From left to right >>> you will encounter (1) Transcription: The original conversation transcript (partially edited); (2 - 5) Distillation: Documentation showing the process of marking/hightlighting followed by distillation/selection from original transcript to performance reading script; (6 - 8) Presentation: Documentation of performance lecture and further reconfiguration of the textual script.
For those readers with time and inclination, the conversation transcripts presented can be read at length, revealing something of the nature and tone of the conversation itself within the practice of conversation-as-material. However, inclusion of the transcripts is conceived more as an attempt to reveals a connection between transcript and textual distillation. Here, the invitation to the reader is to glimpse or scan rather than necessarily read the transcript material in its entirety.
Context: This second iteration of the practice of conversation-as-material within the frame of Re— focused on the ‘where’ of writing, considering the relation between the performing of writing and the document of the written, the relation between the performing of writing (writing as verb) and its document (writing as noun). The performance lecture was commissioned as part of the exhibition, AFTERLIVE, at Norwich Arts Centre, curated by Holly Rumble.
It is […] going back to how it felt […] (t)he nearness. I wait to be convinced […] But (that) is just one of those practicalities that has to happen. I don’t think this is theatrical. I don’t know what that reversal means. (T)his being the back and this the front and (then) the shadow, and the cleanness of my drawings compared to this continual rubbing out. The hesitation is interesting. One of the things we will need to be aware of is that the angle of the view is going to be very different; (it) might mean it is less easy to see some of the things. (T)he relationship between what is happening on the table and what is happening on the screen. It is important, if you look up. That relationship between on screen and off […], and how much they get to see. (I)s it the version that is being documented or the event […] that is being documented […]? (W)here is the authenticity — what will become documentation […], where is it? There is definitely something to be said about documenting the thing […] because that will be unhindered by the chance elements of the night (but) […] if we don’t record it […] there is a sense that we are going to miss something. […] What is this, what is the status of this? Is it documentation, because what is it documenting? It is not documenting an event at all because this is a rehearsal […] It is so easy to pay attention to only the glitches and the error. (T)here is a purposefulness in … that came from it being completely aimless in the way that it was started. We (do not) know what (it) is going to be before we have made it. I am not thinking about today like that though. (T)he work is hanging over us, but I am thinking about it in terms of moving the conversation forward […] I am hoping that new things, whatever they may be, will come out for the work. What is known is not the work, it is only the framework […] Some of these things I won’t take with me. (W)hat (is) the pull of that […] work, is it just that it is unfolding, is that enough […], what agency does that have? (T)he difference between showing something and something unfolding […] (I)t is showing something but not knowing what it is showing. (T)here is a sense of punctuation, following your punctuation. (T)here is a slate that is wiped clean each time, there is a pause, there are blanks, it is modular and movable. (T)here is a structure, (a) kind of framework where the content is just removed out of it … a structure that allows for these repetitions. (I)t is blank but also has a trace of what has been there before somehow. It has some memory […] (T)ake your time. All these things going on which I will have to continue thinking about even if I am unfolding something. (B)y calling them diagrams I am trying to remove the notion of it being emotive, purely gestural […] It is close to the body or related to (a) body act. The word diagram does have a sort of objective distance, a different spatial relation. I cling to that sense of the definite in what I do. (W)hat I am trying to say … is an articulation of space, a very structured one, in the same way that writing is. (Or) more about drawing as pulling, drawing up, […] not to do with an internal space as […] conjuring something into … the frame, divining, […] calling something. (T)here seems to be something about a call that is being made between the texts … and the frame. (It) is to do with setting up the frame for something, or setting up the conditions in which something happens(,) […] wherein something unexpected or […] that could not have been anticipated comes about. (D)rawing not away from the paper, but […] pulling up. (I)t is a … beckoning […] something is being diagrammed towards but as an invitation to make appear. (T)here is something of the practice that seeps through. (J)ust showing, picking it up at this point. (I)t behaves differently in that different context. (W)hat appears to be an improvisation is (often) only a repetition […] (That) illusion of it being spontaneous and of the moment is completely constructed. (T)rying to say something differently or the how. (I)t just serves a purpose. (I)f your work looks the same because it is still words, how is it read differently? (H)ow can something be repeated but its content change? […] One work being present in another, we talked about the idea of a culture. There (are) a set of latent ideas that you have but you don’t yet know about, but … you know that they are somehow caught up in a particular phrase or a particular gesture or a particular word. (T)here is a word that signals this without referencing (it) directly. There is a sense that words are always prompts. […] Prompts and markers, […] (somehow) future-past. They … refer to a set of ideas that have already been thought about but are also not quite thought through enough to know what they are saying. (T)here is something about that word which I am not sure of, (that I) need to return to. (N)o spacing, no punctuation. And the sense of the text is revealed in the reading, by the reader when they perform it live. So that notion of the reading being the writing, or the reading being the publishing, a material practice somehow. So you are putting something down and it means more out of context […] A form of extraction or a form of reduction. (W)hat they take away from it is completely unknown. (I)t is an open system but you don’t quite know how it is open (;) it has yet to be opened. (T)hat’s what reading is, just uncovering something […] Just activating that fact which is already implicit or buried in other strings of sentences which show themselves to be (more) legible. (W)hat point do these two things meet. (A) repository for a whole set of ideas that find form in other things […] (T)here is just enough room, (to) take the hint. Taking away in order to reveal the taking away(;) it is not about deliberately hiding. There seems to be a difference between hiding and extracting. It feels as though there is a definite attempt to get at something. The thing is definitely what I am trying to get at. It is that point there. That is what I am trying to get at, all these different ways of circling that, […] pointing at it. Only that thing might change. (D)oes that point become analogous for another thing that the work is trying to point towards […] elsewhere. (P)ointing to the punctuation mark (that) isn’t there anymore, it has moved on. Where is the thing in the work, what does the work circle? The finger … circles the point but … what is it circling. There is a sense of intent. There is a sense of purpose for the work, without it really knowing what it is. It is definite in some way. (T)here is a placing. I am not a performer; it is writing that is the performer. And it is addressed as such. And I am facilitating that on some level. (T)he role of the artist (is) … one of steering the drawing, […] steering the writing. […] (Y)ou place things in the way, […] but it also has its own kind of agency. The work wants to be made. Does this mean then that you run the risk of betraying (it) by not sticking to its course. (This) is where the not comes in; you are not taking it. It is like getting half way through […] and stopping. Or choosing to do something else […] It is perpetually stopping itself […] You have to keep placing these things in the way to send it off course. What is that route though(?) What are we moving away from […] What are we deviating from? The privileging of continuity, in some form. (W)e want to conceive of things […] where one thing comes after another(;) (and yet) there are different ways of playing with the order(ing) of something. Things don’t (always) unfold. The idea of unfolding is probably the thing we want to see. Writing is always an illusion because it gives the appearance of an unfolding, but is often constructed in a discontinuous fashion. (It) is always shoring up against the idea […] that it is produced in the same way as the performance, and that it is somehow equivalent. (B)ecause of the way that things are produced […] continuity is highly artificial, constructed; (its) continuity is a construct of many edits […] It is in the organization. (H)ow those words came to be on the screen. The systems are hidden in many ways. And they won’t be revealed, by the process of extraction (nor) by my extraction as well. (It) betrays […] its origins […] (W)e need to find ways of releasing the tension, […] but we don’t quite know where from. (W)e need to find ways of letting a(n) idea flow out […] but we don’t know where that point is, where the point of give is going to be. At the moment we are just teasing around the edges (of) something that already exists (;) without just wanting to repeat it. (Y)ou have to work around the limit to find a way out. (It) comes back to testing them out, to testing a different kind of limit. (T)rying to make a way out of something that didn’t exist before […], working a hole into something. (M)aybe this is how something shifts from being a closed system to being an open system; (y)ou make an opening. […] (R)eading unpicks the words or the meaning or the page or the fabric of the text. (I)t is inviting something else. (I)ts timescale is as fleeting as a performance. (P)romiscuous. The possibilities are almost more […] with its mobility, of it being missed. (T)here is something about the invitational nature of that. That introduces a further condition for the work. The document (has) […] become marginal. (S)uspect.