temporary. tiger projection ::: http://www.we-make-money-not-art.com/archives/008857.php senses taste smell aromatic volatiles and potatoes http://www.fuerzabruta.net/ trampoline scaffolding flooding flexible / mobile space pleasure barges canals dockyards liquid sound tv sets and studios the treehouse. negotiable space portal http://bldgblog.blogspot.com/2006/06/portable-entryways.html

October 28 2006
Photographic dialogue.
Part I : Reply to Response

I used to be snow white and then I drifted

The series of photographs ooze feelings of nostalgia and pieces of decay.
Agreed, the theme of fragmented decay presented in nostalgic sepia is overwhelming, pungent like the smell of rotting apples.
Theme: representation
Stickers, labels, perforated computer paper, googley eyes and pictorial dictionaries.  It rings of a time forgotten, left to collect dusty mold in empty attics.  Are these objects themselves rejected materials in the current time or are they simply our nostalgic translator in a narrative that we are constructing blindly.
The doll is silent…if she could she could answer our questions by laying out braile by such means are available to her…rotting apples or googley eyes for ₤1 a bag.
Regardless, the doll has become a beast unto herself.  My role in her narrative is marginal.  She makes her own decisions.  Her symbolic value that once was so obvious now lies in cipher.  She has drifted but to where? 
I imagine the doll morphing / merging into the botticelli-esque voluptuous woman.
I too have imagined a metamorphosis in the tradition of Kafka.  In my dreams she has become a giant cockroach.  Is she anymore capable of sexual differentiation as a cockroach then as a mute doll of chastely purity?
Postmodernism is said to be a rejection of the institution.  I battled with this not only in the lofty halls of the ivory tower of that place that we shall not name, but also in my research into the institution of the museum.  It pisses me off that the institution dictates your actions.  You cannot touch, you cannot reproduce digitally, you cannot sneeze you cannot breathe.  Brian O’Doherty terms this the disembodied eye of the spectator as they enter the vacuumous space inherited from the white cube, an automata entering an art graveyard.  I want gloves.  I want to touch the skinned rabbit.
porous project – a million ways to enter it
Architecturally is this an impossible task?  Can a museum be a rhizome?  Can an art project become more interactive?  What is every person took an apple?  What if every person brought an apple?  What if the building wasn’t regulated by the people telling you not to video,  what if the building were being demolished with the art lying in wait, stasis like the Detroit building…the only record that the event happened through other people’s documentation?  The tourist archive.
            Juxtaposition of testicles / angelic child like bride.
If we are to link anatomy with decay, the description of the Cremaster (wouldn’t macy have a field day with that one?  Talk about liminal space) becomes an overly clinical account of a biological process, associated through the artwork as a means of explaining a rite of passage or sexual differentiation…it is overly explained, overly graphic.  The true power of the juxtaposition with our yellowing bride lies in the complete rejection of her sex.  She is with narrative but inert.  I think her sexual frustration led her to the tracks.  She is weary of her inherited symbolism.  I checked out the cremaster.net website.  Very gothic.
Kevin (the spoken word poet) called me over to his computer on Friday to check out these images he was sent.  They were of a seal undergoing an autopsy.  It turns out he is illustrating a video that will describe to people how a seal’s lungs work underwater for the museum of nature.  However, apparently there is not much available on seals.  So he emailed this person who sent him these really graphic photos with the comment “If you want any of these images in high resolution I can send you the file or I can connect you with someone with more where that came from.”  To be completely honest, I couldn’t even tell where the lung was.
           
Doll becomes a cut out – I like the analogy to the paint by number or the colouring book.  Both nostalgic items, and under appreciated – they teach you to colour within the lines. I remember as a kid there was one day where a small revolution happened: Instead of the generic gradient, or the more time consuming (and painful blistering) of the heavy colour, he bypassed both and employed a new technique: a heavy outline with a few lines inside (similar to the window convention).  Anyway, suffice it to say, he was finished his colouring much faster than even the sloppiest colourer.  He popped out of his seat, ran to hand it in and got to go outside 10 minutes earlier than anyone.  The next day more people employed the new technique and the teacher was distraught…what to do? The very foundations of the colouring (lying between napping for ½ an hour and after the bible reading, ah, school before pc-conscious times) was blown.  She demanded people colour the correct way.  But even still, freedom asserted itself and variations of the outline colour were still visible.  I tell you this little fable for two reasons,  one is probably that this is the first night shift I have done in the last two weeks.  It feels fantastic.  I think I will try and keep the night in practice.  The other reason is that narratives and fables seem to go hand in hand with decay and nostalgia.  I think the semantic dictionary has its place, but I am excited to employ narrative as well.  Which is why I was so thrilled to see your response to the doll’s walk through decayed symbols.  I would like to do more with this narrative, I am not ready to depart from our fable. Especially after reading your comments on the series.

