“you won’t find what you’re looking for in photographs” by Lydia Unsworth

made a book: http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/invited/147447/821fff5ccd8985efdaa2f4bd58d64930.

Enjoy.

www.objectsinwaiting.co.uk

Participating in exhibition at End Gallery, Sheffield, 19th October 2006.

“Objects in Waiting is an exhibition of objects that were found or bought with the particular thought or intention to one day use in the making of an artwork. However, days or months or even years have passed, and still no use for these objects has been found. Perhaps the objects have gained a status whereby they have become too important to combine with anything else. If this is so, consider the possibility that these objects, which have the potential to be elements of an artwork, could in fact be exhibited as works of art themselves. The objects in question may not necessarily be material; they could be a source of inspiration or a starting point for a work that was never realised.”

Mixed media installation using text and photography. 

Exhibited in “Creation and Creativity” at Nexus, Manchester.  June 2006.

www.nexusonline.org.uk

Mixed media installation for The Laundry show, London.  May 2006.

www.the-laundry.com

photographs at www.flickr.com/photos/balmyeffluvia

It was decided a proposal should be written; from a desire for authenticity and the notion that every movement should reflect art the proposal took the form of a relay of email conversations, loosely edited and formed into one continuous narrative. 

Through an ongoing concern with removal, this proposal became the starting point for further investigations.  The proposal was subject to transformation - it was Thesaurised.  A further removal then took place, a removal from the nonsensical chaos I had created to another kind of sense.  A beautiful futile order.

Container Breathing (2006)

Container breathing;
take off with our summit
two cloudless-slashes we expression one beat.
live
the keeper of clear-cut servings
Hit each other/

Opticals voiced.
                                                                    
hunger after for to grasp
some
pronouncement….

chaosliness.
aloft every point in
time

Compass of sight, you glaciate tinies
of
cloudless > >>>discords

walking ring-shaped
one
body
I’m infectious vision
of bodies,
unsymmetrical reasoning lay above the
flakes  

full strides.
against
the
crud.

Irregular thoughts
carry to a close
self-engaged checks.
the biggest speck.
and
seize vision of them

stop
          and

sway

in this pile,
which authorizes a little eloquention

breathing sinistral a
cloudless-slash,
brimming,
self-taken thing.

I smack the directions
          the visage to visage with…

found faulted age
gone forward
moves round off to breathing

a sob absent
roamed to dream

summit of reality:
Collect what wasn’t cancelled.
Clasp anything.
Dot where?

If
I
clasp
a
snowflake….

one of your signy junctures
impressive
of age: self-fond endeavour

cloudless/
crystal-clear

my/
our spot.

To take a trip on bottom so great

absent
  
move round.
 

 Dot ya.

A photographic record of my existence. Each and every negative in my possession contact printed and arranged in chronological order. Something about the reduction of a life into a few srcaps of visual evidence.
Each sheet of photographic paper is stamped with a stamp bearing the words “The Actual Life of Lydia Unsworth: Somewhere Between 1982 and 2004″.  The stamp authenticates the images, a vain attempt to persuade that this life is real, that it most certainly exists.  But there are gaps between the pages and gaps again between the images on each seperated page. These pictures are locked in the pigment of the paper, light trapped inside a material we cannot begin to penetrate.
Each page is pierced with a nail, hoisted against the wall, these memories hang limply for all to see.
In the end they mean nothing.

A failure.

to be displayed in a corner where it is easily overlooked and noticed only by chance out of the corner of one’s eye. The insignificants of the recent past are already forgotten and exist only as light captured on paper which is slowly fading…