[…] (I)t is not trusted anymore. But (this) pushes it, […] it has (now) got scope. I think of performance already being a document, it is already documenting something, […] the preparation and the thinking spaces of work. (W)hat the performance does is makes concrete or solidifies that space of thinking into a thing, which in itself is reductive or an extraction or a cleaned up reworking of something that has happened elsewhere. Things always comes from other things, so performances always come from documents, as documents always comes from performances […] There will be documents again. They will be performances again. (T)he work being a document of the work’s development, or the work being a document of the thinking space which allowed it to happen. (It) documents or gives shape to a set of things that came before. (It) holds within it a whole set of nascent ideas, […] It is (easy) to forget what goes into the making of the work. The space before we ha(d) decided the definite shape of the work; […] once it has started to develop shape it is very difficult to imagine it in any other form. The moment just before then, […] just (before) knowing. It just seemed. (I)t was just there. (Y)ou […] set up conditions and the work comes into that space. I can make the conditions for writing happen more than I can make the conditions for art to happen. (W)e were trying to maintain pace and pause. (The) way you ripped the bottom of the score. (T)hings are drawn out by circling or (by) drawing a line through […] (T)hings are pulled forward or pushed back (and) things that are pushed back are forgotten […]. (I)t felt like it had never been in any other way(;) […] as though they had always been like that. (I)t just refused to be practiced in that way. (A)s you are writing it is moving and you know it is mov(ing) and one word will change the whole thing […] (W)hat is the spatial equivalent of a pause […] how (does) time get articulated spatially. (I)t is a bit more murky, a bit more unknown, those pausing moments. (T)he work is already a document […], the time it takes to make a piece of work becomes condensed into (the time) it takes to perform it […] (T)here are these latent decisions that have happened elsewhere. There is something about beginnings and endings of things […] What should be the thing that comes after is often the thing that comes before. (I)t is almost a eulogy or a memento to (its own) making of the work […] A sending off. (Y)ou can never tell how things are perceived. (T)he active spaces of work […] are the spaces where I am not quite sure what is happening. Maybe this is a different kind of thinking. (The) speed at which it has to happen doesn’t negate its critical facility. It's not like reflection (always has to) go slow. (W)hen you are looking back and seeing something, things […] that you hadn’t anticipated, that you didn’t know were there. (When) (y)ou are wholly synchronous to the thing that you are producing so there is no distance. Reflection can also be generative; it looks backwards and forwards […] It looks forwards whilst looking backwards. (T)here is something about this trajectory of reflection […] Without an angle it would just bounce back at itself […] (O)nly a representational model, only mirroring back. […] (W)e are pointing to this very definite space here. And how this relates to there. It is almost like a gesture is drawn in advance of knowing what it enables. (I)t needs the pointing […] like italics (;) […] drawing attention, emphasizing […] What is the point […] What is the nature of [...] the act of pointing. What is being said by how it is being pointed […] (by) the approach […] What is the point, what is the point of that? It isn’t that, it’s that […] It is the getting to, how. Going back to it, it is more how. Always in the work there is a sense of being able to trace its origins. (T)he before and after the touch […] the approach and the withdrawal […] These surpluses that keep coming off the page in a way. There is certainly not a direct view. The notion of what you miss is critical. (T)aking tangents, going off, looking away. Working away but not away from. (W)hat does it mean to remain faithful to the work […] (T)he distinction between being faithful to the intention and being faithful to the result, as being two very different things. (T)rying to document something that remains faithful to the intentions of the work […] Trying to document the thing that will enable the work to move on. This is the work? (T)he rehearsals were the work? (It) felt like retelling […] re-enactment; […] the performance is a re-enactment of a rehearsal, (or) always between rehearsal and re-enactment […] a thing in flux. (W)hat is leading and what is following? What is calling and what is response? Throwing phrases; […] pressing, pressing […] There are these two very distinct, very separate … things going on […] which I don’t think are completely dialogic. If dialogue is constructed wholly of synchronicity it won’t work […] it wouldn’t be a relationship […] There is a sense of sometimes leading, sometimes following […] Maybe it is smaller, maybe it is like that. This is almost a conversation. (W)e come back to the hands and the body and me […] And you bring it back to you. It could function without us there. That and that and then this, […] running alongside. This is a totally different work. So are we pausing then. Let’s pause. And close. What would it mean to be close […] But I think that still is an important part of this. The two practices and the way they work in relation to one another. (T)he idea of response, response; responsibility, how you respond, how you respond to something else, is part of the work. There are particular modes of response within the work, and maybe, […] you might think of response as the action that gets brought about through the pressure of pressing […] Different contexts put pressure on the work to do something. Which might mean that how we respond has a sort of echo to it; you could respond simply by repeating, but in your own voice. There is certainly volition or a movement implied by the pressure, it is reciprocal […]; something is being pressed […] there is an energy in that. It has to release somewhere. (T)hese are triggers or calls if you like. And are responded to. The danger is that the gesture gets squeezed out. Because what it doesn’t do, it doesn’t record any of this, which we are doing. All it records is the sound of our voices. Maybe that is the fallibility of the recording in the making of the work; the thing we use as the starting point is highly partial. (I)t is already privileging the sounds of the words and the shape of the language at the expense of gesture. […] we are responding to gestures that have come before. There are things in here that I have said about the gestures. (W)hat we are saying is coming after the event of pointing always. A point may be indicated in the text by a space maybe or a gap. I don’t think we are trying to explain the gestures. (T)hey are almost just prompts for a conversation […] as opposed to the textual or linguistic, maybe that would be a starting point. It is very delicate isn’t it […] what you map on to physicality. The gestures […] detract. (T)hey exist in that moment in many ways, in comparison to the text and to the before moment. (T)here is […] something to do with how. (I)t was never really anything, the extraction did feel like there was something in there. (I)t was only editing what was already there. You think it was sympathetic to this […] In that sense it must be. But maybe that is what your gestures are — maybe they edit this text in a different kind of way. (T)he gestures pick up on certain things that are not included in my extractions, but speak of other parts of the text and in a different way. This is the meeting point. I did go away and digest and extract further, almost to a point that there were single words on a page. So it wasn’t like one thing was explaining the other. I transcribe this conversation through text, (and) maybe you transcribe the conversation through gesture. And there is a different kind of transcription that is produced. It is very abstract but it could be described as what I did. (Y)our transcription is attending to the moments when a gesture is performed. When you listen to the recording it doesn’t already exist as language, there are all […] these phatic elements […] They are not words, so maybe they are more like points, nots. There is a sense of our difference, what we bring to it is that we are listening to the text in different ways, and what we pull out of it reflects this. My transcription of the text is the production of the extraction. There is a mirror version to the text that you produce. And that could be another text that is almost like stage directions, the physical elements and the two exist side by side. (B)ut then there is the performance which is another form of transcription. That is what I am trying to do, condense or extract further, I am not sure which way it is. There is definitely a sense that I am doing that. (Y)ou listen to the text and try and transcribe it though gesture. I was just thinking that as I did it. Because it is in