘Shape of You Part II: Play Your Sour Boy Body’ ft. Botnik - Official Lyrics
| bean
VERSE 1
Baby now i'm your family and i'm singing like we talk thrifty we like to dance with the story we let in love like in the taxi
drinking fast now you start the radio and i'm going with your heart, follow every sweet discovering, go over my waist with something slow
CHORUS
kiss me i'll eat your baby grab my heart with your crazy hand come on my falling body then i'll fill your backseat with my brand
play your sour boy body oh-i-oh-i-oh-i-oh-i play your sour boy body oh-i-oh-i-oh-i-oh-i
VERSE 2
leave your hand on your bag say i'm your love man baby you know conversation and i know singing fast
BRIDGE (RAP)
come on your room come on your bag come on our bedsheets come on our friends come on my waist come on my place come on a magnet come on a jukebox come on a plate come on a taxi come on a sweet come on a bar come on a lover come on a mind come on a girl come on a smell come on a date come on a boy come on a driver come on a trust come on a somebody come on a club come on a radio come on a man come on a dance come on a hand come on a singing radio man brand like your crazy new discovering lead you to club the singing radio man brand with your body shape
CHORUS
kiss me i'll eat your baby grab my heart with your crazy hand come on my falling body then i'll fill your backseat with my brand
play your sour boy body oh-i-oh-i-oh-i-oh-i play your sour boy body oh-i-oh-i-oh-i-oh-i
Made with Botnik’s predictive keyboard using the lyrics from Ed Sheeran’s ‘Shape Of You’.
You can access the ‘Shape Of You’ predictive keyboard here and write your own shapes of you: http://botnik.org/apps/writer/?source=9f2de3bb89b23b5e19a805cac0a86e06
- Libby
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palms documented
| Madeleine Botet De Lacaze
waves of ear drum beating punctuated with
snip
snip
snip
snip
snip
we can feel our thoraxes constricting but each
snip
brings us hope, love even
she orbits it’s it’s it’s it’s it’s gravitational it’s it’s it’s it’s it’s innate
the heat from the memorial to her? our? no-one’s? hair is isolated under a
lab-light | display-light
| |
heat-lamp | reading-lamp
| |
grows | preserves
she orbits it’s it’s it’s it’s it’s gravitational it’s it’s it’s it’s it’s innate it’s it’s it’s it’s it’s
stasis
in which light fissures trace her and her point of orbit [stem]
each
snip
generates |more|
care, being held, brushing another’s limb
than the spot-lit archive of the left-behind-her-hair;
it cuts soft like a tongue on a palm
it cuts |more| into existence
her hand closes round a branch [in solidarity? kinship? truce?]
and when she looks at her tree I wonder:
is this ‘the look of love’?
or is this the look of a curator?
- Libby
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A collective ritual: water-passage (Boatwoman)
| Begoña Grande
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Collecting
| Echo Morgan / REMOVE 2 – Demolition that
Background noise breaks up time into little pieces. The tricky ones are a disappointment but its repetition is satisfying. When light floods in it seems to seep away. Plenty spectators but where are the labourers? A soft voice scatters the mess. ‘Demolishing, remove, forget.’
| Madeleine Botet De Lacaze / NATURE.
Who’s next? Huddle for safety around the fire. the night awakened in its howl.
You’re wasting away the beauty; ‘you don’t need that’
A growth in vain; ‘you don’t need that’
There’s no precision; ‘not necessary’
Sympathy for the now? ‘nah you don’t need that’
Rebuttal? ‘forget about it’
Weed out the pain ‘so worth it’
- Zoe
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Queer Poetics
| Madeleine Botet de Lacaze
Desire and/as ecology,
The cosmic experience of shifts
The shedding of information
For something to begin (anew)
The poethood of the laurel-tree.
-Diana.
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Three women, some men, sweying
|Bean, Marcia Farquhar & Reynir Hutber, Amanda Coogan
Bean: punching the invisible man, pompoms and all, and every time she stops the catchy tune of patriarchy makes me sway, for a moment
Marcia Farquhar: talking to Reynir Hutber, invisible behind the camera, struggling through the last hour, and suddenly the closeup of her face seems like an excuse to expose tiredness and struggle. Her head sways, and she leaves the shot, and I wonder why it is that she has to stay in the frame, and why the frame doesn’t follow her
Amanda Coogan: alone in a big space, and there are no men with her, just the gentle sway of patriarchy moving her dress
-Bojana
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Final Punchline
| Reynir Hutber with Marcia Farquhar
I’m not actually there for the end. As I leave Marcia is looking at the camera and asking Reynir how much longer there is left. Fifteen minutes [which is too long, with another performance to see]. That happens just after a conversation about how critics are only good when they engage.
