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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

 

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

Projected art by Filippos Tsitsopoulos at the Muse Gallery, Portobello Rd. 

The Death of Attention via Dancefloor Meditations

On friday night I went to an event called ‘Dancefloor Meditations’, a conceptual performance by Jarvis Cocker and Steve Mackey, which was part of the Frieze Art Fair. It took place in the abandoned office venue Store Studios on the Strand, a very cool location for a party. We arrived just after 9.30pm and people were milling about and tucking into the free bar and music was playing. It sort of felt like a party but I didn’t think we were here for one. Honestly, I didn’t really know what to expect. The two words in the title gave a bit of a clue but that was all we knew. And that was all about anyone knew judging from the way people were standing around waiting for something to happen. We soon heard a voice which was unmistakably Jarvis’, telling people in his laconic Sheffield accent that it would start in fifteen minutes and the bar would be closed and we should all settle down and get ready. Anticipation grew. He then said that the performance would take place in total darknesss and we should all sit down on the newly carpeted floor. We complied.

The lights went out and then Jarvis started to explain that he was going to take us on a journey into ourselves via the power of meditation and music and transcend us into a different state of consciousness but, in order for it to work, we would need to go with it and be still, calm and quiet and turn off our phones off and allow ourselves to be transported, led through the darkness only by his gentle reassuring voice. There was a bit of hub bub but everyone sat down and the room went quiet. Ish. And it began. The lights went out and Jarvis started explaining how our brain waves oscillate when we meditate by repeating a mantra and how the repetition changes the pace of the waves and as it causes them to slow we drop into a different state of mind where the mental chatter decreases and we can exist in a calmer state of being. As he is saying this a massive strobe light is pulsating slowly and deep bass tones pump out of the speaker.

I am settling my mind down and tuning into to his voice and doing my best to lose myself in the experience but the girl next to me is still texting on her phone and all I can see in the periphery of my sight is the bright light from her screen. I really want this to work so I tell her to switch it off, she huffs but does it. I start to let myself go. Jarvis and the music are leading me towards something and I want to follow. But literally within a few short minutes, the background chatter has increased, some people are getting up, I start to see more phones light up. It wasn’t so much that the crowd were resisting it, they were not even capable of going with it. It became very apparent that people were already not listening to what he was saying. Even though what he was saying was fascinating and compelling they had already switched off.

As it went on it just got worse and it soon became apparent they had lost the room. The crowd had utterly forgotten that they were supposed to be quiet and instead were whoop whooping and taking pictures, standing up, walking around, chatting and dancing. Jarvis was actually telling a fascinating story about the birth of bass in music and how the human heartbeat of a keyboard player hooked up to electrodes to a synth had ultimately created the backbone for the song Saturday Night Fever. There were some of us who were desperately trying to stay with it but there was just too much background activity to concentrate enough to lose yourself in what he was saying and it became harder and harder to actually hear him above the din. But it wouldn’t have mattered what he was saying, these people just didn’t have the attention span to follow him for a more than a nanosecond. It just felt like a modern audience had completely lost the ability to be a passive observer. They had to be a vocal participant. They had to be included. It has got to that stage for people when it needs to be about them or they are just not interested.

The irony was that this entire performance was about losing yourself, about getting away from the ego and into something bigger, more meaningful and all it really served to highlight was how incapable most people now are of doing exactly that. Dancefloor meditations is actually a very well conceived piece which draws on the meditative aspects of dance music and showed, what I have always believed, that when we dance and connect with music we are essentially dancing to the beat on the inside, to the rhythm of our own heartbeats, it just matches with the music on the outside and the fusion of the two is what creates this harmonious all encompassing experience that can lift you above and beyond yourself. Sadly that is not what happened that night. Not even close.