there. Where there is that sort of thing. (S)ome of the things touch on gestures, being aware of the hands, things like that. Not all of them made it in. There were very faint touches in the transcript that came out about a mention of hands. (W)here the hands appear would be in what I was saying, because that would have come from our conversation. (Y)ou speak that, rather than trying to describe the hands in text. That is from your document. (T)he finger starts to be a mode of speech, […] the finger is reading […] the finger is writing, […] it is both. It is equally unpicking a system that already exists as reading. (T)his reading as a resistance, as a material practice, as a physical practice as well as intellectual. But it is also producing within that. And how, and how locked in that is, how locked in as text, and whether it is locked into itself as embodied language? Is it a retreat into the body, because I had originally thought it was that? So I was retreating from some sort of textual world. What does that mean, I don’t know what that means. It is an inability to communicate through words and signs. Written words and signs and symbols. I wondered if it was a retreat and to deliberately uninhabit that world and see what ways I could get to this other thing that I was pointing at. I think it is so readable, it is almost more readable than text. Because it is so open. It is not left to right, it is not top to bottom. It is not fixed in a lexicon, maybe the body is its lexicon but that is so subjective. And is so close. That is one of the things, that closeness to the meaning of the work. Showing my hand. There is world that you are brushing up against. There still is that implicit distance. (T)here is a kind of neutrality in the work, the way that you talk about the gestures being diagrams rather than drawing seems to want to make it perform in more neutral terms, not more objectively. (T)hat is why I also call it writing because I am clinging to that element. If I fall […] if I do collapse it too far […] (W)hat is our identity? What are our identities in the work, because my identity is already a hybrid of us both, because what I am speaking are both of our words? What I am speaking, the authorship of what is being said, where does it belong, to whom? And I wonder whether that is true of the gesture? (Does) the gesture always keep your identity […] because it always belongs to the body? Does speech? It is not the text that is mine but does the text become mine because I speak it? Is the text that I speak mine because it is literally fastened on to the end of my shoulders or the end of my wrists? It is response still in the same way that yours is a form of response, or extraction? A collaborative process that has both of our work in it. When you come to this ... is some of this from our conversation. (I)t would never matter and it is not named as such. I do believe that gestures mean something. (I)t was quite speculative, it shows itself as hesitant and it is unique and definitely not polished. It is bound […] it is small. (T)he text emphasises the hesitancy. Seen in a different context [...] They have a life outside [...] (a) kind of autonomy. (B)ut they also belong to you. (W)e changed it a lot. Those moments of slippage are recognisable and at the same time you can’t articulate what they are or what they are doing in that moment. They are also difficult to repeat. It is ultimately speculative which isn’t to say not definite. It is not about the body, it is of the body. It is not retreating back into itself. There is more than one layer of gesture in the work. (T)here is the gesture of the finger pointing, the finger has its own particular gestural language but so do both of our bodies. And so does the body of the audience in a way. So there is a sense of […] privileging of a certain kind of gestural motif within the work but that is not the only one that is present. There are these other knocked back gestures in the work, taking place. I was concentrating, but showing that. (B)etween showing and unfolding. There are these different registers of reveal that are happening in the work, there are the reveals that we are consciously deploying and there are those that are happening against our will in a way. (W)hen the finger becomes functional and suddenly has to move a piece of paper out of the way as part of the performance or […] comes into action in a different way, in a different space. I don’t think about those things whilst I am doing it. (P)ushing things around the screen and […] finding the paper. (W)here I am trying to get at something. (Y)ou can see the finger in the frame but you can also see (the whole) finger. There is always a double take. (T)here is (always) this sense of the knowledge of this other thing outside of the context of the frame. There is this ambiguity about which part […] I meant to be paying attention to. Which part of speech am I meant to be paying attention to? […] (A) suggestion that there is this other thing, (w)hen it points to itself. […] (W)hat it points at is pointing at things, […] (how) something can be about something else. […] The finger starts to become self-reflexive about what it is doing, […] It is seen to be looking back on itself somehow. (T)he point of the finger is the extremity of the body […] (t)he far reaches of something. […] (T)he fragments of the text are the extremity of the conversation, […] the things that are left. (T)he rest […] is forcibly knocked back […] (H)ow is the other […] thinking? (T)he thing that is not being said […] is where the work comes from. (T)hat which is produced … as a by-product of intention, (that) reveals itself … in the shadow of what is being consciously produced. (T)he other hand. (S)ometimes it is (just) turning over the script. (T)he repeats are somehow picking up again. Laying hands on as emphasis or italics and blanks as punctuation. (P)unctuation like a stand alone event […] those bits that you miss, (t)hat you can’t plan for. (C)ultivating a language of pointing, but that is not the only language that is operating. (W)ithin the vocabulary of the finger, […] (w)hat does it mean for the pointing the finger to be enveloped by the other hand. (M)uted. I do see assembling physical elements as text […]; putting five objects in a row could be a sentence. (T)he finger is a … building block of language. Does that bring out a different structure of language? (I)t is a kind of writing with unfixed signs, they are always on the move. (A) condensed meaning. Or stupid. Dumb. There is an animal baseness. (T)hinking about the nature of the point (as) […] an emphatic gesture, […] italicising … a drawing of attention. (W)hat are the phatic parts of the finger’s language? What do they add (up) to? How do you point to a point? How do you emphasize a point because it is already emphatic, it is already urgent? What would speech be if all was […] phatic? If speech was (only) emphatic and phatic components … with no content. (W)hat would speech sound like?. (T)his is the language of the finger? Only in the intonation, only in the way that it is inflected does meaning become communicated. What is the volume of the point, when is it being quiet? (I)f you are working with something you can … push it around. There is a fine line, I think. (T)he marks that are drawn are the objects in a way. […] I like to still keep it keep pared down. (The) rehearsal … makes this thing happen […] where you are not quite sure what it is. A sleight of hand. Which might be seen as persuasion […]; (t)he capacity to persuade. (I)t is not based on any sense of conclusion. If you go with this, (maybe) you (will) go with this. Maybe these things. (M)ovement is necessarily punctual. So it has its own grammar. How to lead with a particular gesture and where that gesture begins and ends. And so the time of the gesture and the scope of it and the duration and meaning will already be somehow embodied. (W)riting is … bound to its structure as the body is. Breath is a form of punctuation for the body. That is where the arrows came in, almost like a gestural language interfering with the space of the text. (T)he way that it reminds of the space of the body. (S)paces in the text … spaces that you built in. The arrows and the blanks and the dot dot dot. (P)unctuation coming in there (;) […] leaving room, […] setting up conditions. You leave room … but you don’t know what you are leaving room for; there has to be space. Space and air and gaps […]. (T)he sense of there being room to x or for x. (T)his notion of room which is very different to space. (M)aking room … anticipates what is being made room for; […] in a way that space doesn’t. You make room for (something) to fit in. There is an expectancy […] have an idea of the shape. Room […] (is) never neutral. (S)tructurally in the page breaks and the rips. Room […] functions … invitationally; […] welcoming, inhabitation is somehow built in […] You make a proposition, you make something. You put something out there to be responded to. It is more the gesture. It is obviously speculative; […] you can’t tell what people will take away from it. (I)nhabiting a different kind of practice, […] residing in a different space, […] taking residency in someone else’s practice. (G)uesting … to get a different … perspective; […] (T)he mode of residency, within the work. (W)ithin the structure […] but separate from it; […], the residue of all those thoughts are still there. (A) […] kind of residency structure, or framework within which to perform a set of ideas differently or test them out in a different way. I am not sure what it is anymore, it is no longer the reading that it was. (I)t […] is no longer reading the original script. It never was. (I)t is even further from it. It is definitely different this time around. (T)he work circles, tries to think through […] I don’t think that level of detail is necessarily helpful […] at this stage. (T)o not include any of its origins. What would be