envelop

By forming a supposition a poetic layer is superimposed on reality. A continuous substitution of actions helps to unfold these layers. Opening a bed sheet in the morning is as searching for a frequency on the radio, is as looking out of the window during a car ride, is as opening an envelope you received from a friend.

Installation consisting out of: Poem (narrated on two headphones 03m03s, plus vinyl letters on 8 windows), Take this to be a living room (cotton and filling, movable in size; living room where a conversation was held with friends), So we could hear you on the radio (several soundscapes made by friends or me and played on two radio’s with a frequency transmitter, sketches made during collecting sounds, silicone molds of a porch stolen from a friend in Halifax, CA), The backseat of a car (photograph A0 taken during audio tour hosted in Nova Scotia, CA; legs of friends, moving aluminum frame with motor from the windscreen wiper of a car), A talk in the bar where people explain the solar system with their feet, hands and glasses (charcoal on paper 160×150 cm), A sound in the right angle (recordings that play when sensor is folded), The making of a dance (black and white 16 mm film shot in Halifax, CA; two friends playing a hands game), The envelope of all the traces I left behind in the city (envelope received from a friend in Halifax, CA, opening and closing by stepper motor), If anyone sings, I will record, If anything sings, I will pick up the phone (plaster as music sheet in music box, photo print of accidental ladder in tights of a friend), A frame’s trembling (black and white 16mm film shot around Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, CA), The address was somewhere where I wrote it down (photographs silk-screened on paper, laser-cut in cards that fit in a retro Rolodex)

If I sing, will you record?
If I sing, will you pick up the phone?

Take this to be a living room

I’ll take the windowsill as the horizon and the lamp as the sun

The backseat of a car,
a recording of a recording,
a recording of a friend

I’ll take the envelope of all the traces I left behind in the city, or anywhere else,
or anyone or anything could have done

A fold in the fabric
A talk in the bar,
where people explain the solar system with their feet, hands, and glasses

If anyone sings, I will record
If anything sings, I will pick up the phone

The radio’s on,
a frame’s trembling,
an envelope opens

Searching for a frequency: the making of a sentence

Lick your finger, flip a page

A handshake, a cough, a table: the making of a dance

Alright, two steps
Play that sound
To envelop the words

Quick, let me buy some paper
Quick sketch, I’ll soon forget

The opening of a bed sheet
The radio’s on
It 
is standing on the porch,
but I
’ll move it inside

Writing a letter: the address is somewhere where I wrote it down

You know, when we took that backseat snapshot
I record
ed you and then transmitted it to the radio,
so
 we could hear you on the radio
The sound in the right angle

A singing voice, a walk outside, a window view: making sense

A folding page, a note written on the back of a used envelope
The inside isn’t anything more than the outside

A living room, a lamp, a chair, a windowsill: a sentence

The more I frame, the less I measure

One turn, two hands
A gentle cough, a wink, a sigh: an instrument

I think I heard it before,
that recording of a friend
The start of a recording, the moving of a set
You hear me testing the recorder,
the set itself moves, it has nothing to do with me
There is one pedestal, two 
screens, maybe folding chair

It continues
The radio’s on

The keeping up with things: frames, tables, outside

The opening of a door,
the porch with a 
radio playing there
You or me heard it before

Anyone, anything: the making of a sentence

A living room, a lamp, a windowsill