23.05 17.06.2007 I been through an emotional wringer for the past nine hours. During last week I was moved by the service of remembrance for those who had died in the Falklands campaign, held at the special Chapel built in the grounds of the Navel College at Pangbourne. Today, the day after the Trooping of the colour to mark the birthday of her majesty the Queen several thousand members of the Task Force were reassembled on Horse Guard for a brilliant presentation of what happened in words, music, song and on film, including the live service and other interviews, from the Islands. A woman sung for father killed when she was only five years old and a widow placed a wreath at the edge of the sea which now holds the war grave ship on which her husband perished. There were numerous other images with Prince Andrew stepping from his Royal Car to join in the march. Margaret Thatcher being mobbed and cheered by those who served now middle aged men with thinning hair and rounded tums and sight of the Mall filled with those invited and the public waving national flags.
10.40 17.06.2007. I am feeling so much better than yesterday after having a written something which I am not embarrassed by the thought that someone else might use their time reading. It became something very different from first intention which was to do a stream of thought writing, but then I could not remember the stream of thought. I used to have a digital hand voice recorder which was very useful except that I never took time to listen to what I had said, even though I took time to transfer the recordings to the lap top as well as the photos. There was one notable exception, when subsequently writing about my one and only performance art with an audience.
I went to Tate Modern for the Bruce Nauman presentation in the large former Turbine Hall with its vault to the roof, and where Bruce had positioned pairs of speakers on either side at intervals with him talking differently on each pair. So I had taken my voice recorder and spoke my responses, after I listened to each and walked between and along. My activity began to attract attention of some of those who had come into the hall and no idea what to expect or had any idea of who Bruce was or what he did. So I raised my voice a little and became self conscious about being watched but decided I did not care and just did what I wanted to do until I had done it. Afterwards I out the recording on this lap top I am using and afterwards, about a year, may be two later, I listen to what I had said when I decided to write about the experience, although I have not listen again now, or re read what I wrote before.
This raises the question: - Does performance art have to have an audience? And does having an audience change what you do as a performance? Of course how members of the audience react to what you do and say, individually and collectively will depend on the nature and quality of your performance and on who they are and have been, why they are there and what they anticipate? The performance will be different if you tell the audience in advance that you are giving a performance, but if you do not tell the audience it is wise to do tell the authorities if in a public place, otherwise they may lock you up, and it is also wise to have someone with you to explain to the audience what you are doing in case they decide to tell the authorities to lock you up.
It you do not tell the audience what you are doing until you have done it, you are more likely to get a genuine and critical response, but this is not necessarily a reasoned and objective response. To achieve the latter you need not only to tell people what you are going to do, but ask them to pay in some way either with the price of a seat, and some paid when they went to see a performance of Exquisite Pain at the Newcastle Playhouse, or by public art subsidy via the taxing Chancellor of the Exchequer.
The rest of my writing about this subject is confidential as a general piece of writing although some friends have and will receive, also some would be friends will receive communications which will provide additional insight into what I am really talking about.
11.30. I have just had an amazing new experience recreating past experience. In the late 1950's I used to visit a jazz club in Soho and one just outside of Soho on regular basis. The one in Soho usually had a number of dancing couples of great beauty, sexuality and synchronicity, which is better than synchronization, while I used stand against a wall in envious wishingfulness. And out of the morning grey someone contacts to be a friend who used to be one of those dancers, at the same clubs about the same time. Now that is WOW.
11.40 Earlier while in the kitchen a fly kept banging its stupid head against the window while I held the door for it to escape. I do not like flies and remember the brown sticky paper that used be attached to ceiling lights in spring and summer, but prefer someone else to swot them for me. I wedge to the door open with a giant bottle of water retained for emergencies and as a door stopper and shut the kitchen door behind because if I do not do this then not only is stupid fly likely to come into the rest of the house but bring his mates in with him or her. Fortunately having returned to the kitchen to shut out the cold seeping into the house, the fly and friends have departed. I cannot have a roast lunch today because I have forgotten to put frozen roast potatoes on the list. So I have the two remaining corns on cobs thirds as a starter and then as vegetable the two remaining onions before I forget that they are there and go to seed. The main dish will be half a turkey joint already stuffed with pork, sage and onion. It will take an hour and half to an hour and forty minutes to roast when I though it would only be an hour and ready around 1pm. The joint cost only £2 a half price deal, and silly me forgot to buy two. Ah I remember I was thinking about defrosting the freezer.
12.30 Check on the Test; switch on Big Brother house and a serious good discussion of dream about the superficiality and depth of reasons why one of the participants is in the house. Later at 2 there is the Falklands 25 Programme and at 5 there is the US Grand Prix with out hero in pole position again, there is the final of Great British Talent (the US version starts on Friday) I will miss the TT races and the World singer of the world from Cardiff as well as much else.
13.45 I had the corn on cob and then drenched the onion with Worcester sauce, having to eat separately because of time taken for the Turkey to cook, and then panic when I remembered that I had heated 200 when on checking the instructions it should have been 180. Fortunately it was just well cooked when rescued after 1 hour and 15 mins. However it was not until three hours later that I turned off the gas ring where the onions had been on a low slow burn.