“the pestilence of her own singed flesh”. Is a great quote.  I will have to read it again.
The Metamorphosis:
Like the cremaster there are very distinctive cycles here I think…
Initial photos can translate into a linear / literal narrative. Move towards complete decay?
Ultrasound – anatomy + layers peeled back
Like an autopsy, I think we need to peel beneath the layers and get to the messy stuff behind our own conceptual framework here…
Decay & Nostalgia are our themes, is the doll our Joseph?  Or is she our departure point, the body before the metamorphosis, like the cremaster still in the fetus?  Did your ultrasound determine she wants to depart from colouring within digital lines? 
Embracing the honesty of decay
I like that sentence because it brings to mind the battersby question.  Including andrea’s reading on it…are we as a western society with our nostalgic post-colonial social conscience more afflicted with denying the truth of decay and more concerned with the comfortable state of nostalgia?  Because that is really what the theme comes down to: the honesty of decay and the distorted fiction imposed by constructing our own emotional nostalgias.
Sculpture – waste moulds….memory of something   “You can touch anything” Google eyes …+ Braille
Pouring corrosive fluid
I think this may be the next step…I want to go into tactile realms, I want this winter to be the winter of long nights wrapped up in our own joseph-like obsessions.  Skinned rabbits and missing women…dissected bride dolls and decaying anatomy.
 
10.25.06
Photographs. Part I

I used to be snow white and then I drifted
The series of photographs ooze feelings of nostalgia and pieces of decay.
Theme: nostalgia + decay
The doll is constantly an outsider in the composition – often looks like a sign language  translator. My little nostalgia translator…
I imagine the doll morphing / merging into the botticelli-esque voluptuous woman.
Doll overlooking the gospel – a method of converting sinners onto Christ. What would be her first / most favoured method be for converting? Would the virginal bride seduce unsuspecting men? Would anyone take her seriously? Dressed in a yellowing wedding dress?
Halved avocado + bride. Immediately thought of Matthew Barney’s cremaster series. His conceptual departing point was based on biology + the process of sexual differentiation.
The cremaster is a muscle that covers the testicles – raising + lowering the scrotum in order to regulate the temperature of the testis…The first part of the series focused on the fetus in its early undifferentiated sexual state. Later films depict the dropping of the testicles + becoming a male. “ porous project – a million ways to enter it” Odd juxtaposition of testicles / angelic child like bride.
Doll becomes a cut out – a child separate from reality. Again nostalgic. Reminded me of paper cut out dolls + the tabs. The actual image is in decay. Landscape is surreal …one step away from being a colouring book or wood cut. Color by numbers.
Doll on train tracks. Tied up waiting for train to approach… Looks like the path extends into infinity. Almost exhausting thinking about her journey. Is she reminiscing about her past? What is she leaving? How long has it taken her to walk this far? Without being able to alter / change out of her dress? Hungry? Smelly?
Like the first image she is external framing the shot. The external bride + roadkill. The feeling of hitting an animal on the road …you are speeding. + don’t stop. Perhaps only a trace is left behind. Blood. A few hairs…organs. A toe. The animal becomes forgotten. What does she have in common with the rotting carcass? Has she become roadkill? Left behind ? Forgotten?
Glowing fruit. Glow worm – childhood toy. Magical opposite of decay – infused with light the object animates her face. The rotting fruit becomes almost alive – lava like.