the documentation and what would be the performance? (M)ore explicit because of the frame. (I)t is diffcult to discern where the privileged part […] is. Is it in the reading? (T)his productive gap … is opened up […] between the document and the performance. (T)he difference between a text which comes before and a text which comes after … reading. And then where the work is? Is the writing the act of documentation? (W)hat happens if writing comes before it is ever spoken, … is the reading the documentation, is the live the documentation of the text? Is documentation […] before or after. Beforemath. (T)ext is an instrument when you read […] you play (it) or sound it when you read it … you make it perform or not. And there are instruments that will never be played and there are instruments that are equally not seen as objects. But the status is undefined in that sense. Is a text … an instrument that can also exist without being played? Is it only ever a response? (T)his is where it rubs up against, […] (w)hich isn’t to say that it (has) failed. (M)aybe it is an essay, […] a trial, an attempt. (T)he description that we have doesn’t stand any more. Of having something to say but of not being sure what it is. (T)hose things around rehearsal. I would be careful not to make it too direct in relation to that. (I)t comes from a sideways glance. There is a resistance. It is also like with the finger, I want to point to certain things and say certain things, (but) this is a different language. (T)he […] space of starting and ending, (is) where the work is. And […] the where of the work. (T)he work is always not in the work, the work is always elsewhere. (T)he actual practice of the work is never there (but is always there); […] the points at which decisions are made, the decision to do something. (I)t seems like … (the) work is … only ever an accumulation … of decisions. There is a response to something. (T)aking responsibility, or being responsible to the context. (R)esponsibility (is) not being in control but being able to respond. (T)he tangential is my responsibility now, it has turned a corner. Looking away, all those things. There seems to be so much more leverage or room or space in that. (R)esponsibility might be to do with how you keep something in motion, or how you keep something feeling as if it has some life. (R)evisiting … an idea becomes more and more problematic because the original context gets changed each time. I think that is what we were looking for. I think that is why we haven’t done it before now. (T)his is somehow more to do with the question of where to locate something, where something exists temporally and spatially … , (the) where of the work. This has to develop its own vocabulary. (I)t might be to do with […] this slippery sense of where is the work […] Where does it start and where does it end. Where does the documentation begin, where does the performance begin, where are you and where am I in the work? Just a space to test out a few different things. Over the course of the process we will find ones that speak to us. I am not even sure that this would be it. (I)t is very close to memories of earlier inhabitations. I think there is room for documents that don’t get anywhere. (T)hat sense of struggling to find a way of articulating something […] and that sense of struggle to locate that thing that you are thinking you are looking at. (W)hat we are doing is (still) struggling to find the right words. It is a struggle to find the right words which isn’t simply a repetition, […] but a struggle to find the right words for the next context. (T)his is changing and moving. I am going to go back to the text. I think that the shape of it will … be shaped by the situation […] in ways which are implicit and that we can’t articulate yet. (It is) was talking about writing but it (is) also talking about practice. Maybe it is to with how the practice of writing puts into question where something starts and ends, because as a structure it is porous. (W)hat is the role of the documenter, where does the documenter begin and end? Why the document, how the document? (W)riting is the performer and needs to be addressed explicitly as such. (T)he relationship between writing and written, […] the relationship between the act of drawing to what is drawn. I am not sure whether the document is the written to the performance in the way that writing is. (It) is much more complex than that. (T)here is a process and a product, and a product that comes after the product, the product about the product. Or a product that is wholly synchronous to production, to process, which is what this work is. The documentation of the work is actually the making of it, […] it carries on. (We) rewound it and it had a life. (T)here has to be some replay, […] when we rewind it and play it again. (T)he work being the thing that documents itself in its own production. We want the replay. (And) the empty stage and the words on the wall and the hands. We have to be very careful about what is already out there. (T)here are slight differences between our versions of the work. Nothing too serious […] but as time has gone on […] ideas travel. (M)y act of writing is wholly in the edit, […] wholly speech and edit.We could just reformat something. (T)he image could be quite abstracted. I haven’t got a lot of memory. I don’t save. (S)omething that returns. It still needs to mark itself differently from the first one. We certainly don’t need the first sentence. Maybe it could be in relation to. That is still the case. We are still repeating, re-working, re-writing, re-reading. In relation to. And in relation to questions around documentation and performance. The documentation. Documentation slash performance. Or action slash object. Or both. Or writing and performance. In relation to. Writing and written. Or writing and performance. Documentation and performance. In relation to. Generating. In relation to documentation. Action. Object. It is about art-writing […] about the pre- and post- moments of practice. The before and after of documents. Object. Action. Performance. It feels as though there needs to be something else. […] The directness of the text (that) says nothing at the same time. Document as performance. I am not sure it is about that. It signals something, something else is going on. In brackets. Document and performance. A shared writing. Essaying. Let’s leave it without. The life of. The performance of documents. To relocate ideas generating from, through and in relation to. The thing. The reading presses on two writers and two writing practices. Coming together whilst focusing on the tension between the improvised and rehearsed. It is something here that has changed. Between document and performance, the play. Maybe we keep it in relation to. Maybe we just call it performance writing. Something here is to do with the question of locating where the work is, the play between the pre- and post-. Maybe this is where recorded live comes in, the tension between. States of not knowing within the performed act of writing. Is it the written within the performance of writing, because this could be the document? Could we just have a go at trying to write something. Pooling it. A combination of looking and reading. Focusing on those moments where one practice ends and another begins. The making of the work and its documentation. Performing documents. I am not sure if that is too much responding to the frame. I was more focusing on these sentences. The reading presses on two writers and two writing practices coming together, whilst focusing on the process, product and performance of text. Or writing. Thinking about some things that we are now sharing, it feels like we are now sharing different things from the last times. Indexicality. Movement. Punctuation. Porosity. Improvization and the not of text or writing. This (still needs) to have the body in there. Provisional or failed states. (T)he making of the work and its documentation. I think it could be in relation to, performance, document, live writing, writing, written. They don’t need to know it is in response to a conversation either. The slashes for me keep it quite open. It is definitely two of us. Two writers, two practices coming together to focus on. Two writing practices. I thought this is getting more specific about what we are saying about writing or the written […] Where one practices ends and another … I think it is implicitly about that. Maybe it is focusing on the points of porosity between the making of the work and its documentation. The porosity of the work in relation to its document. (A) word (that) we have both talked about in very different ways, but that is not so say it couldn’t work here. And the not. Which is perhaps another way of saying the fallibility of, but in a more productive way I think. Shall we think about those. Between the making. Acts of making or the performance. The performance of writing and its documentation. (W)e are straying. The porosity between acts of, between the event of, between the event of making - the process. The process and the product. Focusing on the porosity of making a text and its documentation. Or the making of a text and its material nature. Porosity of or porosity between. Focusing on the porosity, or the slippage. The slippage. The slippage of, between? Is this too specific? We are calling it a reading then but not really prefacing that it is a reading — does that come out of nowhere? The collaborative reading. I like porosity rather than slippage. Porosity between process and product. Or the porosity of process, product and performance of text. Question mark. And then you could literally have of text, after product. Between the process and the product of the text. Something about provisional states here, or the not. Focusing on. The porosity there seems strange. The porosity of. Interchangeable nature of. The beforemath. Focusing. Of text being in question, in brackets. It is about