“You just sit there stroking your chin.”
There is some conversation about how strange and quixotic making the film was. I laugh when Marcia suggests that eight hours of talking is like a depression-era wager, but thinking about it now I’m not sure that I totally understand what that means.
“Does this continue to accrue meaning or is it just white noise by the end?”
The last punchline I see is “welcome to the bosom of the family”.
- Lewis
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Sites of power (repetition)
| bean
A List:
John McDaid
Steve Mac
Edward Christopher Sheenan
Kandi L Burruss
Kevin Jerome Briggs
Tameka D. Cottle
Felix Ortiz Torres
Gabriel Pizarro
Chris Jeday
Or
Or:
Or
Or
A List:
Jab
Cross
Hook (Swing)
Uppercut
Overhand
Counterpunch (Cross-counter)
Bolo punch
Short straight-punch
-Diana
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Ireland
| Amanda Coogan
A woman, entangled in a dress; it’s light, the dress, almost lace-like. And behind her is the whole of London, a whole world of possibilities (or so we’re told), but she remains detached from it all, on her own, in her own, self-imposed bubble.
Ireland, where to be a woman and marry was to renounce working [until 1973]
The dress is grey, or is it dirty, and the lightness, or is it the poise with which she handles it, still constrained, and still captive to it, makes me think of a jaded, dirty, dusty, wedding dress, abandoned in a charity shop somewhere, or in a vacuum bag, at the back of someone’s closet.
Ireland, where contraceptives were illegal [until 1993]
It’s dark now, outside, and it’s dark now, inside, blue lights pointed towards Amanda Coogan, still struggling elegantly, at times as if she hopes no one notices, at times as if this is just what public exposure does to a female body. In this serenity and calm, it’s all I can do to not rip the dress off her.
Ireland, where to be a woman and marry was to know there is no divorce [until 1996]
A familiar face approaches me, and she asks me to leave; there is no end to the battle with the old, jaded, grey wedding dress.
Ireland, where abortion is still illegal
I want to find Amanda Coogan after and ask her if it’s ok to think of Ireland, but then I remember I think of Ireland in London, and part of Ireland and London are the same country (not the part of Ireland I mention, but it’s complicated, you know, and post-colonial, you know, right?), and if you think getting an abortion in Ireland is impossible, try Northern Ireland.
Image by Nessa Finnegan
-Bojana
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tell me everything you see
| Victoria Sin
act 1
Victoria Sin reads us a (de)(re)construction/dramatisation of
LOOK at her LOOK LOOK at her LOOK LOOK at her LOOK LOOK at her LOOK LOOK at her LOOK LOOK at her LOOK LOOK at her LOOK LOOK at her LOOK LOOK at her LOOK LOOK at her LOOK
‘With their sweet round mouths sing ‘Ha ha he!’
we sit in between screened|staged modes of spectatorship with them as an axis. they stand as a pivot point around which we may swivel between screen|stages and points of remove, until moments of shattering come into sharp manifestation as a shoulder must be aching at THIS POINT drives us into liveness
as in right now I [Libby] sit typing this in the cafe at my screen and the song ‘I’m just sitting thinkin bout BOYS’ plays and I’m just just sitting thinking bout bois
then our axis shifts and we look upon them, now situated against their recorded|performed audience until the screened|staged spotlight dissolves and they become with us once more as our gaze is projected towards
‘their sweet round mouths sing ‘Ha ha he!’
and they stand with us between the strange violence of the round hole and the strange gentleness of the voice which utters I am not a woman like a hand to hold that we don’t deserve
act 2
penetrative white light shows shades of what we think is a binder beneath the performer’s shirt, before her dumbbells smash blue painted bruising into its straps and we sink into passive spectatorship
but now i can’t help but wonder if we are aware of our performing passive spectatorship, do we generate a mode of complicit-activity?
‘Where the painted bird laughs in the shade’
this is a real pain which transcends performativity
WHY DOESN’T SHE SCREAM
act 3
is Victoria Sin a hologram?
an atrophic projection?
their eating around our eyes seems pretty real though, as do the snakes killing|fucking each other in the dead grass behind them, as do the angler fish sucking|fucking each other in their voice
when 2 become 1
‘When our table with cherries and nuts is spread’
when 2 become 1
‘When our table with cherries and nuts is spread’
when ‘When our 2 table become set with your cherries and nuts is spirit spread’ 1 free
previously I have wondered and written about feeding all of the spice girls into a blender, and I am truly grateful to have seen them smashed together at high velocity in a space like this
goodbye, my friend
- Libby
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