“Went into the kitchen and put her hand into the coals of the stove until it hurt her so much that she felt no more pain but instead smelled the pestilence of her own singed flesh.
One hundred Years of Solitude
Worries about train connections, irregular bad food, temporary + constantly changing human relationships that never come from the heart.
The Metamorphosis
Initial photos can translate into a linear / literal narrative. Move towards complete decay?
Ultrasound – anatomy + layers peeled back
Decay.nostalgia.Joseph.
Embracing the honesty of decay
Colour by numbers…
Sculpture – waste moulds….memory of something   “You can touch anything” Google eyes …+ Braille
Pouring corrosive fluid
Rem koolhaas s,m,l,xl   De – dis    Criticism as decoration
Discredited
Difficulty
Reducing Mass
Useless
Doomed
Instability
Disinformation
Disassembly
Dissolution
Dismantlement
Disappearance
Decomposed
Dissociate
Disclamation
Dissociation
Disassembly
Disarray
Incompatible
Fractals
Disintegration
Disappointing
Dismemberment
Disorder
Destroys
Incapable
Debilitating
“You worked at Le Chateau - you can’t live in B.C. “
the giant mushroom decomposes. ed ” speedo” jager combine harvesters demolition derby banger races www.wartononline.com anatomy? ron mueck formaldehyde On decay: do we merely make appeal to a cultivated aquaintance with the past? Schwer verlasst was nahe dem ursprung wohnet den ort.

anatomy abandoned buildings layers  texture xrays. biodegradable plastic  perceptions  loss  fossils  memory  scars  raft of the medusa  thomas demand  beauty in decay. deep brain stimulation

09.20.06.

‘trapped forever in a state of decay’ after the disaster + squid. http://beautifuldecay.com/ photograph/ tool to document beneath surface/ gutters . record the sound that. decaying something iconic. hypothetical paper architecture. reveavling what is hidden beneath facade - audio at night

use it again  brian jungen lawnchair dinosaurs smash box scavenger — familiar not so familiar cradle to cradle greenerbldgs.com www.droogdesign.nl coffeemaker  http://www.northsouthproject.com peter fend mark dion   bamboo

inflatable infrastructure http://bldgblog.blogspot.com/2006/08/inflatable-infrastructure.html

what gets you off?  voyeurism and ‘jospeh wagenbach’ point of view above room braille texture skin imprint of zipper. your friends desires.

http://inmotion.magnumphotos.com/  www.bricktestament.com rhizone.org white cube jenny saville joseph beuys artcity.com cremaster www.bananaguard.com miranda july www.postsecret.blogspot.com www.crownfarmer.com (little giants) jim jarmusch www.we-make-money-not-art.com www.fecalface.com www.designityourself.org

This is so wierd that we are exchanging thoughts on liposuction and grotesquely large mushrooms and squid and now a culinary aside.  obscure, certainly, but not random.

emmy’s simosas to which she will cook for michelle next time we find ourselves in a non-disfunctional kitchen

filling:

300g lentils (green or brown)

1 large onion

2 garlic cloves

1 T fresh ginger chopped

1T roasted cumin seeds

1T roased coriander seeds

1T garam masala

1 T curry powder (or madras paste)

1t tumeric

1t chili powder

2 potatoes diced

1 cup peas

Roast cumin and coriander seeds, set aside.  Fry onions in a tablespoon of ghee or oil and add garlic and chopped ginger, until soft.  Add in spices including roasted seeds, mix, if necessary add a little water to keep from sticking.  Add lentils and potatoe, add enough water to cover and cook covered for about 15-20 minutes.  Keep an eye on the water level as the lentils absorb a lot, making sure there is always a little on the bottom of the pan.   While this is simmering, mix the pastry.  Put 3 cups of flour (i usually use spelt, but white works fine) and mix in 1-2 T of roasted cumin seeds until mixed with the flour.  Add 60 g of ghee (or margarine if ghee is unavailable) mixing into the flour like pastry.  Once mixed, slowly add 1 cup of warm water….the proportions may require more or less water and flour, mix until it feels like biscuit dough.  roll out…. spoon out filling onto the pastry and cut around each spoonful, folding dough over.  place on greased cooking pan and bake for 45 min at 375 or until brown.

next….chutney!