making. Coming together. Coming together. In. Through. Highlighting the. Inhabiting the. To inhabit. Of the. Between. Process and product. Its provisional nature, of. Focusing. Shared. Failed states. Porosity. It is not whilst — we are coming together to actually do this. We are focusing on. Focusing on the provisional and porous relation between process and product. Focusing on. Between process and product. It is an index. It doesn’t need to be longer than that. Between the. Repeat, rework, rewrite and react to questions of performance / document, writing / written. The work presses on two writers and two writing practices coming together, focusing on the porous and provisional relation between process, product and performance (of text). I wonder if. Shortened to repeat, rewrite, rework, re-read. Repeat, rework, rewrite ideas about. Repeat, rework, rewrite, re-read. Read. Repeat, rework, rewrite, react. Rework and react. Repeat and rework. Ideas about. Performance document. Between, twice. I don’t think we need to be too theoretical here. It is simple. Presses on two writers and two writing practices. Maybe it is just that. Two writers. Two writing practices. The performance. Process, product and performance of text. It is a way of getting around the prose, more structural. Equals two writers. Equals two writing practices. Equals the porous and provisional relation. The first sentence is a better sentence. Coming together on. As. Ideas. Rework. Ideas generated from. The reading. Coming together to read those things. Does that need to be back? A collaborative reading. We are up here. Repeat and rework. We won’t be much longer. About or around. It is direct. Literally. It won’t explain what we are doing, just signal towards something. In a very provisional, open in a way. Read. Rework. Read and rework. Is that too much? Read and rework. Read and rework. Read and rework. The binary. Read. We could have read or re-read — the binary. Essay. It won’t mean anything. Just essay. Performance, document, live reading. Essay the relationship between. Spelling it out. It is just a relationship. A collaborative reading. Works against it in a way. To essay. Essay is going to be a useful word for us. Signalling. Essaying. Trialling. A collaborative essay. A performative essay. It was a performative reading at one point. Live recording, writing, written. Essay the relationship between. The reading. The work presses on two writers and two writing practices. Coming together on. Coming together to explore. Coming together. To explore. The work presses on two writers and two writing practices. Exploring. To explore the porous and provisional relationship of process, product, performance (of text). The work presses on two writers and two writing practices coming together to explore the process and product of text. To explore process, product and performance (of text). To explore process, product and performance. To explore the porosity of text: the process, product and performance of text. This collaborative reading. Relationship or relation between. If we want it to be more. That serves a purpose. Now. At this moment in time. Maybe that is a useful place to start. This reading presses. On. And as. We can just put another word in there. A guide. Reading. Performance. Writing. Essaying.
It is […] going back to how it felt […] (t)he nearness, (waiting) to be convinced […] (T)his being the back and this the front and (then) the shadow [...] (W)hat will become documentation […], where is it? Is (this) documentation because what is it documenting? (T)here is a purposefulness in … that came from it being completely aimless in the way that it was started. We (do not) know what (it) is going to be before we have made it. What is known is not the work, it is only the framework […] Some of these things I won’t take with me. (W)hat (is) the pull of that work - is it just that it is unfolding, is that enough? […] What agency does that have? (T)he difference between showing something and something unfolding […] (I)t is showing something but not knowing what it is showing. (T)here is a sense of punctuation, following your punctuation. (T)here is … pause, there are blanks, it is modular and movable. (T)here is a structure. (A) structure that allows for these repetitions. (I)t is blank but also has a trace of what has been there before somehow. It has some memory […]. (T)ake your time. All these things going on which I will have to continue thinking about even if I am unfolding something. (B)y calling them diagrams I am trying to remove the notion of it being emotive. The word diagram does have a sort of spatial relationship. (W)hat I am trying to say … is an articulation of space, a very structured one, in the same way that writing is. (Or) more about drawing as pulling, drawing up, […] not to do with an internal space as […] but more as conjuring, […] calling something. (T)here seems to be something about a call that is being made between the texts … and the frame. (D)rawing not away from the paper, but […] pulling up. (I)t is a … beckoning […] something is being diagrammed towards but as an invitation to make appear. (T)here is something of the practice that seeps through. (T)rying to say something differently or the how. (I)t just serves a purpose. There (are) a set of latent ideas that […] you don’t yet know. (T)here is a word that signals this without referencing (them) directly. There is a sense that words are always prompts. […] Prompts and markers, […] (somehow) future-past. They … refer to a set of ideas that have already been thought about, but are also not quite thought through enough to know what they are saying. (A) material practice somehow. (W)hat they take away from it is completely unknown. (I)t is an open system but you don’t quite know how it is open (;) it has yet to be opened. (T)here is just enough room, (to) take the hint. Taking away in order to reveal the taking away(;) it is not about deliberately hiding. It feels as though there is a definite attempt to get at something. The thing is definitely what I am trying to get at. It is that point there. That is what I am trying to get at, all these different ways of circling that, […] pointing at it. Only that thing might change. (P)ointing to the punctuation mark (that) isn’t there anymore, it has moved on. Where is the thing in the work, what does the work circle? The finger … circles the point but … what is it circling? There is a sense of intent. There is a sense of purpose for the work, without it really knowing what it is. It is definite in some way. (Our) role (is) … one of […] steering the writing. […] (Y)ou place things in the way […] The work wants to be made. You have to keep placing these things in the way to send it off course. (W)e want to conceive of things […] where one thing comes after another(;) (and yet) there are different ways of playing with the order(ing) of something. Things don’t (always) unfold. (B)ecause of the way that things are produced, […] continuity is a construct of many edits […] It is in the organisation. The systems are hidden in many ways. (W)e need to find ways of releasing the tension, […] but we don’t quite know where from. (W)e don’t know where the point of give is going to be. (Y)ou have to work around the limit to find a way out. (It) comes back to testing them out, to testing a different kind of limit. (T)rying to make a way out of something that didn’t exist before […], working a hole into something. (T)his is how something shifts from being a closed system to being an open system; (y)ou make an opening. […] (R)eading unpicks the words or the meaning or the page or the fabric of the text. (I)t is inviting something else. The document (has) […] become marginal. (I)t is not trusted. But (this) pushes it […]. (P)erformance already being a document … already documenting something […] (It) solidifies that space of thinking into a thing, which is in itself (a) reworking of something that has happened elsewhere. Things always comes from other things, so performances always come from documents, as documents always comes from performances. […] There will be documents again. They will be performances again. (T)he work being a document of the work’s development, or the work being a document of the thinking space which allowed it to happen. (It) documents or gives shape to a set of things that came before. […] (I)t is (easy) to forget what goes into the making of the work. It just seemed. (I)t was just there. (Y)ou […] set up conditions and the work comes into that space. (T)hings are drawn out by circling or (by) drawing a line through […] (T)hings are pulled forward or pushed back (and) things that are pushed back are forgotten […]. (I)t felt like it had never been in any other way. (T)he work is already being a document […] (T)he time it takes to make a piece of work becomes condensed into (the time) it takes to perform it […] (T)here are these latent decisions that have happened. There is something about beginnings and endings of things […] What should be the thing that comes after is often the thing that comes before. (Y)ou can never tell how things are perceived. (T)he active spaces of work […] are the spaces where I am not quite sure what is happening. Maybe this is a different kind of thinking. (The) speed at which it has to happen doesn’t negate its critical facility. Its not like reflection (always has to) go slow. (W)e are pointing to this very definite space here. And how this relates to there. It is almost like that gesture is drawn in advance of knowing what it enables. (I)t needs the pointing […] like italics (;) […] drawing attention, emphasizing. […] What is the point? […] What is the nature of [..] the act of pointing? What is being said by how it is being pointed […] (by) the approach […] What is the point, what is the point of that? It isn’t that, it’s that […] It is the getting to, how. Going back to it is more how. (T)he approach and the withdrawal […]; (t)hese