Having some time-based problems with reality. No matter; sometime in the past I took apart the igloo and removed it from the John Curtin Gallery. This is a short video by the John Curtin Gallery memorialising the SoDA 11 show:
When I went to de-install the igloo, I couldn't wait to get it out of there. I was completely sick of thinking about it; how to justify it, how to rationalise and accept it. Despite anticipating a softening of my initial antagonism toward it, I haven't gotten over the bitter disappointment of how small, ordered and knowable it was. And silent. And cold. Maybe it taught me things I don't want to know, maybe that it turned out this way and not how I wanted it - indicates a successful detachment from a predetermined outcome? All I know for sure is that I feel the documentation is more interesting and offers a malleable potential devoid in the somewhat sterile object encased in the tomb of the gallery... so I couldn't wait for it to be torn apart. In documentation it can live a far more interesting life.
Igloo 3.0 just prior to de-installation
In some ways this is a monumental failure on my part to fortify and defend my own practice. I thought often about setting the paper on fire or adding water or some kind of corrosive animal to the work in order to try and save it from itself. But after the agony of the opening night, knowing that very very few people visited afterwards, there didn't seem to be any point. An almighty apathy for the thing kept me from visiting it more than once a week. I thought; did I really want to ruin my day by going there? The answer was usually 'no'.
Entrance to Igloo 3.0
When I did get there, at least I did not have to stand like an undergraduate on Degree show night being photographed by their parents next to their work. Despite it's infuriating 'thing-ness' it was a place to go or be. It did function as a 'tent thing' should, it provided a degree of intimacy and privacy. The pens, plastic pirate coins, lollies, stickers, catalogues, palm cards and punched paper were always dancing across the floor in new configurations. There was always something new to read.
I like to eat cheese ;P
There were interactions between writers and censorship. The above phrase originally read: "I like to f*ck c*nts", and was accompanied by a graphic diagram. Elsewhere the word "nigger" was covered over with scribble and an in another area an intimate anecdote written in the form of a post-secret was treated the same. While some of it seemed driven by nothing more than the vacant excitement of having a writing instrument at one's disposal and anonymity, sweet sweet anonymity... other parts drove me to neatly fold the floor up and keep it. I found this one on the last day:
I lived in Alaska... floor detail of Igloo 3.0
Exploring the floor was the best part of this work. The pens there were the potentially corrosive element that saved this thing from being absolutely uninteresting. It also slowly convinced me that while I may think this may be the second most boring thing I've ever made, it can't be the worst.
I LOVE THNZ
This is the coolest thing ever
Cooper Dards
Proof
Plus, it got to be in the same gallery as George Egerton-Warberton's Meth Lab. It was a little bit like the old Honours Ghetto... but not really at all. It doesn't matter. The igloo being in the same building as Meth Lab made the igloo better.
permission pending George Egerton-Warburton Meth Lab
I went in the afternoon. I took the cords that made it possible to turn on the lights I snuck in and taped up earlier. All the lollies were gone and there seemed to be a lot of new writing on the floor. After a few photos I realised there was already quite a lot from the opening night and subsequent weeks. The new parts had now added enough for there to be identifiable themes and interactions - questions and answers, call and response chants - ringing across the floor. It felt sweet and filthy reading and looking at it all. A bit public toilet-y. A bit someone else's journal-y. Here are some of the love theme. I'm holding back on the ones I wouldn't let my mother read.
I drove up to Midland. I used the TomTom app. It made annoying noises every time I approached a red light camera. Even though I'd turned all the alerts off. Later I found out that turning them back on and making the sound "none" will actually make them shut the fuck up. I mean I'm DRIVING and if I want to, I can SEE those cameras etc.
It was after I spent another evening in a malaise on the internet and half listening to or glancing at Law and Order. I searched and searched for a place I vaguely remembered buying my first sage plant online. It came in a postpak tube stickytaped over the end. I planted it in a black garbage can I bought especially. The pots with the same capacity as the garbage can were five or six times more expensive. When summer came I painted the garbage can white to make it more reflective so as not to cook the plant's roots. I regretted the white before I'd even finished the job. I found some near empty colours and made naive green and red shapes. It was after I'd already decided not to paint things anymore. I was mean, the green and orangey smears dried before I'd finished.
The plant had a nice life being moved from house to house. When it flowered it was covered in bees. When it was moved it lost limbs but soon recovered. When we moved into this house I decided to put it in the ground. It promptly died. I missed its silvery leaves and rampant bees. I wanted another.
On the internet, I found what I thought might be the site but they only sold seeds. I read various things about the sage, I started to visit the same few sites over and over. It became obvious that buying plants online is not the smartest thing to do. Maybe that other time I was lucky? But then was it really lucky if the plant ended up dead? It seemed there were possibly some laws about not posting plants between states. I felt like I was getting somewhere but then decided it was a bad idea. Then felt like I was getting somewhere but then decided it was a bad idea.
The next day I was there. The building was unassuming and the carpark had weeds. But then, those weren't unwanted or in the wrong place or even unsightly. The carpark had some plants with unconventional placements. I went inside the store, contemplated walking straight through to the nursery, then decided not to. There was no use pretending I wanted anything else. I asked the guy about the sage. I noticed the counter was jarrah-looking and strewn with evidence of good garden work. The guy contemplated consulting another book from his sizeable collection instead of attending to the query, but hesitated and decided better of it. In a split second of a glimpse I might even have detected the look of a person who cant help but be in awe of the function of stats. Overview, Posts, Traffic Sources, Audience. Later I entertained the idea that he might even get the joke of his white sage page being visited 27 times by the same person who showed up asking for it the next day.
Salvia Apiana: White Sage in inorganic growing material
Salvia Apiana: White Sage in sandy well-drained soil
These are links to various calendars. Incase anyone is concerned about the Mayan calendars ending in 2012, here are some calendars for 2012 which will ensure there is an organisable future.