Mango Chutney:
 
First off put two small plates (saucer size) in the fridge.  You will use them later to test the chutney.  Combine the following in a heavy saucepan and bring to a boil, stirring consistently:
3 large firm but ripe mangos, peeled, pitted + cut into 1” pieces
½ cup fresh orange juice
1/3 cup fresh lime juice
½ cup cider vinegar
½ cup packed, brown sugar
1 3” cinnamon stick
1 garlic clove
1 tsp mustard seed
1 tsp red pepper flakes
¾ tsp salt
½ tsp coriander seeds
½ tsp cumin seeds
¼ tsp fennel seeds
Reduce heat + simmer, skim away the foam, stirring as chutney thickens, until (with cooled plate test) 30-35 min.  Begin testing at 30 min by removing saucepan from heat and placing a dropped spoonful on chilled plate.  Put plate in fridge and refrigerate for 1 minute, if it remains thick, in mound, then ready to go, if not continue to simmer for another 5 min.  Cool + refrigerate.  It says to leave for a day but as long as it is cool you can eat it the same day, it will make enough for a while.
 
Mint Chutney:
 
The mango chutney has a sweet-spiciness but this is more of a cool, refreshing addition.  I use them both with the simosas along with yougurt-mix.  The mint chutney is super easy:  Blend the following:
1 cup firmly packed fresh mint
6 scallions including leaves
2 fresh green chilis (leave the seeds in for a hotter chutney)
½ tsp garlic chopped
1 tsp salt
2 tsp sugar
1tsp garam masala
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice
2 tbs water (added if needed for an easier consistency.)
 
á viola!  Chutney galore!