I felt so sorry for Jarvis Cocker and Steve Mackey who had obviously massively underestimated the ability of Generation Y ‘do we really have to pay attention’ and Gen Zzzzz to be able to follow anything longer than the time it takes to check their status update but in all fairness to the crowd, they probably should never have attempted to do it on a Friday night and cardinal mistake number one – never give out free booze to people who you wish to remain silent. Alcohol and quiet are incompatible to the human brain. And everyone was geared up for the weekend and just couldn’t quiet themselves down. It should have probably been on a monday night with juice served instead of cocktails. Regardless I feel it just showed how visible the ADD destruction of people’s attention has become in this day and age.

The performance ended, to add insult to injury with the power going out and Jarvis tried to talk to the crowd through a megaphone as the mic had died but you couldn’t hear a word he said, which just cemented the fact that no-one had really paid attention in the first place. Almost everyone was on their feet shuffling and dancing and utterly forgetting the basic instruction that they should have been sat down meditating in order to project themselves into a new consciousness. I saw Jarvis smoking outside afterwards and he looked quite dejected. I wanted to tell him that there was nothing wrong with what he had created. It is actually quite brilliant. I wanted to say its not you, its them. It is the times we live in and the death of attention that is the problem. In the right environment with a subdued non-drunk audience it probably would have been amazing. But I didn’t. I just sloped off, back into reality, regretting that I was not able to disappear, even for a little while. I hope really hope they do it again in a space and time that is compatible with the concept although that time might possibly be in the past. Personally I am ready to transcend. I am desperate to get the fuck away from the chatter. Please take me away…

 

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

My general approach to photography (and most other things) is do it, get caught, say sorry, move on. Its an approach that has served me well over the years. So far so good…

The above photograph was taken at the Jo Brocklehurst exhibition at kings cross (on till 15th) as her work was defined by drawing and documenting the myriad of fashion tribes that emerged out of the sub-culture clubs of London in 70s & 80s.

All the photographs from this week were taken on the same day.

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

This was taken on the last day of the Anish Kapoor exhibition at the Lisson Gallery in Marleybone (otherwise I would have told you to go see it).

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

Now that is something I do understand.

This week’s photographs focus on unexplainable art I have recently ncountered on my travels through this city. The question is this: can art be art without meaning? Surely that is the requirement for it to qualify? But maybe the point of art is that it is indefinable. It slips through the cracks of our consciousness. We cannot always file it in our brains because it is unclassifiable.

I used to think that art was anything creative that was produced without the desire for financial returns. (That’s what I conveniently told myself anyway). Its existence was enough. It was free from the sullied hands of commerce and sought reward not in gold but in the human soul. In modern times, this is now very far from the reality for the Premiere league. Art is now one of the biggest commodities around and seems to be one of the few industries outside the city that is still raking in the cash.

As so many companies have been forced out of Soho because of extortionate rates the art world has moved  in. You only have to take a look at the square footage of the new Marion Goodman gallery off Golden Square to know that the art world is doing just fine. It makes you realise that this unquantifiable product of human expression, this abstract attempt to make sense of our world is obviously highly valued in today’s society. It is also apt that in these commodity driven times where everything is traded for middle men mark ups, even the industry devoted to the purist of intention has had its culturally enriching credits transformed into stock value and been rebranded as a luxury status symbol for the superrich.

The market worth of the art world does however show how important it is still regarded in society and how  much we must want it and need it and as soon many other areas fail to give us a sense of understanding of ourselves and the world around us, we turn to art, because it is in these fleeting moments of artistic appreciation and induced reflection that we get a brief calmness that allows us to feel like there is a purpose to it all. This is possibly incorrect and an inspired lie but it’s soothing nonetheless.

