My heart is a rose garden


Laura Carthew’s video work, My heart is a rose garden, captures and translates an experience she had in Istanbul in 2012. By referencing Whirling Dervish ceremonies and a conversation shared with a local on the streets, this work transports us to a world rich in symbols, poetics and lost translations.

Signalmasters

Signalmasters, is part of an ongoing project that examines methods of visual and acoustic signalling used within maritime communication. The project was initially conceived as homage to the artist’s grandfather, who worked as a lighthouse keeper along the east coast of Australia and as a navy man in WWII. Signalmasters references the now outdated system of semaphore flags once used to communicate between ships and land. The performed actions in Signalmasters reframe semaphore signals as gestures thrown out to an empty ocean horizon. Instead of an exchange between ships, these performed signals indicate a desire, and sometimes inability, to communicate over geographical and cultural distance. Signalmasters explores this particular negotiation across land mass and ocean and the social narratives of loss and romanticism embedded within this border crossing.

dayvan recorder

The piece "dayvan recorder" is an abstraction of familiar movement and investigates how captured time is read and presented anew. The piece is an acknowledgement and embracing towards the power of the gaze, looking, searching but with no clear reason or direction.

Current  

Murk
Half of this piece was made while living in a tiny apartment in Paris. There was no space, so I started thinking about how physical constriction can become a psychological bind. The home is a cognitive space that I want to flee or never leave. Burrowing deeper and deeper into my own head, travelling from A to B, the brain’s synapses working overtime, but going nowhere.

I fell in love with a small, plastic, flesh-coloured animal. It’s probably meant to be a donkey but I think of it as a deer. Its plaintive wide eyes and trembling mouth touches me. Slightly battered and malformed, I want to reanimate it, to set it free. 


Van Sowerwine
[email protected]

Sean Dockray is an artist, a founding director of the Los Angeles non-profit Telic Arts Exchange, and initiator of knowledge-sharing platforms The Public School and aaaarg. org. As a research fellow the Post-Media Lab at Leuphana University last year, he explored the physical infrastructure of the sharing economy, focusing on Facebook’s new northern European datacenter. His written essays address topics such as online education (Frieze), the militarization of universities (in Contestations: Learning from Critical Experiments in Education), book scanning (Fillip), traffic control (Cabinet), and radio (Volume).

Over Flow
http://www.taracook.com.au

A stream of consciousness on streaming beginning in the...now what a nightmare this spectacular stream must be for you dear Debord, such a hot and beautiful source of desire bubbling and brimming flowing and rapid and rampedly quick, totally instantly instant so free and moreso moresome, spurting and throbbing like bloody constant waterfall chasing spectacular tap running day and night as you turn in your grave to the stiff and still faces with hands that tap clanking digits at digits flicker on retinas reading, always beating to the hertz humming never-ending unfulfilled gazes that graze till watering eyes with the hunger of an ages ask please for more and more again goes the machine of man with the man machine, presently at zero or one with its representation, the new web-caste conjoined like a stick to blind eyes that walk through a thousand kinos or plateaus, at once all for one all for nothing and nothing is really owned and nothing much is paid for, yes to the fertile media markets and affirm the scavenger that trawls through the libraries of every second to the now now an infinite labyrinth spewing forth pages for tell-tale hearts that peep through windows upon any manner of spaces, with a current too strong it pulls all and everyone to the garden of dissemination, profuse profusions lead to more and more channels to bathe in all that is there, hallelujah, to choose to not chose, letting go with a leap that accesses the void of our tap and the turning in your grave, now silent and still, we sit back, yes we watch to wait no more, observe to not hold dear nor close, our spaces that surround just empty shelves and empty tables as we suck on the suckling tit that bring us the twilight of ages, handpicked for reception, collected for the collective, users that will use and players that will be playing while participation blows in the wind clouds raining down over man but an island in the storm now the download lies beside you recently buried resting in peace its active participators while the worker keeps on working with evermore loads, under the play-full silent watch of the passive selector. Perhaps we still are the lost children that live unfinished adventures.  


Tara Cook 2014
www.taracook.com.au
[email protected]

Australija 2014
Croatia

'I am very interested in imaginary/fictitious narrations and possible changes of ‘past events’: nothing nostalgic, just using this “space” for different interpretations of a not so distant past. These fictional places show us a potential past and its consequent future, this may be the place of our future selves and in this way it demands a personal responsibility.'


markotadic.blogspot.com.au

Cold Comfort (2014)
Best viewed while listening to Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd.

 Static rendering of a generative artwork coded within the processing environment

"To be free, one must give up a part of oneself."
Hedwig Schmidt, Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001)

"The stars are falling again, like incandescent snowflakes. They burn so briefly, and so low, you can't really even call it 'light'."

"They burn only just enough... Only just enough... Only just bright enough to let you know they're there."
Alexander Danner, Whispered Apologies: The stars are falling again (2005)

I took the opportunity of being alone in the court-yard, to look at my coarse hands and my common boots.
Pip, Great Expectations (1861)

A new work by Travis Cox
http://denouncetheclock.com

contact: [email protected]