09.14.06.  A description of my tour through the world of Joseph Wagenbach.
 *after a few days of marinating*
As I approached the house I noticed a large Toronto archivist sign on the lawn. A temporary office for the archivists had been set up adjacent to the house. After becoming hopped up on a copious amount of caffeine Matt, Erik and I suited up in laboratory coats and signed a waiver form presumably protecting the archivist and their rights. Did I thoroughly read the waiver that I signed? No. A lesson learned. In retrospect I am seriously questioning what I signed for…We entered the front of the house. The home was a very tiny 1950’s style war house with white panel siding on the front and horrific faux red asphalt brick on the sides. Prior to entering the house we had Joseph’s bio learning that he had come to Canada in the 1950’s having previously grown up in Germany and living in various places in Europe. A quote from someone whom Joseph had had contact with in Paris was included. The quote described the possibility that J. had studied art in Paris and may have been involved in an artistic dialogue with other people. Aside from the bazaar  woman who evidently lived with Joseph in 1974-75 the archivists were unable to locate any next of kin. A few months earlier Joseph had been found in his home after having suffered a stroke. They believe that he was in the home for five days following the stroke and was found in a vegetative state. He is now residing in an undisclosed nursing home. The man had not passed on and the city of Toronto had archivists examining his entire home and all of his belongings. The reason for this intense archiving was explained in great detail. Although J. kept up his appearance and maintained a tidy yard what they found in his home was sculpture mayhem. During normal procedure’s next of kin would be notified – however they were unable to locate family. In an attempt to ascertain whether his sculpture mayhem was ‘culturally valid’, and more than just outsider art the home was opened to the public. The notion of violating ones space especially when they are still alive is most certainly ethically questionable. Regardless, I felt extremely curious as to what we would find – and on a side note I was desiring a taste of a crazy person who was willing to express their ideas as I had been immersed in the land of repression for several weeks. And I digress. We entered the front of the tiny home. The smell of old man was quite unpleasant. The first thing that I noticed was the couch against the wall appearing as though it was his bed and had been recently slept in. A phone that had a defunct ringer and a bottle of Robitussin sat on the stand next to couch. All of the windows of the home were covered in newsprint. Joseph was clearly an extremely reclusive person. The cramped front area or living room was filled with floor to ceiling haunting sculptures. My first reaction was that Joseph was clinically insane. And that this was not art but a dirty dirty mess. The woman that took us through the home referred to the sculptures as childlike and whimsical. I did not share her feelings of whimsy however I was mesmerized by the devotion and all encompassing tactile sculptures. The objects were a part of the house. Sitting above the television was what looked like a standing cat covered in plaster, sticks, wax, twigs, and found objects. There were two rabbits, one cast in a similar rough way and another cast in a delicate detailed manner. Naturally I asked where one would locate dead rabbits to cast – apparently at your local meat market. The sculpture that stuck with me - and was the image that I woke up to the next day – was again made of found objects. A large teddy bear covered in chunks of plaster and twigs coated with hardened wax. The bear formed the lower half of the seated body of the sculpture. Various materials were added to this clump of a person with a woman’s face emerging out of the top of the plaster. The entire sculpture was like a large parasite leaning on the wall of the house and felt like a companion. When Joseph awoke on the couch the first image he would view would be this sculpture. All of the sculptures in the front room were extremely rough and organic covered deliberately with a grey concrete dusting. They looked dead, like pieces of rotting textured memory. A large rabbit hung from the ceiling in front of the window. A toy animal and a lampshade were joined together and hung from the ceiling. The bear / rabbit looked like it was on the verge of falling off the lampshade. These numerous objects that filled the front room were dirty rough and frozen in a state of decay. A column of stacked cast plaster flower pots grew from the floor and cut through the ceiling. Evidently Joseph had dug out a 3ft cellar beneath the house where the column begain. At the base of the column lay a collection of cast rabbits and rabbit sculptures. Next to the column was another stack of neatly organized plaster bottles. A potential pile for a future column?
Moving on to the kitchen – more disarray however the floor had been covered with cardboard and had been duct taped down suggesting that Joseph was aware of the impact of his work and was careful to protect the floor of his home. Old coffee time cups were stacked on the counter and pots of material mid mixing were sitting on top of a hot plate. Straw from brooms mixed with wax were clumped in a large black cauldron. Two massive sculptures hung within the kitchen reminiscent of a hanging carcass in a butcher shop. Both sculptures were in the preliminary stages indicating the process that he went through. These objects were wrapped in cloth, rug, twine, found objects and were beginning to be covered. I was intrigued by his process. The notion of outsider art and the validity of the art kept resurfacing. My initial reaction was understandable - that this was a man with little skill – who had not put thought into his creations. My thoughts began to change after examining the pieces in the kitchen and moving to the back of the house. Next stop the bathroom a.k.a storage area. The bathtub was filled with collected objects and was clearly not used for cleansing purposes. It appeared that Joseph would clean himself in the sink and was not overly concerned with his hygiene. The room smelled of urine.  There were shelves within the bathroom hosting an assortment of waste moulds. Instead of removing the exterior cast which is the final stage in the waste mould process the objects were left as is. The woman touring us through felt that this was a deliberate action. I was intrigued by the negative space of a sitting person in one of the moulds but was not convinced that Joseph had the artistic skill to know what the final stage of a waste mould process was. A small niche was located next to the bathroom. The walls were covered in drawings: Studies of a woman ( potentially the one who lived with Joseph), rabbits, a woman’s silhouette becoming the rabbit. The drawings were beautiful. The studies were done in conte, pencil, gouache suggesting  extremely premeditative thought prior to making his sculptures. At this point I was completely engulfed in the idea of someone so clearly focused and devoted to his own personal drama, past, and memory. He explored these areas confronting these issues without the aid of antipsychotic drugs…. As an artist one cannot help but think of the outside world, how others respond to your work, monetary rewards, criticisms. This world was only his.— A pile of nudist magazines from the 70’s – a temple of inspiration for his silhouette studies? We then moved onto a small room leading to the backyard. The room was covered with white cardboard and white paint. Various pedestals held sculptures for viewing. The room acted as a rough personal exhibition space. A mirror was strategically placed behind a sculpture and played with multiple reflections. The sculptures in this space were refined. The image of the rabbit, woman riding the rabbit, rabbit morphing into the woman appeared repeatedly. A piece of ornate concrete block that looked liked the ear of a rabbit sat in this room. The backyard was as they described, tidy. There were several meticulous piles of wood for his stove separated into chopped large pieces and kindling lined the back of the fence. The chopping block or stump of a tree stood next to the wood piles. Hidden behind branches and next to a large tree trunk was a negative mould of a sitting person. I took it as a memory of someone. The last room visited in the house was at the end of a very constricted hallway. The room contained all of the work that Joseph had made of the woman, Anna, who had stayed with him. All of her belongings were still in the dresser and clothes remained behind. Her hot oil conditioning treatment was left in the drawer. Why would someone leave all of their belongings? The newspaper on the wall was form 1975. 1975 was the year that they suspected that Anna left. The bed once again looked like someone had slept in it the night before. A large table to the next of the bed held a life size nude sculpture of a woman. I was convinced that the body of Anna was within the sculpture cast forever like the rabbits. The entire room had been crudely sealed for 25 years. Within the room were sculptures of a pregnant woman with long long ears. Hanging on the hallway wall was a large map of Germany. The woman indicated to us where Joseph had lived as  child. Finally I moved toward the small closet containing a ladder to the attic. A ledge had been built at the top of the steps and a small cushion lay on the seat. Waiting. Sitting in this spot once only had enough room to move your head. The space above had been boxed in with old storm windows. In this space, in the dark, I felt an overwhelming feeling of isolation, constriction, and unknown as to what I would see in the attic. Imagining Joseph sitting in this space for hours obsessed with his thoughts. Consumed by his world. He had wired a light to a switch. The light shone directly on a sculpture resting on top of the cast column. The woman appeared to float . beautiful and depressing simultaneously. I was so inspired by this space as J. had been successful in creating an experience that so many artists attempt to do in a gallery. Specific emotions were evoked due to an intensely personal experience of all of his work. The work was moving but would be much less effective if taken out of the context of the home and separated into the commercial art world. I am inspired by the complete exposure of his internal thoughts. The tangible pieces of decay. A visceral experience that was not about appearances. Connecting with raw emotion and the fantasy.
After much contemplation - the result of the experience is still valid even after learning that the entire house and all of the art work was fake created by a group of artists. The experience was ironically one of the most honest revealing installations that I have moved through.
I compare these two images:
Joseph, waking to the view of his sculpture. Sculptures that reveal his personal thoughts. Physically tangible objects growing from his home. A true representation of himself. The beauty in decay. –   
The image of a woman whose home is filled with expensive beautiful possessions. Everything meticulously in place – ordered. Her own personal thoughts are lost, full of anger, and are never discussed. They rarely surface. Brief glimpses into her own decay. I find her story much more distressing - the repressed. Imagine a camera that would photograph the room in reality. All of the hate anger, ugliness, dirty rough objects - a view rarely seen.
 

