Quantum Words

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Very happy to have been invited to contribute to this project, The Quantum Words Series, instigated by Prof. Vera Buhlmann at TU Wien (ATTP).

I spent a couple of weeks at the ATTP earlier this year, and hosted an Engineering Fictions session inspired by the discourse and ideas in circulation in the research centre.

The idea behind the Quantum Words project resonates in many ways with the ethos and methodology of Engineering Fictions. By choosing one topic, one choreographic object, in this case ‘The Table’, it is possible to draw out an abundance of perspectives, stories, ideas and begin to develop a richer philosophy around basic architectonic objects, firstly through invited writers and secondly through the students at TU Wien. In a sense we, the invited writers, are modelling the exercise that the architecture students will be undertaking in their course at ATTP. A beautiful mode of distributed pedagogy!

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My contribution is published here and is also pasted in raw form below:

TABLE MANNERS

The man was often incensed by the woman’s ‘selflessness’. For example, on a recent cycling trip, the woman offered to carry some of the mans baggage in her bicycle basket, imagining that his backpack was generating an excess of sweat against his skin. At that moment, there was nothing more offensive than this gesture of respite. As if in a counter punch, he had offered her a tissue. The inevitable exposure to the elements when cycling often caused the woman to sniff. She had not in the least been bothered by this excess at such a midpoint in their journey. Now she was troubled by his gesture of succour.

This doubt repealed the woman to her childhood self. She was standing by her mothers upturned bike, watching her father, leaning into its frame on bended knee, wrestling the deflated rubber from it’s encasing. Her mood was one of joy and eagerness to share companionship and assistance, and to learn the mechanics of this wildly democratic mode of transport. The ingenuity of material combinations, the miracle of human dexterity and intention against the laws of physics whispered to her as she watched her beloved Dad repair her Mother’s beloved bicycle. When her father looked across at her, she, like an eager pup ready to retrieve a ball not yet thrown, anticipated his request: ‘pass the chalk,’ perhaps? “Would you ever go and blow your nose,” he said bluntly.

This discouraging memory lingered with her as she cycled. She did not know what to do with the feeling of it. Was it the case that she has always had a noisy body? A body that repulsed and infuriated? The woman felt sharply and needlessly judged, and for a moment her mind wandered with vague sensations and assurances, such as those induced by corners and cupboards, dark holes and heavy blankets. Blinking long and hard, she felt the wind on her face and arms, lingering blindly a moment to the let the sunlight scorch white behind her eyes. She hit a pothole abruptly and a new memory struck her.

She was under the kitchen table in her childhood home. It was very early in the morning and a thin pale light was washing over the dusty brown carpet tiles. On all sides, an arcade of legs framed her view of the domestic space. The smell of wood and oil and dust pressed upon her senses. Every now and then she would prowl its nave, gaining glimpses of the inside outside of her new secret territory. A home within a home. Her body was pure delight and mischief. Nobody knew she was there, she was awake before the others. She would surpise them all with her invisibility.

Soon a stirring down the house informed her that one of her kin had woke. Shortly, the kitchen door swung open and in lumbered her father with the slow, heavy gravity of an underwater mammal. She inhaled a gasp of glee, biting down on her lip. Hands quick to her mouth, her heart fit for bursting. He had not seen her. He did not know she was there.

She was stunned by the power of her sub-architectural position, making labyrinths under the kitchen table. She watched her father, barefooted and pale legged, pad around the edges of the kitchen, assembling ingredients for his breakfast. These things rumbled like thunder over her head; thuds and scrapes of metal and carton and ceramic on veneered wood. “God moving his furniture around,” her father might have said. He settled at the gable end of the table with a slow transfer of weight from foot to foot. Inhaling his soupy bowl of cereal with all the concentration of a dreamer, she listened to him chewing and chomping and choking; sucking and sloshing and swallowing.

The couple were at last turning onto the pier and could see the lighthouse red and raucous against the blue horizon. Dismounting at speed, she laughed loudly from her gut and up into the sunshine. Taking out a fresh tissue from her bag, she cleared her nostrils with great and thorough enjoyment.

Jessica Foley

20th September 2017

Just Keep Sweeping

This article was originally published in The Visual Artists’ News Sheet, Issue Jan/Feb 2017. PDF: van17_justkeepsweeping_jfoley_2016

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Image by Frank Abruzzese, featuring Marjorie Potiron, Lisa Hoffman and Kate Strain.

At night the whole of Wexford seems to settle like an ocean in the dark beneath the mountain, dancing with the lights of fishers and anchored seafarers. The cattle breathe and stomp into the warm dark air of the corrugated sheds. In the grey-green light of a sleepless moonful night the rooster woke you twice. You came here to wake up after all. Here belongs to the side of the Blackstairs Mountains in County Wexford, home to the O’Gorman family farm for over 200 years and the Cow House Studios since 2007. Today is your final day on the residency called The Centre for Dying on Stage #3 and you are looking back through your notebooks where you have been making observations, like:

It is sunny. The leaves are autumnal. The wind wintery. Terracotta cows move over the green grasses in a complimentary trance.

