absent archival trace;

My body’s nobody’s body but mine, Bodies That Matter II, 22 – 25 May 2014, ArtLacuna, London

link to prose crit: Bodies_That_Matter_II_Crit_Matters_Too_ArtLacuna_May_ 2014

Bodies of thought art the body new old in out bodies of art gaze straight pan looks see bodies back front hair there shorn bodies show flesh bodies rail thin cloth stuffed bodies hide peep nude bodies love hate sex bits live bodies here there had to too much gasp bodies make point bodies fight back brave bodies lens shield bodies shoot steal bodies neat black box bodies frame breath bodies cut down soul size bodies tie wing pin board keep sake bodies post now once was shell bodies clip caught bodies lost past bodies still here hear echo bodies kept mine like don’t like share bodies net stuck web bodies held trace bodies not quite bodies time play bodies stop play loop play stop pause bodies matter data bodies just matter bodies pause off.

One does one’s body. Couldn’t stomach any more of mine, art wise. Washed hands, for a while. Heard about Dimanche Rouge, set heart on hotfooting it to Helsinki for a leg of their Estonia-Finland-France experimental performance festival. Chewed La Butlers words, spat out wrong, twisted round a finger; do one’s contemporaries exactly the same as one does (had done) one’s (own), so to speak. Stuck neck out, took breath, leapt, flew out, open handed, joined arms with Hannah Elizabeth Allan, elbowed in on experimental archiving project. Sniffed out, sucked up, the ‘live’, real deal. Retraced steps, pocketed film, ankle deep in sound recordings, put my back into making archival traces. Performance artists snub noses at grabbers of their ephemeral bits, flick radical fringe fingers at art gallery capital, death drive re-casting of old scripts, those inter-temporal digital clones. I’ve pinched them too, lovingly.