Decay Rot\Disintegrate Decompose Break down
Break apart Fall down Organic/ inorganic
 

[Plastic] material – concrete & dirt structure demolish  demolition
metal – rust cycle hyperaccelerated
moving away from physical virtual breaking down genetics
tri
     DNA building material
     Decay moving past physical
     Utopia inherited modernist nostalgia
 

Space and time Underside of bridge Painting:
Intense, collage, city (psyche) dreams space time
 

Video:
Filmed real time everything else greyed, sounds of city signs changing
Penned and vector works extruded 3-d and flat
Growing walking BACON shoes, concrete swallowing
Window conversations moving in, documented decay breaking down
 

Swallowed Saturated by city (Fetishizing the façade) image
Utopian 20^th century nostalgia
Moving past post-modernist plastic
What is left behind when time/space creates a different milieu for abstraction not within a physical permanence?
Orpheus>‘buildings have functions, forms and structures, but they do not integrate the formal, functional and structural moments of social practice.  And, inasmuch as sites, forms and functions are no longer focused and appropriated by monuments, the city’s contexture or fabric – its streets, its underground levels, its frontiers – unravel, and generate not concord but violence.  Indeed, space as a whole becomes prone to sudden eruptions of violence’
-         Lefebvre ‘Production of Space’
Violence – obesityBuster Keato 2oth century relation: machine
opposition entering, sojourn poetics
less of monologue, more of a dialogue with city ready to discuss loss and displacement monumentality transience
 

imageability ‘world of the image’
FETISHIZE the façade Reductions; dominant mode of production
Polar oppositions Phenemological wanker / cult of image
Fragmentary, incomplete DECAY
Proposition:
Fight it out. 
Over too, juxtaposed onto urban collective
Record.
Built after, after built Impulse DECAY
Sanatorium
 truly appreciated as pure programme
closed, monument.
Human Rights
 Vattimo
Architecture of weak or fragile structure