23.25 I was able to watch the first part of the U S a Grand Prix while sitting with my mother, returning to watch the finals laps in which our new sporting hero achieved his second victory in succession. Celebrated with a glass of red and some Tapas. I fancied some white crab meat with my salad but had to use up some out of date thin wafer ham, followed by English Pancakes wrapped around melon and strawberries pieces. There was no gap between programmes as next was the final of Britain' got Talent won by an unassuming Carphone Warehouse telephone salesman, one suspects narrowly beating an adorable six year old singing somewhere over the rainbow with his sincerely emotional rendering of Nessun Dorma. Such was my interest that the programmes had my undivided attention without any guilt feelings that I ought to be doing other things. Reality awaits.
10.40 17.06.2007. I am feeling so much better than yesterday after having a written something which I am not embarrassed by the thought that someone else might use their time reading. It became something very different from first intention which was to do a stream of thought writing, but then I could not remember the stream of thought. I used to have a digital hand voice recorder which was very useful except that I never took time to listen to what I had said, even though I took time to transfer the recordings to the lap top as well as the photos. There was one notable exception, when subsequently writing about my one and only performance art with an audience.
I went to Tate Modern for the Bruce Nauman presentation in the large former Turbine Hall with its vault to the roof, and where Bruce had positioned pairs of speakers on either side at intervals with him talking differently on each pair. So I had taken my voice recorder and spoke my responses, after I listened to each and walked between and along. My activity began to attract attention of some of those who had come into the hall and no idea what to expect or had any idea of who Bruce was or what he did. So I raised my voice a little and became self conscious about being watched but decided I did not care and just did what I wanted to do until I had done it. Afterwards I out the recording on this lap top I am using and afterwards, about a year, may be two later, I listen to what I had said when I decided to write about the experience, although I have not listen again now, or re read what I wrote before.
This raises the question: - Does performance art have to have an audience? And does having an audience change what you do as a performance? Of course how members of the audience react to what you do and say, individually and collectively will depend on the nature and quality of your performance and on who they are and have been, why they are there and what they anticipate? The performance will be different if you tell the audience in advance that you are giving a performance, but if you do not tell the audience it is wise to do tell the authorities if in a public place, otherwise they may lock you up, and it is also wise to have someone with you to explain to the audience what you are doing in case they decide to tell the authorities to lock you up.
It you do not tell the audience what you are doing until you have done it, you are more likely to get a genuine and critical response, but this is not necessarily a reasoned and objective response. To achieve the latter you need not only to tell people what you are going to do, but ask them to pay in some way either with the price of a seat, and some paid when they went to see a performance of Exquisite Pain at the Newcastle Playhouse, or by public art subsidy via the taxing Chancellor of the Exchequer.
The rest of my writing about this subject is confidential as a general piece of writing although some friends have and will receive, also some would be friends will receive communications which will provide additional insight into what I am really talking about.
11.30. I have just had an amazing new experience recreating past experience. In the late 1950's I used to visit a jazz club in Soho and one just outside of Soho on regular basis. The one in Soho usually had a number of dancing couples of great beauty, sexuality and synchronicity, which is better than synchronization, while I used stand against a wall in envious wishingfulness. And out of the morning grey someone contacts to be a friend who used to be one of those dancers, at the same clubs about the same time. Now that is WOW.
11.40 Earlier while in the kitchen a fly kept banging its stupid head against the window while I held the door for it to escape. I do not like flies and remember the brown sticky paper that used be attached to ceiling lights in spring and summer, but prefer someone else to swot them for me. I wedge to the door open with a giant bottle of water retained for emergencies and as a door stopper and shut the kitchen door behind because if I do not do this then not only is stupid fly likely to come into the rest of the house but bring his mates in with him or her. Fortunately having returned to the kitchen to shut out the cold seeping into the house, the fly and friends have departed. I cannot have a roast lunch today because I have forgotten to put frozen roast potatoes on the list. So I have the two remaining corns on cobs thirds as a starter and then as vegetable the two remaining onions before I forget that they are there and go to seed. The main dish will be half a turkey joint already stuffed with pork, sage and onion. It will take an hour and half to an hour and forty minutes to roast when I though it would only be an hour and ready around 1pm. The joint cost only £2 a half price deal, and silly me forgot to buy two. Ah I remember I was thinking about defrosting the freezer.
12.30 Check on the Test; switch on Big Brother house and a serious good discussion of dream about the superficiality and depth of reasons why one of the participants is in the house. Later at 2 there is the Falklands 25 Programme and at 5 there is the US Grand Prix with out hero in pole position again, there is the final of Great British Talent (the US version starts on Friday) I will miss the TT races and the World singer of the world from Cardiff as well as much else.
13.45 I had the corn on cob and then drenched the onion with Worcester sauce, having to eat separately because of time taken for the Turkey to cook, and then panic when I remembered that I had heated 200 when on checking the instructions it should have been 180. Fortunately it was just well cooked when rescued after 1 hour and 15 mins. However it was not until three hours later that I turned off the gas ring where the onions had been on a low slow burn.
23.25 I was able to watch the first part of the U S a Grand Prix while sitting with my mother, returning to watch the finals laps in which our new sporting hero achieved his second victory in succession. Celebrated with a glass of red and some Tapas. I fancied some white crab meat with my salad but had to use up some out of date thin wafer ham, followed by English Pancakes wrapped around melon and strawberries pieces. There was no gap between programmes as next was the final of Britain' got Talent won by an unassuming Carphone Warehouse telephone salesman, one suspects narrowly beating an adorable six year old singing somewhere over the rainbow with his sincerely emotional rendering of Nessun Dorma. Such was my interest that the programmes had my undivided attention without any guilt feelings that I ought to be doing other things. Reality awaits.
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