[…]

 It is challenging to work together. It can be beautiful to agree not to do so. I am here in my studio, listening at a distance to these other voices finding the notes of an idea they can play together. It is all storytelling. And before storytelling it is experience and sleep and dreams.

You came here to wake yourself from a tyranny of analysis and critique. You came here to remember your intuition, to regain a creative process. Your notes say that the purpose of staging contemporary art must be to energise each other to think creatively and critically, to become more lively and to seek inter-inspiration with others, to tell stories and share experiences through words, objects, movements and stillness.

The late afternoon sun is shining and all the surfaces of the farmyard are awash with golden light. The inner spaces of the Cow House Studio playfully counterpoint those of the farmyard with a bursty kind of order. You have become fond of one of many boxes tucked high into the shelves of the main art room labeled “sentimental clothing”. This is the tidiest farm you have ever seen. Strangely, the place reminds you of the context of your own growing-up, though you were never a farming daughter. It’s a place where the agency of matter is perceived for what it is. An instance of this is the sloping field by the forest near the hay-shed, the one that kept flooding and was gradually acknowledged as a pond, duly excavated and kitted out with a small jetty, life-buoy, a kayak and some carp. Since your arrival on the farm you’ve watched their shadowed bodies rippling the surface tension many times, thinking how the tranquility here betrays a human preoccupation with prediction and control. One of the conversational slogans that emerged during the residency was ‘just keep sweeping’.

You recall the challenges of the previous five weeks, working to create rhythm within this community of strangers in order to bring something to the stage at Wexford Arts Centre[1]. Sudden rituals were established in the group, playfully yet with conviction. Three of five artists began to train together, going running every morning around the 4k loop, down and back along the hillside from the farm. At first, you didn’t quite relate. You were amused, yet somewhat anxious, at the fanaticism. You followed from a safe distance considering what was going on. Slowly, you began to get the levity of it. All this training was something wildly serious: a commitment to the process of art making as intuitive, spontaneous and systematic. Something quite trustable yet unpredictable. Training for the stage was training for life.

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Image by Frank Abruzzese.

 Ordinarily, you work in a context where engineering researchers devise telecommunications “networks for the future” between the worlds of industry, business and academia. The research center where you work is called CONNECT[2]. When a colleague emailed to ask how you were getting on at The Centre for Dying on Stage #3, you replied that it was ‘distracting’. This blunt assessment was not a complaint. It was the most relevant word you could think of, in that moment of correspondence, to describe the diffractive effect of different creative processes coming into relation and tension with each other, an effect troubled and intensified by flashes of cruelty and fear.

In CONNECT your creative and collaborative process has been described, sincerely and without malice, as a distraction. Quite directly, you have been named an ‘interruptor’, so called after an algorithm that interrupts electrical circuits when a fault occurs in the system. In that context the negative connotations of these words had become affirmatory, constituting a local vocabulary to describe healthy relations of difference. Now, on the final day of your residency, you see that all along you have been wondering what it means for you to describe the experience of The Centre for Dying on Stage #3 as distracting?

From the edge of your empty square white table, set at a diagonal to the white walls of your studio in the Cow House, you intuit this question. In every aspect of your experience on the residency, you intuit this question. You walk the loop walk daily and intuit this question. You go shopping, make and eat meals with the others, converse and share gestures and ideas with the others, and intuit this question. You pet Dolly, the farm cat, and intuit this question. You observe George, the farm peacock, and intuit this question. You sleep and dream and intuit this question.

You think, then, as the final day of your residency draws to a close under the orange light of a navy night, that The Centre for Dying on Stage #3 intends to distract. It institutes forms of distraction that seek to draw the minds of artists and audiences alike away into the tingly bodily presence of a mysteriously shared agency, with the will to fail and death acting as a decoy for a keener will to love and live. For that is what it means to distract: to draw the mind away… away from the obsessions, envy and fears mirrored endlessly in the narcissistic infrastructures of our time. So, after more than five weeks, wouldn’t you say that the interruptions there were rarely too intimate, that the jokes were cast in earnest, and that any distractions performed or provoked became, in the end, a rather ‘beautiful mess’[3]?

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Image by Frank Abruzzese, featuring Marjorie Potiron and Kate Strain.

Jessica Foley is an artist, post-doctoral researcher and writer-in-residence at CONNECT, Trinity College Dublin.

