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In a tall room to the left of the entrance to the V&A, high above the stimulating exhibition of and about books made by artists, which is rarther pretentiously named Blood On Paper, (pretentious if only because it displays mostly comfortable art by comfortable artists who were not in immediate danger of being murdered for what they made) … high above all this, words of projected light fly slowly around the walls, thousands of glowing words which seem to move in random orbits, and if you focus on just one word, and follow it’s trajectory for a while, then, as it flies past another word and another, so your mind will distil tiny transiently random phrases … and if the words that drift past occasionally have a deeper significance, so much the better to prod your sleeping subconscious … some say that it isn’t an entirely original work, but I say that it is beautiful, or at least it is elegant, and it fulfils its purpose.
3 comments:
It is a rather pretentious title, but you make it sound a very enchanting piece of work.
certainly enchanting, because the words also moved slowly in and out of focus so that not only are you lost in abstraction, searching for smidgins of meaning as a drowning man clutches at straws, but your mind is also drawn upwards in to an illusory space ... and afterwards, i couldn't help thinking of rembrandt's painting of the writing on the wall
Enchanting certainly and poignant, but a wicked thought crosses my mind that all these loose words floating about are not like what you find in the media, if, like me, you cannot make much sense of of all the opinion they throw at you. Smidgens of meaning is the most I can hope for. May be that's the point of the installation.
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