surpluses that keep coming off the page in a way. There is certainly not a direct view. The notion of what you miss is critical. (T)aking tangents. Working away but not away from. (A) thing in flux. Throwing phrases; […] pressing, pressing […] There are these two very distinct, very separate … things going on […] which I don’t think are completely dialogic. There is a sense of sometimes leading, sometimes following […] Maybe it is smaller, maybe it is like that. This is almost a conversation. (W)e come back to the hands and the body and me […] And you bring it back to you. It could even function without us there. That and that and then this, […] running alongside. So are we pausing then. Let’s pause. And close. What would it mean to be close? […] But I think that still is an important part of this. (D)ifferent contexts put pressure on the work to do something. (W)e are responding to gestures that have come before. (W)hat we are saying is coming after the event of pointing always. A point may be indicated in the text by a space maybe or a gap. I don’t think we are trying to explain the gestures. (T)hey are almost just prompts for a conversation […] Maybe that would be a starting point. It is very delicate […] what you map on to physicality. The gestures […] detract. (T)here is […] something to do with how. (I)t was never really anything. (I)t was only editing what was already there. This is the meeting point. (B)ut then there is the performance which is another form of transcription. I am not sure which way it is. There is definitely a sense that I am doing that. Not all of them made it in. There were very faint touches […] (w)here the hands (would) appear … in what I was saying. (T)he finger starts to be a mode of speech, […] the finger is reading […] the finger is writing, […] it is both. It is equally unpicking a system that already exists as reading. There is world that you are brushing up against. There still is that implicit distance. If I fall […] if I do collapse it too far […] Is the text I speak mine, because it is literally fastened on to the end of my shoulders or the end of my wrists? (I)t was quite speculative, it shows itself as hesitant and it is unique and definitely not polished. It is bound […] it is small. (T)he text emphasizes the hesitancy. They are also difficult to repeat. It is ultimately speculative which isn’t to say not definite. It is not about the body - it is of the body. It is not retreating back into itself. (B)etween showing and unfolding. There are these different registers of reveal. (P)ushing things around the screen and […] finding the paper. There is always a double take. (T)here is (always) this sense of the knowledge of this other thing outside of the context of the frame. (A) suggestion that there is this other thing, (w)hen it points to itself. […] (W)hat it points at is pointing at things, […] (how) something can be about something else. […] The finger starts to become self-reflexive about what it is doing, […] it is seen to be looking back on itself somehow. (T)he point of the finger is the extremity of the body […] (t)he far reaches of something. […] (T)he fragments of the text are the extremity of the conversation, […] the things that are left. (T)he rest […] is forcibly knocked back […] (H)ow is the other […] thinking? (T)he thing that is not being said […] is where the work comes from. (T)hat which is produced … is a by-product of intention, (that) reveals itself … in the shadow of what is being consciously produced. (T)he other hand. (S)ometimes it is (just) turning over the script. Laying hands on as emphasis or italics and blanks as punctuation […] those bits that you miss, (t)hat you can’t plan for. (C)ultivating a language of pointing, but that is not the only language that is operating. Does that bring out a different structure of language? (I)t is a kind of writing with unfixed signs, they are always on the move. (T)hinking about the nature of the point (as) […] an emphatic gesture […] Italicising … a drawing of attention. What do they add (up) to? How do you point to a point? (I)t is already emphatic, it is already urgent? Only in the intonation, only in the way that it is inflected does meaning become communicated. What is the volume of the point? When is it being quiet? (I)f you are working with something you can … push it around.. (T)he marks that are drawn are the objects in a way. […] I like to still keep it pared down. Which might be seen as persuasion […]; (t)he capacity to persuade. (I)t is not based on anything truthful […] nor on any sense of conclusion. If you go with this, (maybe) you (will) go with this. Maybe these things. (W)here that gesture begins and ends. (W)riting is … bound to its structure as the body is. That is where the arrows came in, almost like a gestural language interfering with the space of the text. (T)he way that it reminds of the space of the body. (S)paces in the text … ; spaces that you built in. The arrows and the blanks and the dot dot dot. (P)unctuation coming in there (;) […] leaving room, […] setting up conditions. You leave room … but you don’t know what you are leaving room for. (T)he sense of there being room to x or for x. (M)aking room … anticipates what is being made room for; […] You make room for (something) to fit in. There is an expectancy […] have an idea of the shape. (S)tructurally in the page breaks and the rips. Room […] functions … invitationally; […] welcoming ... inhabitation is somehow built in […] You make a proposition, you make something. It is obviously speculative; […] you can’t tell what people will take away from it. (I)nhabiting a different kind of practice, […] residing in a different space, […] taking residency in someone else’s practice. (G)uesting … to get a different … perspective. […] (W)ithin the structure […] but separate from it; […] the residue of all those thoughts are still there. I am not sure what it is anymore, it is no longer the reading that it was. (I)t […] is no longer reading the original script. It never was. It is definitely different this time around. (T)he work circles, tries to think through […] (I)t is diffcult to discern where is the privileged part? […] Is it in the reading? (T)his productive gap … is opened up […] between the document and the performance. (T)his is where it rubs up against, […] (w)hich isn’t to say that it (has) failed. (M)aybe it is an essay, […] a trial, an attempt. (T)he description that we have doesn’t stand any more. Of having something to say but of not being sure what it is. I would be careful not to make it too direct. (I)t comes from a sideways glance. There is a resistance. It is also like with the finger, I want to point to certain things and say certain things, (but) this is a different language. (T)he […] space of starting and ending, (is) where the work is. And […] the where of the work. (T)he work is always not in the work, the work is always elsewhere. (T)he actual practice of the work is never there (but is always there); […] the points at which decisions are made, the decision to do something. (I)t seems like … (the) work is … only ever an accumulation … of decisions. There is a response to something. (T)his is somehow more to do with the question of where to locate something, where something exists temporally and spatially … , (the) where of the work. This has to develop its own vocabulary. […] (W)here does it start and where does it end? (I)t is very close to memories of earlier inhabitations. I think there is room for documents that don’t get anywhere. (T)hat sense of struggling to find a way of articulating something […] and that sense of struggle to locate that thing that you are thinking you are looking at. (W)hat we are doing is (still) struggling to find the right words. (T)his is changing and moving. I am going to go back to the text. I think that the shape of it will … be shaped by the situation […] in ways which are implicit and that we can’t articulate yet. (W)holly synchronous to production, to process, which is what this work is. The documentation of the work is actually the making of it, […] it carries on. (We) rewound it and it had a life. (T)here has to be some replay, […] when we rewind it and play it again. (T)he work being the thing that documents itself in its own production. We want the replay. (And) the empty stage and the words on the wall and the hands [...] (M)y act of writing is wholly in the edit, […] wholly speech and edit. I haven’t got a lot of memory. I don’t save (s)omething that returns. It still needs to mark itself differently from the first one. Maybe it could be in relation to. That is still the case. We are still repeating, re-working, re-writing, re-reading. In relation to. It feels as though there needs to be something else. […] The directness of the text (that) says nothing at the same time. I am not sure it is about that. It signals something, something else is going on. In brackets. The reading presses on two writers and two writing practices. Coming together whilst focusing on the tension between the improvized and rehearsed ... Between document and performance, the play. Maybe we keep it in relation to. If that is too much responding to the frame? This (still needs) to have the body in there. Provisional or failed states. It is definitely two of us, and ... of text being in question, in brackets. It is about making. Coming together. Coming together. In. Through. Between. We are coming together to actually do this. It doesn’t need to be more than that. The work presses on two writers and two writing practices coming together. I wonder if. Shortened to repeat, rewrite, rework, re-read. Rework and react. Repeat and rework. Maybe it is just that. Two writers. Two writing practices. The performance. Process, product and performance of text. It is a way of getting around the prose. Coming together on. As. Generated from. The reading. Coming together to read those things. Maybe that is a useful place to start. This reading presses. On.
