Undisclosed #12 – 28th December 2008
Early morning sometime, I think around 9am.
I am standing in front of the War Memorial.
There is a man made pool in front.
I am walking around this.
I am now at the end facing back towards the huge cenotaph.
I am lying down with my feet facing towards the memorial. I am dressed in a red shirt and red pants. I have a pile of ice cubes to each side, which I pick up and place around my legs.
The cubes are tracing my outline.
A couple are walking in my direction, they are in there mid 50’s.
They look down at me with interest and then look around trying to figure if there is something or someone else around that will give a clue to this. They sort of smile at me but don’t engage.
I am now up to my upper torso. It is pretty swift work.
I am tracing my right arm. It is getting a bit tricky here, but I figure if I trace one arm then remove that arm to trace my other, then I will lie down grappling for the remaining cubes to place around my head.
I have just placed the last of the cubes above my head and I am now settling my arms inside their ice-cube outline.
I am lying in my outline imagining the ice-cubes are melting. I don’t know how long this will take. It is a warm day so I am supposing not too long.
I wonder if I will get told to move on before they are finished melting.
There are a lot more people around now. I hear them and see some of them pass.
Most seem to just look at me quizzically.
I am waiting for a bunch of loud party revellers to stumble across me on their way home but so far so good. It is a tricky thing, you can never be sure which way it could go with them.
It is interesting this early morning crowd have been quite polite, so far. Maybe it is a Sunday thing. Sunday the day of visiting great monuments, gardens, galleries, churches…
I think I must have been here for an hour, I feel very calm amongst the city din.
I can see that the ice-cubes are mostly melted.
I rise and step out of my watery outline.
From my pocket I pull out a tiny needle. I am now pricking each tip of my fingertips on my left hand. I squeeze and encourage a droplet on each tip.
I am bending down and leaning over my outline I imprint each finger on the ground inside my outline to form a half-cup shape in the vicinity of my womb.
I am now repeating this with my right hand. I imprint my fingertips on the ground to complete this cup shape. They look like faint dark blotches. A sort of join the dots.
I am standing at my outlines feet and I take one last look at this trace.
I leave, I am walking away along the avenue with my back to the memorial.
I cannot know what this trace will be by mid afternoon but each cube was infused with a large amount of salt, so in my minds eye I can see a barely perceptible salt stain. A fleeting ghost.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
UNDISCLOSED #11 - 30th November 2008
4pm outside a popular bank.
In front of the entrance I place one 5 cent piece down, now another next to it.
There is a line of twenty 5 cent pieces next to each other.
I start a new line.
Now there is two lines of twenty 5 cent pieces.
I start a new line.
4.10pm.
There is ten rows of twenty 5 cent pieces.
They look like a shining welcome mat.
Two hundred 5 cent pieces equals $10.
This is what I have to pay to the bank each month because I do not earn enough each week to keep my balance above $5000.
Some people have been watching me. They look at the welcome mat.
As I leave they clap.
I smile, say nothing and walk down the street.
In front of the entrance I place one 5 cent piece down, now another next to it.
There is a line of twenty 5 cent pieces next to each other.
I start a new line.
Now there is two lines of twenty 5 cent pieces.
I start a new line.
4.10pm.
There is ten rows of twenty 5 cent pieces.
They look like a shining welcome mat.
Two hundred 5 cent pieces equals $10.
This is what I have to pay to the bank each month because I do not earn enough each week to keep my balance above $5000.
Some people have been watching me. They look at the welcome mat.
As I leave they clap.
I smile, say nothing and walk down the street.
UNDISCLOSED #10 - 26th October 2008
It is about 7am and I am walking up a stretch of road in the country.
I am dressed in black.
I pick up a scattering of glass shards.
I pick up a bottle top.
I pick up a white plastic lid.
I pick up a yellow top.
I am walking along this road and in a bag by my side I have trinkets that I keep finding on my way.
I pick up a rusty screw.
I pick up a piece of rubber, old and brittle.
I pick up a piece of cardboard from some sort of packaging.
I pick up a feather.
I pick up a yellow flower.
I pick up a water damaged and sun dried soft porn mag.
A car goes by and the wind whips me in its wake.
It is quiet, not many people moving yet on the road.
A cockatoo squawks, rosellas are chattering.
In the distance I hear the caw of a crow and now another and another.
There is a pleasant expectancy hanging in the air.
I pick up a purple shard of some plastic.
I pick up an old bleached bone, maybe from a bird.
I pick up a small silver cylinder.
I pick up red reflector shards.
I pick up a weathered cigarette butt.
I pick up a mars bar wrapper.
I pick up a broken pair of sunglasses.
I pick up a deteriorated thong.
I pick up a piece of black tube.
I pick up a mangled sweater of some sort, maybe once a forest green.
I pick up a cracked pen.
I pick up a squashed can of coke.
I have walked about 3 kms and my trinket bag is becoming laden.
I am at a siding in the road that is clear and has some space, somewhere a car can pull off the road if it needs to.
A cow bellows in the distance.
I am placing the trinkets down. I place them to start to form letters.
I have formed three letters they are about 50cm high.
I am forming links between the objects.
I am putting some colours together.
I am putting clothes and shoes and accessories together.
I am putting rocks and bones and flowers together.
I am putting consumption rubbish together.
I am putting parts together.
I am putting glass together.
I am putting it together.
I have finished.
I look down at my two words formed from the detritus and the flora of the road.
