Living next to Gloucester cathedral I came across an exhibition there by Greg Tricker: sculpture, painting, stained glass. Having helped him carry this huge piece of wood into the nave, I have been to look at the show. I found his work surprisingly moving, with such a clear vision. It makes me long for naive times. The nun Sister Wendy Beckett is writing a book about his work. I remember her TV show about art from a few years back. I would like to do a show in the cathedral on silence, to complement the week of sound art that I curated there in 2002 called Naked Nave.
Clay10, a commission for Newton Abbot Community Hospital, has just been completed. The large disk image high up in the atrium is alligned to a window on the opposite wall of the atrium the glass of which warps and distorts the circle as you approach, finally presenting the picture of a grain of Quartz in a magnified 3D once you are standing right infront of it. It looks great!
Watching as a radiology consultant reports his findings from CT scans of patients’ heads, scrolling through the cross sectional images of the brain at such speed that for me it was like a flip book: I could see nothing but the motion. For him, the motion was irrelevant, just a means of getting to the detail within, reconstructing the 3D brain in his mind from the 2D cross sections displayed on the screen. Suddenly he stops, flicks back and forward between just two images, focussing in on the abnormality that is revealed. We had been talking about meditation earlier, and there seemed a link between this and his reporting technique: the meditative practice of letting the chatter of the mind run on, aware of its constant flow, but not allowing yourself become entangled in it. To me these medical images are so detailed, so in your face, that it is hard to contest them; but it is these images that I want to reimagine out in the environment. What would a CT scan look like on Dartmoor?
“I only went out for a walk, and finally concluded to stay out till sundown, for going out, I found, was really going in.” John Muir. Sometimes I marvel how the things you need appear at the right time. I was really interested in Ansel Adams (image above), John Muir and other American environmental artists and writers when I was studying zoology. I visited Yosemite too. Now Muir’s words can guide me whilst researching for a film using material from Derriford. The out is Dartmoor, the in Derriford.
That is meant to be Clay to the power of 10, but I can’t find the superscript key. Anyway, it is the title for the Newton Abbot project. A nod to an old favourite of mine, the film Powers of Ten by Ray and Charles Eames. I can’t remember how long ago I first came across this, but is must be a good 20 years ago. I looked at it again the other day, and it still looked good. The idea is so clear, that the dating in the imagery seems of little importance. Great stuff!
Last week I was at the Neuro-Art conference hosted by Plymouth University. A fascinating crossover of science, biology, art and technology: using live brain cells to make music, control a robotic drawing machine, and many other incarnations. I was surprised to find just how strong the wish to reduce everything to machinery is in us still, in this case to pull the brain apart in order to reveal the mechanics of the mind. It was a fascinating two days. I am still trying to work out where I stand on all this but one fact I found comforting: the machinery responsible for passing messages from one brain neurone to another, the synapse, is surprisingly unreliable, failing to work half the time (yes, half the time). In amongst all the hard science, predictions that we will become a fusing of biology and technology, that when we have understood how the mind works we will know ourselves, in amongst all this heady stuff this simple fact seemed like a breathing space: a place where something else can come in…which led me to a new word, for me at least, syncretic. The picture is from 1899 and is by Santiago Ramón y Cajal.
This morning I spent observing in the x-ray department, looking at intestines after the patients has swallow barium to highlight the lining of the gut. That barium tastes disgusting, like milk of magnesia, I tried it. Filming is quite a physical process, as the radiographer needs to follow the barium after it is swallowed, negotiating the ins and outs of the gut by moving the machine around but also getting the patient to move around too, their movements pushing the barium into different areas. I think everyone in the room – radiographer, patient, student, artist – saw something different in the images produced. Someone saw the face of a veiled women in this one.