(S)ome of these things I won’t take with me: […] the nearness, (the waiting) to be convinced […] (I)t is unfolding. Close to memories of earlier inhabitations. It still needs to mark itself differently. (T)ake your time […]
(T)here is a structure […]; a sense of punctuation. It has memory […]. The trace of what has been there before.
(T)here is a definite attempt to get at something. The thing is definitely what I am trying to get at.
It is that point there. Only that thing might change.
(B)etween showing something and something unfolding […] (t)here are these different registers of reveal. (P)ushing things around the screen and […] finding the paper.
(A) call is made between the texts […] and the frame. (S)omething is being diagrammed towards […]; an invitation to make appear.
A gesture is drawn in advance of knowing what it enables.
The finger circles the point but […] what is it circling. (Our) role (is) one of […] steering […] the work (that) wants to be made (by) plac(ing) things in its way. Things don’t (always) unfold. (C)ontinuity is a construct of many edits […] It is in the organization, (yet) the systems (remain) hidden.
(To move) from a closed system […] (y)ou (have to) make an opening […] (R)eading unpicks the words or the meaning or the page or the fabric of the text.
(The) performance (is) already (a) reworking; things always come from things. (I)t is (easy) to forget what goes into the making of the work; (the) things that came before.
There are latent decisions that have happened (elsewhere), (t)hat you will miss (or) (t)hat cannot be planned for. (T)hings are drawn out by circling or (by) drawing a line through […]
(T)hings are pulled forward or pushed back (and) things that are pushed back are (often) forgotten.
(T)he time it takes to make a piece of work (is) condensed into (the time) it takes to perform it […]
(W)hat we are saying is coming after the event of pointing. (W)e are responding to (earlier) gestures. (W)hat should […] come after is often (what) comes before.
(T)he active spaces of the work […] are the spaces where I am not quite sure what is happening. (The) speed at which (this) happen(s) does not negate its critical facility.
(W)e are pointing to this very definite space here. And how this relates to there. What is being said by how it is being pointed […] (T)hese surpluses that keep coming off the page. That and that and then this […]; running alongside.
There is not a direct view. The notion of what you miss is critical. (T)aking tangents […] pressing, pressing […] The gestures […] detract. (F)aint touches […] (w)here the hands appear in what I (am) saying. (S)ometimes (they are just) turning over the script. (Or) laying of the hands (is) […] as punctuation.
It is ultimately speculative which isn’t to say not definite. It is not about the body, it is of the body. It is not retreating. (They) are trying to say something, (but) not […] enough to know what they are saying.
(T)he thing that is not being said […] is where the work comes from […]; (it) reveals itself […] in the shadow of what is being consciously produced.
(T)he point of the finger is the extremity of the body […]; fragments of text are the extremity of (a) conversation […]
(T)he rest […] is forcibly knocked back […] The things that are left; (t)he other hand.
(W)riting with unfixed signs (that) are always on the move. What do they add (up) to? (A) drawing of attention. (I)t is already emphatic; it is already urgent? (But) what is the volume of the point […] when is it being quiet?
(W)riting is […] bound to its structure as the body is. (A)rrows remind of the space of the body, (as) spaces in the text. (L)eaving room […] for (something else); arrows and blanks and the dot dot dot. There is expectancy […] (but only) an idea of the shape.
(I)t is difficult to discern the privileged part […] (A) productive gap […] is opened up […] between document and performance. (It) is almost a conversation (and yet) I don’t think (it is) completely dialogic. (I)t rubs up against, […] (w)hich isn’t to say that it fails.
T)he work circles, tries to think through. (T)he […] space of starting and ending (is) the where of the work. (T)he points (where) a decision is made … to do something. (O)nly ever an accumulation […] of decisions.
It has to develop its own vocabulary. (W)e are […] (still) struggling to find the right words. (This) will … be shaped by the situation […] in ways which are implicit and that we can’t articulate yet.
(T)here is room (in) documents that don’t get anywhere (and in) the empty stage and the words on the wall and the hands.
The directness of the text […] says nothing at the same time. It signals (that) something […] else is going on. It could be in relation to. Maybe that is a useful place to start. This reading presses […] on and as. Maybe it is just that.
(T)here is a structure […]; a sense of punctuation. It has memory […]. The trace of what has been there before.
(T)here is a definite attempt to get at something. The thing is definitely what I am trying to get at.
It is that point there. Only that thing might change.
(B)etween showing something and something unfolding […] (t)here are these different registers of reveal. (P)ushing things around the screen and […] finding the paper.
(A) call is made between the texts […] and the frame. (S)omething is being diagrammed towards […]; an invitation to make appear.
A gesture is drawn in advance of knowing what it enables.
The finger circles the point but […] what is it circling. (Our) role (is) one of […] steering […] the work (that) wants to be made (by) plac(ing) things in its way. Things don’t (always) unfold. (C)ontinuity is a construct of many edits […] It is in the organisation, (yet) the systems (remain) hidden.
(To move) from a closed system […] (y)ou (have to) make an opening […] (R)eading unpicks the words or the meaning or the page or the fabric of the text.
(The) performance (is) already (a) reworking; things always come from things. (I)t is (easy) to forget what goes into the making of the work; (the) things that came before.
There are latent decisions that have happened (elsewhere), (t)hat you will miss (or) (t)hat cannot be planned for. (T)hings are drawn out by circling or (by) drawing a line through […]
(T)hings are pulled forward or pushed back (and) things that are pushed back are (often) forgotten.
(T)he time it takes to make a piece of work (is) condensed into (the time) it takes to perform it […]
(W)hat we are saying is coming after the event of pointing. (W)e are responding to (earlier) gestures. (W)hat should […] come after is often (what) comes before.
