As a series of workshops we're running at the Galleries take a day off, our new Nikon D40 is delivered. Ian, Rule and myself take a lunchtime journey to the life drawing room to test it out whilst also having a jolly good time with Ian's tiny remote control helicopter. Results are delightful.
Rule and I return to Goldsmiths for the MA Fine Art Private View. I write now, some few weeks in the future with only very vague memories and a small pile of postcards that don't offer any particular reminders. We may or may not have discussed whether expectations rise when coming to Goldsmiths, which explains the general sense of disappointment. Alternatively, it could've been that bad. Not one to dwell on the downsides, I shall jump in with praise for the few works that tickled my boat.
Harriet Hill's giant felt trumpet tubes and Louise Brierley's oddly abstract paintings of interiors offer the only real ambition. There's a sense that Hill's tubes could either suck you into them, or excrete some awful substance. Brierley's paintings seem to describe space in a way that makes it impossible to imagine, and therefore the paintings are forced to be seen as paintings, instead of representations. Or representations of spaces that can't be imagined. This gives them a sense of power and control over the viewer, more benevolent than anything.
Robb Jamieson dresses up as Rebecca Ann Harris to tell the amusing side of September 11th in video. I'm not usually a big fan of video or performance work, but this was humorous, entertaining and well produced. I think I'd need to see it again before making any in depth comments, though the highlight was the sequence involving Jamieson, as Rebecca, (and another) dressed as the twin towers, flying a remote control plane into himself. Quite possibly a poignant metaphor as well as hilariously memorable. Jamieson seems to have a series of alter-egos committed to video, though I'm yet to see all of them.
Rule and I return to Goldsmiths for the MA Fine Art Private View. I write now, some few weeks in the future with only very vague memories and a small pile of postcards that don't offer any particular reminders. We may or may not have discussed whether expectations rise when coming to Goldsmiths, which explains the general sense of disappointment. Alternatively, it could've been that bad. Not one to dwell on the downsides, I shall jump in with praise for the few works that tickled my boat.
Harriet Hill's giant felt trumpet tubes and Louise Brierley's oddly abstract paintings of interiors offer the only real ambition. There's a sense that Hill's tubes could either suck you into them, or excrete some awful substance. Brierley's paintings seem to describe space in a way that makes it impossible to imagine, and therefore the paintings are forced to be seen as paintings, instead of representations. Or representations of spaces that can't be imagined. This gives them a sense of power and control over the viewer, more benevolent than anything.
Robb Jamieson dresses up as Rebecca Ann Harris to tell the amusing side of September 11th in video. I'm not usually a big fan of video or performance work, but this was humorous, entertaining and well produced. I think I'd need to see it again before making any in depth comments, though the highlight was the sequence involving Jamieson, as Rebecca, (and another) dressed as the twin towers, flying a remote control plane into himself. Quite possibly a poignant metaphor as well as hilariously memorable. Jamieson seems to have a series of alter-egos committed to video, though I'm yet to see all of them.
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