It is the story of the road.
“Remember this”
I look back towards where I came from and go.
I am dressed in black.
I pick up a scattering of glass shards.
I pick up a bottle top.
I pick up a white plastic lid.
I pick up a yellow top.
I am walking along this road and in a bag by my side I have trinkets that I keep finding on my way.
I pick up a rusty screw.
I pick up a piece of rubber, old and brittle.
I pick up a piece of cardboard from some sort of packaging.
I pick up a feather.
I pick up a yellow flower.
I pick up a water damaged and sun dried soft porn mag.
A car goes by and the wind whips me in its wake.
It is quiet, not many people moving yet on the road.
A cockatoo squawks, rosellas are chattering.
In the distance I hear the caw of a crow and now another and another.
There is a pleasant expectancy hanging in the air.
I pick up a purple shard of some plastic.
I pick up an old bleached bone, maybe from a bird.
I pick up a small silver cylinder.
I pick up red reflector shards.
I pick up a weathered cigarette butt.
I pick up a mars bar wrapper.
I pick up a broken pair of sunglasses.
I pick up a deteriorated thong.
I pick up a piece of black tube.
I pick up a mangled sweater of some sort, maybe once a forest green.
I pick up a cracked pen.
I pick up a squashed can of coke.
I have walked about 3 kms and my trinket bag is becoming laden.
I am at a siding in the road that is clear and has some space, somewhere a car can pull off the road if it needs to.
A cow bellows in the distance.
I am placing the trinkets down. I place them to start to form letters.
I have formed three letters they are about 50cm high.
I am forming links between the objects.
I am putting some colours together.
I am putting clothes and shoes and accessories together.
I am putting rocks and bones and flowers together.
I am putting consumption rubbish together.
I am putting parts together.
I am putting glass together.
I am putting it together.
I have finished.
I look down at my two words formed from the detritus and the flora of the road.
It is the story of the road.
“Remember this”
I look back towards where I came from and go.
UNDISCLOSED #9 - 28th September 2008
It must be around 8.30 am and I am on a Spring beach.
There are a few people around maintaining their early morning fitness regimes.
I find a spot in the sand that is firm but not too dry or wet, somewhere in between.
A place where, if I dig a few feet I might start to get water seeping up but am not in danger of waves coming in – yet.
I start digging.
The hole is over a metre long and around three quarters of a metre wide.
This seems easy work to begin with and I imagine just looks like I am someone playing in the sand for the sheer joy of digging.
It must be about 15 mins on and it is starting to get serious, I am going deep. I am trying for at least a metre and a half. It starts to get a bit tough because I need to start maintaining the walls to prevent them from caving in.
I am at about half a metre and I sit inside the hole and start digging from this position so my movement does not disturb the edges as much.
I am excavating the part of the hole in front of me, in effect creating a seat where I can dig from.
I am getting somewhere and the sand is moist enough and the air cool enough that it does not dry quickly, so it adheres together nicely. I am pounding the walls to make them hard and solid.
I am standing in the deeper part of the hole, which I think is getting to the depth I want and I start scooping off layers from the higher part. I am actually creating a seat.
I think I have now been going for what seems a long time but I am sure it is probably only about 40 mins or so.
The seat is patted down now and I can sit on it.
The bottom of the hole is a little soggy with water seeping up.
My head and shoulders just come above the hole from this seated position.
I am patting the sand around the perimeter of the hole making it nice and smooth.
I write on one side
“Colonised”
and on the other side
“Coloniser”
I draw an arrow from both sides meeting in the front like the bow of a ship.
I sit down and look straight ahead.
I watch my horizon.
I watch my horizon.
I watch my horizon.
I am still.
I stand up, climb out and leave walking in the direction of the arrow.
There are a few people around maintaining their early morning fitness regimes.
I find a spot in the sand that is firm but not too dry or wet, somewhere in between.
A place where, if I dig a few feet I might start to get water seeping up but am not in danger of waves coming in – yet.
I start digging.
The hole is over a metre long and around three quarters of a metre wide.
This seems easy work to begin with and I imagine just looks like I am someone playing in the sand for the sheer joy of digging.
It must be about 15 mins on and it is starting to get serious, I am going deep. I am trying for at least a metre and a half. It starts to get a bit tough because I need to start maintaining the walls to prevent them from caving in.
I am at about half a metre and I sit inside the hole and start digging from this position so my movement does not disturb the edges as much.
I am excavating the part of the hole in front of me, in effect creating a seat where I can dig from.
I am getting somewhere and the sand is moist enough and the air cool enough that it does not dry quickly, so it adheres together nicely. I am pounding the walls to make them hard and solid.
I am standing in the deeper part of the hole, which I think is getting to the depth I want and I start scooping off layers from the higher part. I am actually creating a seat.
I think I have now been going for what seems a long time but I am sure it is probably only about 40 mins or so.
The seat is patted down now and I can sit on it.
The bottom of the hole is a little soggy with water seeping up.
My head and shoulders just come above the hole from this seated position.
I am patting the sand around the perimeter of the hole making it nice and smooth.
I write on one side
“Colonised”
and on the other side
“Coloniser”
I draw an arrow from both sides meeting in the front like the bow of a ship.
I sit down and look straight ahead.
I watch my horizon.
I watch my horizon.
I watch my horizon.
I am still.
I stand up, climb out and leave walking in the direction of the arrow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)