Hear the dirty, rumbling drone moaning in the distance? That's the soundtrack to the shapes around you, notes drifting listlessly across a dusty rubber matting of the shop doorway, coiling toward the potholes and pools of rainbow tinted oil staining the road, it rises and falls keeping apace with your footfalls following you home.
This sound, leaking from summer wedged windows, like a shallow ocean crashes onto the street, calling to the disruptive objects peering through the shadows of the city's infrastructure, their reflection distorted by the musical shimmers, a bent out of shape confusion of tension and alienation, speaking of society mired in a permanent open-mouthed sense of disbelief.
The bag lady in her loose-fitting neon pink leopard skin print leggings, 'Original. Stylish. Contemporary' shouts the grubby printed canvas bag clinging desperately to her shoulder overflowing with shredded paper. She mutters to herself, perhaps quietly humming the drone of the street as her companion, hearing the discordant notes sloshing at her feet.
The City is a world drowning in shadows. Though its buildings hum with flesh and light, the glow of function dissipates and creates pockets of darkness at its edge - halos in retreat. Where a landscape of twisting streets talk to themselves, 'Do not park', 'No stopping', 'Give way', 'Cross here', its surfaces scared by the actions of human traffic marching daily past in a fog of calculation and distraction: tyre burns, grease stains of sweat smudged across its walls, cigarette butts scarring its pavements. It is a world of 'unseeing', where that which we wish to ignore goes unnoticed.
'Where Have All The Rabbits Gone?' looks to where many avert their gaze, finding art outside of capital. A value in space and objects beyond the tyranny of capital, claiming a right to exist outside the fetishism of the market.
C-Type matt, aluminium 101 x 66 cm