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

Now this definitely confuses me. The two statements don’t seem to be related in any way. There is documentation that exists that argues the former and the latter definitely feels like it could be true but combined? What does it all mean? Also, anti-Reagan graffiti seems to be a little redundant in 2017 considering a) he’s dead b) has not been in power since the 80s. Hmmm…anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

You can’t really go wrong with a giant metal stiletto. I love outsized objects. Always have. I’m just don’t know what it means…what is this sculpture trying to say? That life has a point? There are bigger things than us? Is it a symbol of the oppression of women and their subsequent fight for dominance in the gender wars? Could the artist just like over-sized items like me? The big question is does it require meaning at all?  Can art be art without meaning? If it can’t, what is it? Someone once said (have a great head for quotes but never remember who said them): “I don’t know what it is so it must be art”. Maybe the sheer fact that I am trying to work it out means that its purpose has been fulfilled. Maybe you yourself are now questioning whether a photograph of a piece of art even registers on the artistic spectrum at all and who am I to dissect someone else’s work? Like this giant shoe, you might just have a point…

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

I have no idea what this is or what its trying to say. I don’t even know if the two items are connected. Is this street art or is someone in the council parking department getting creative? Maybe people weren’t reading the signs so they felt they needed to jazz em up a bit. Or maybe they thought it would be nice to be look at something artistic as your car was towed away. I’m intrigued but I really have no clue. Any ideas welcome…

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

Get the fuck off me you cannibal freakzoid…you’ve already eaten my hand, what is the matter with you? Have some self-restraint.

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Me and my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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Me without my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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I went to the proms one night at the Royal Albert Hall (very la di da I know) but you can go up in the upper gallery for only six quid. You can lay out on the floor whilst listening to incredible classical music in what is probably the most stunning live concert venue in the country for an entire evening for little more than what you would pay for a pint these days. Its a great atmosphere and people take blankets and picnics with them.

Whilst up there I saw a guy sat up there who looked like he had been beamed down from the 40s although he looked like he was in his 40s so he must have been born in the 70s (confusing I know) and he also had this teddy bear with him which also looked like it had been around since the 40s. It didn’t seem to bother him that he was maybe a tad too old to be out with a teddy bear. He looked very happy, unlike his companion who looked very miserable.

So why no photos this week?

During the month of August I don’t post anything as its nice to have a social media break but for the first time ever I also didn’t take my camera out with me for the entire month either. It was tough at first as it has been a clean decade since I’d left the house without it but after a while it became truly liberating. We have all become slightly obsessed with documentation and to be out and not have that as an option was an unimagined pleasure. To be somewhere and just live it rather than thinking about how it could be captured and packaged was truly joyful. And the longer it went on the more I wanted to stay in ‘living’ mode.

The scenes I have (badly) drawn for you this week are moments where I would have killed to have my camera with me but all I could do was observe, not capture. But maybe because I absorbed the situation fully and not through a lens means that maybe they will stay with me longer. Apparently if you take photos at an event you are much less likely to remember them as the brain assumes the machine has it covered. This is possibly why my memory is totally shite (nothing to do with lifestyle choices whatsoever, no siree)

I love taking photographs more than anything and it is a compulsion that I can’t see myself abandoning  but am fully aware we are drowning in content, relentlessly bombarded and we do our best to plough through it and consume as much as we can whilst making our own contributions. and I am a relatively heavy content provider so know I am part of the problem and definitely not part of the solution but I feel we have to flag it up now and again or we will lose perspective on what is actually important.

So what to do? Live or document? The answer is obvs a matter of balance. We mustn’t sacrifice the former for the latter. Choose your moments and live the others.

please note: normal photographic service will resume next week.

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Me without my camera in my home town, my capital city, my london

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Brixton Market transforms itself (well, not on its own…with aid of people obvs) into a nitelife world full of bars and restaurants. On a hot night you feel like you are on holiday and the vibe is fantastic. It is a magnificent use of the space, time sharing the location to create a truly great dual purpose existence, the likes of which I have not seen since the daytime cafe/nighttime tandoori closed on Portobello Rd.

There was a dj set up in one of the alleyways next to the pizza joint who had what could only have been his mum on FaceTime who he proceeded to show the event to throughout his set whilst receiving what could only have been selection choices. It was bizarre to say the least.