 

[1] One of the stipulations in the open call for The Centre for Dying on Stage #3 was that the selected artists would present some aspect of work developed during the residency through the public forum of Wexford Arts Centre, specifically by using the infrastructure and resources of its theatre. The invitation to engage with the discipline of theatre and to explore modes of performance and performativity was one of the things that made this particular iteration of The Centre for Dying on Stage so compelling. On the 12th of November at 3pm, two performances took place on the stage at Wexford Arts Centre. The first, How Soon Gone is Gone, was by Alex Mirutziu, and the second, First Glue/Stage Business, was by Jessica Foley, Lisa Hoffmann, Marjorie Potiron and Steven Randall.

[2] Visit www.connectcentre.ie for information on CONNECT’s research.

[3] This is how Marjorie Potiron and Lisa Hoffmann describe the purpose of their artistic process, to systematically generate a beautiful mess.

Data Drabbles: 30.11.16

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On Wednesday 30th November I facilitated a thought experiment on Data Politics and Markets in response to a research workshop organised by Dr. Rachel O’Dwyer (CONNECT) and Dr. Aphra Kerr (Maynooth University).

The research workshop was framed by the topics of Data Politics, Data Markets and the Internet of Things:

This topic raises critical social questions in relation to dataveillance, civic agency and citizenship. These include basic requests for factual information about a relatively new space, exploratory research questions about data ownership, data ethics, and the politics of automated transactions and trades in data and methodological questions about how we map this space and produce transdisciplinary research.

The research workshop was broken into two parts, morning and afternoon. The focus of the morning session was to outline a ‘State of the Art’ in relation to the topics of Data Politics, Data Markets, and IoT. It was about laying out some facts about these interpenetrating matters.

This research workshop aims to foster interdisciplinary dialogue by bringing together researchers from the fields of engineering, computer science and mathematics who are currently working on IoT projects with researchers from the social sciences, including sociology, geography, business and law.

The underlying purpose of the afternoons session was a framed as a thought experiment that might facilitate thoughtful interdisciplinary conversations within the time constraints of an hour and a half. First, I drew upon Donna Haraway’s philosophy of ‘Staying with the Trouble‘ as a way of framing the relationships between multi- inter- and transdisciplinarity.

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Secondly, I framed a conversational/writing exercise called Data Drabbles. (This is very much in keeping with my research framework for transdisciplinary dialogue called Engineering Fictions). A Drabble is a short piece of fiction (or descriptive writing), usually 100 words in length, whose purpose is to concisely convey information about some scenario in an interesting and meaningful way for the reader. A Data Drabble is the same, except the topic of ‘data’ infuses what is discussed, dreamed up, described, etc.

In any cross-cultural or cross-disciplinary work, language and vocabulary matters. It’s certainly not the only thing that matters, but it’s the aspect I’m interested in. Words matter just as words work. This thought experiment, to write ‘data drabbles’, focused upon the topic of Data Markets. In order to stay with the trouble of data markets, all of us gathered in the room for the research workshop had to come to terms, to share language and meaning.

The rules for devising a data drabble in this instance were as follows:

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The group of 25 or so researchers was divided into groups of five or so. We spent the best part of an hour working on the data drabbles in our groups. Feedback from the drabblers told me that much of the time was spent teasing out some agreement about what constitutes a data market. Only then could any further description/diagramming of stakeholders take place.

Which emphasises the challenge of inter and transdisciplinary work of all kinds very well – the struggle to come to terms with each other in a respectful way that is supportive and generative of communication and creativity.

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This thought experiment was less about writing a good piece of fiction and more about enacting a model of transdisicplinarity. However, some compelling pieces of writing emerged, some of which I will post here later, with permission.

There were many differences at play in the room, as well as many commonalities. The challenge remains to “take our differences and make them strengths” as Audre Lorde advises. Some of the interests and desires at work within the group were outlined in their application to the workshop, collected up as data through the online forms and shared with the workshop organisers and facilitators. I made an anonymous slide of some of these and showed them back to the group, before we continued with the thought experiment.

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The Centre for Dying on Stage 2016

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First Glue/Stage Business – Magnetic Mountain Scene, Image courtesy of Alex Miritziu, 2016

A group of strangers, international artists with diverse backgrounds and practices, came together to exchange ideas underpinned by a shared interest in matters of life and death, performance and disappearance.

Working under the aegis of The Centre For Dying On Stage, and based between Cow House Studios, Rathnure, and the Irish Museum of Modern Art, Dublin, the five participating artists assembled on residency for five weeks of developing ideas, texts and gestures before performing their findings live on stage.

Participating artists Jessica Foley, Marjorie Potiron & Lisa Hoffmann, Steven Randall, and Alex Mirutziu AKA The Artist and Himself at 29 (TAH29), and curator Kate Strain are delighted to present this experimental performance work at Wexford Arts Centre, on 12 November 2016.