Repost from 2013, foundations

This is a repost from 2013, the same year I exhibited “Discarded words” with an anonymous author.

My artists statement read:

“I present these works not as my own but as the discarded writings of an unknown author. They were found in the rubbish and now have a new lease of life”

Finding personal  expression as something to explore in writing is interesting and I felt the piece below really sums up my attitude to it.

“When I stood at the place, I noticed how it had no purpose. Well really it had a purpose but it was to tunnel traffic, it was a passing. A place of passing that nobody had noticed or had refused to notice. Who wants to notice some badly designed concrete and roadway? Well we were aware of it but had to ignore it, I was aware of it, it was a passing place. I was there with my father we walked through the walkway tunnel under the traffic. The traffic passed above and below. I was there. There were many places like this where people only walked when they had to. It wasn’t an oasis or a park where you could be away from the passing traffic see the ducks scavenging, here I could use this point to develop a desire. A desire to show others. “What….what is it?”. It is the passing. Some places inspire you with an absence, like a television making noise and uncovering a plot. When the noise played, the noise of the traffic all these people passing through places. Nothing seemed to happen here just people talking about the signals from the moon. My Dads friend was convinced and all I could see was traffic, we had so much in common. We could see the invisible, the energy, the passing to and fro. The people were like ants but really they were busying themselves going from place to place while we watched. We were watching and making stories about them. There are so many stories about the odd one out, the one who took a chance failed or succeeded, the hero with so many weaknesses to overcome or be crushed by. Sounds like us all passing to and fro.

The point is I decided to notice this place and attempt to tell others, the place that sits within us and tells us not to just pass through but make it into something. The kids tagging in the tunnel trying to make us look, look at the lines trying to make us notice that it could be different if we just paid attention, it is hard to pay attention when there is so much vying for our desires. So many stories that lead to a path, a path of passing or a path of seeing.”

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