The Last Day in L'estruch

Last night I skipped my 'performance' for the final day of my -mini-residency.  I chose to skip in the studio space, aided by a spot light which spotted the center of the studio, and lit a black floor.  I skipped towards a corner of the room, facing a wall.  The visitors came, some sat and others walked in and out of the space.  There were some silent moments, but at times this was broken by my son's voice, calling out for his dad, surely in some kind of confusion.  What did he see, I imagine now:

A rope, cord, something long being held by his dad, and it just kept going up and down, and around vertically.  It hit the floor repetitively and made noise, but it also made noise in the air, like it was whistling. Sometimes this thing moved fast and at other times it moved a bit slower and his dad would jump up and down, up and down.  His dad often moved forwards and at times backwards, never quite reaching the spot light which slightly hid his figure but gave off a shadow which amused him.

"I wanted to run to my dad, but was scared of that 'thing', that it would hurt me, as at times it seemed to be hurting my dad.  He was all sweaty and he often bent his head as if really tired.  I wanted him to stop really, so I could explore this 'thing', and, really, explore my dad.  Not sure if I had ever seen him like this.  He was alone, and very wet and no one was getting close to him, not even mummy.  There were times when it felt like he was going to stop, but he continued to jump, though much slower than in the beginning. Then he stopped for a second and grabbed another 'thing', with this one he moved slower, I guess it was heavier - and it must have hurt, cause sometimes it hit him and he would stop for a moment.  And then he stopped doing it altogether and bent his body.  He was breathing very hard, very hard, but he had  finally dropped that 'thing' and I went to it, grabbed it and smiled at my dad.  I couldn't make it move like my dad, and it seemed much bigger now.  I still don't know why he did all that stuff, the people didn't even clap like they do in a show, or say 'very good'...but he did smile at me and after a few minutes stood straight up, and the lights came on, and the big light in the middle went off.'

Imagining You...

Speak to me old charged breathe of history, sun-burnt history, bring me closer to your ears, blinding as they may be, those two exulting falling pedals of a dooming flowered mind.

The Heart Pumps, the Sun Returns...

As the heart begins to beat faster, the lungs fill with oxygen.  The breathing intensifies, the heart beats with rhythmic pace; the body moves further to another space.  The space fills your mind and the body follows as the muscles question.  The heart feeds them blood; the blood is full of oxygen.  The nose breathes, the molecules enter, the smells heighten and the trees move.  The air sings, the clouds cover while the sun hides and the day cools; for a moment.  The nose widens and the hairs stiffen; the blood pumps.  The grip livens around the rope, the will pushes and pulls, the mouth opens and the breath widens. The sweat opens while the ears sharpen, and the toes relax.  I breathe strong and then soft, soft is softer and relaxes my heart.  The rope strikes my forearm and it stings, the pain pulls, my mouth opens and the breathe fills.  The heart hears and the muscle convulses.  The rope stops, the feet rest and the heart warns.  The blood coagulates and my forearm swells; and the sun returns. 

Will I/She Ever be Ready?

I begin jumping this rope with no outward attention placed on the viewer, I become removed and concentrative.  I place my goal on distance and endurance; I want to mentally prepare myself for some of the battles out there for the war is too big to think of now.  But the realization lies in the obvious, I am not out there I am in here, supposedly, and securely, safe from…  So too I am safe when in my room, where I jump for fitness and mental distance; the fertilizing grounds for such projects, so I am safe then...!

She said that this was her metaphor for dealing with the silent bullets which infiltrate her psyche whenever she steps outside, damaging her electrodes, her stability and often leaving her mute and internally question-full.  She said she will fight with all her might, with all her might, with all her might, but first she must train.  Like the boxer she must devote her time towards strengthening her inner eye to sights so minute they are beginning to be like germs, there but note seen – she hopes they are there, yet doesn’t want them there.

She jumps on, feeling the pinch on the back of her ankles, is it really her Achilles hill, will it really be her weakness.  She notices ever so often, when her concentration is broken off by sudden movements from the peripheral, that she’s getting really tired, really, really tired.

The Boxer

When I am in training I must focus on the coming challenge, I must prepare myself for a confrontational experience; what often happens when I am in a bout is I am confronting myself; really!

When the boxer is in training she must mentally prepare herself to such an affect that she anticipates herself, for her opponent, though metaphysically different, is just like her – a boxer.  Her opponent often encompasses the same strategies and tools needed for preparation, so that what we have in training is the self often facing the self. 

One of the most meditative periods in a boxers training is when she is jump-roping.  This act has many imperatives, often recognized only to those who practice the sport. With its essential guise it actually balances all areas of the working body, working the synchronic level the physical boxer needs to attain equilibrium in the ring...the ring is the stage.

A Morning in Pictures

My Two Workout Tools

In the Studio

When the Rope Strikes Back

Hanging

Rope Marks

In the Studio

Much of my work consists of time in the studio, painting, reading and researching.  My skipping project is something which connects me to the outside, in many ways the outside that is not literal but internal, and often external to the extreme.  But I also mean the literal outside, the air, the sun, wind, people, places and architecture.  Yet today it has been interesting bringing my skipping activities into the studio.  I have to say that at times it is great to not have the sun burning your back, but I do often miss the wind.  The outside is the ideal, but the inside can often be a space of thought and calculated work; such as the photographs in this entry.

In this particular studio there is an interest in the shared space.  I am, after all, in a mini-residency, one I am enjoying as a collective project.  There are different actuations around, words, thoughts, 'things' from other participations, this then becomes, and influences, the thinking of the skipping.  The floor is smooth, black and cool.  The windows tall and very clean, allowing the Catalan sun to sneak in enough to make you feel awake, and alive.  The ceilings hangs old pyramid style, with flies up high looking down, I am sure, in confusion, at times resting on the strong wooden structures which hold all these studios up.  In here there is not an 'Otherness' of escape, mostly that of the artist's work, my contemplations are often fixed and directed.  But I can't deny how I most often think of my paintings in these spaces instead of my skipping (and this is while I skip), how physical space is that which often think about the most, to walk in, step back in, move, tilt and hang big paintings in, but also how the space can function in many other ways and as many other things, a place to listen to music, have conversations, lay down, eat lunch, or even, workout!