(T)he active spaces of the work […] are the spaces where I am not quite sure what is happening. (The) speed at which (this) happen(s) does not negate its critical facility.
(W)e are pointing to this very definite space here. And how this relates to there. What is being said by how it is being pointed […] (T)hese surpluses that keep coming off the page. That and that and then this […]; running alongside.
There is not a direct view. The notion of what you miss is critical. (T)aking tangents […] pressing, pressing […] The gestures […] detract. (F)aint touches […] (w)here the hands appear in what I (am) saying. (S)ometimes (they are just) turning over the script. (Or) laying of the hands (is) […] as punctuation.
It is ultimately speculative which isn’t to say not definite. It is not about the body, it is of the body. It is not retreating. (They) are trying to say something, (but) not […] enough to know what they are saying.
(T)he thing that is not being said […] is where the work comes from […]; (it) reveals itself […] in the shadow of what is being consciously produced.
(T)he point of the finger is the extremity of the body […]; fragments of text are the extremity of (a) conversation […]
(T)he rest […] is forcibly knocked back […] The things that are left; (t)he other hand.
(W)riting with unfixed signs (that) are always on the move. What do they add (up) to? (A) drawing of attention. (I)t is already emphatic; it is already urgent? (But) what is the volume of the point […] when is it being quiet?
(W)riting is […] bound to its structure as the body is. (A)rrows remind of the space of the body, (as) spaces in the text. (L)eaving room […] for (something else); arrows and blanks and the dot dot dot. There is expectancy […] (but only) an idea of the shape.
(I)t is difficult to discern the privileged part […] (A) productive gap […] is opened up […] between document and performance. (It) is almost a conversation (and yet) I don’t think (it is) completely dialogic. (I)t rubs up against, […] (w)hich isn’t to say that it fails.
T)he work circles, tries to think through. (T)he […] space of starting and ending (is) the where of the work. (T)he points (where) a decision is made … to do something. (O)nly ever an accumulation […] of decisions.
It has to develop its own vocabulary. (W)e are […] (still) struggling to find the right words. (This) will … be shaped by the situation […] in ways which are implicit and that we can’t articulate yet.
(T)here is room (in) documents that don’t get anywhere (and in) the empty stage and the words on the wall and the hands.
The directness of the text […] says nothing at the same time. It signals (that) something […] else is going on. It could be in relation to. Maybe that is a useful place to start. This reading presses […] on and as. Maybe it is just that.
(T)here is a definite attempt to get at something. The thing is definitely what I am trying to get at. It is that point there. Only that thing might change.
(S)ome of these things I won’t take with me […] Nearness. (Waiting) to be convinced.
(I)t is […] unfolding. Close to memories of earlier inhabitations. It still needs to mark itself differently.
(T)here is a structure […]; a sense of punctuation. It has memory […]. Something (always) seeps through.
(B)etween showing something and something unfolding […]; (t)here are these different registers of reveal. (P)ushing things around the screen and […] finding the paper.
(S)omething is being diagrammed towards […] A gesture is drawn in advance of knowing what it enables.
The finger circles the point. (S)teering the work (that) wants to be made. Plac(ing) things in its way.
Things don’t (always) unfold. (C)ontinuity is a construct. Taking away in order to reveal the taking away.
(To move) from a closed system […] (y)ou (have to) make an opening. (R)eading unpicks the words (on) the page or the fabric of the text.
(The) performance (is) already (a) reworking; things always come from things. (I)t is (easy) to forget what goes into the making of the work; (the) things that came before.
There are latent decisions that have happened, without knowing. That you will miss (or) (t)hat cannot be planned for.
Things are drawn out by circling or (by) drawing a line through.
Things are pulled forward or pushed back (and) things that are pushed back are (often) forgotten.
(T)he time it takes to make the work (is) condensed into (the time) it takes to perform it […] (W)hat we are saying is coming after the event of pointing. (W)e are responding to (earlier) gestures. (W)hat should […] come after is often (what) comes before.
(T)he active spaces of the work […] are the (pl)aces where I am not quite sure what is happening.
(W)e are pointing to this very definite space here. And how this relates to there. What is being said by how it is being pointed […] (T)hese surpluses that keep coming off the page.
That and that and then this […]; running alongside.
There is not a direct view. The notion of what you miss is critical. The gestures […] detract. Pressing.
Pressing. (F)aint touches […] (w)here the hands appear in what I (am) saying. (S)ometimes (they are just) turning over the script. (The) laying of the hands (is) […] like punctuation.
It is ultimately speculative which isn’t to say not definite. It is not about the body, it is of the body. It is not retreating. (They) are trying to say something, (but) not […] enough to know what they are saying.
(T)he thing that is not being said […] is where the work comes from […]. (It) reveals itself […] in the shadow of what is being consciously produced.
(T)he point of the finger is the extremity of the body […]; (as) fragments of text are the extremity of (a) conversation […] (T)he rest […] is forcibly knocked back […] The things that are left. The other hand.
(A) drawing of attention. (I)t is already emphatic. (But) what is the volume of the point when is it being quiet?
There is expectancy […] (but only) an idea of the shape.
(I)t is difficult to discern the privileged part […] (A) productive gap […] is opened up between.
(It) is almost a conversation (and yet) I don’t think (it is) completely dialogic. (I)t rubs up against, […] (w)hich is not to say that it fails.
(T)he work circles, tries to think through. (T)he […] space of starting and ending (is) the where of the work. (T)he points (where) a decision is made … to do something. It is (o)nly ever an accumulation […] of decisions.
It has to develop its own vocabulary. (This) will … be shaped by the situation […] in ways which are implicit and that we can’t articulate yet.
(T)here is room (in) documents that don’t get anywhere
(and in) the empty stage
and the words on the wall […]
and the hands.
The directness of the text […] says nothing at the same time.
It signals (that) something else is going on. This reading presses […] on and as.
It could be in relation to. It is just that. Maybe that is a useful place to start.
This exposition shows the distillation of conversation transcript into a poetic, vocative text. However, within Re— the text itself has been presented visually, graphically, temporally, relationally, performatively, through performance lectures, moving-image installations, and various kind of script/scores.
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6. This PDF shows the layout for the textual ‘script’ used within the performance lecture. The script is a direct distillation from transcribed conversation.
7. Documentation of the performance lecture. The actual performance lecture comprised two parts: Part 1: Two distillations of a conversation were presented side by side. One mode of distillation involved a live reading of the textual distillation that had been ‘condensed’ from the original conversation transcript (See 1 for the script). The second mode of distillation involved a visual-diagrammatic tabletop performance – a diagram drawn, a finger pointing – that was simultaneously filmed/recorded and projected live. In turn, this projection was presented adjacent to a series of textual fragments – creating moments of connection and disconnection with the spoken and shown components. Part 2: Following the live-performed section, the recorded material directly from the live performance was re-presented as a projection, where the material was encountered without the spoken word component. The documentation presented is from the second part of the performance lecture, as documentation was not made of Part 1.
8. This image/text configuration attempts to show something of the interplay between the read/spoken and the visual-diagrammatic components of the performance lecture – and could be conceived as a kind of ‘score’. These scores have since been used for reactivating the material as a performance reading (alongside the documents of the performance) within various conference presentations, including New Modes of Art Writing II: Intersections of the Critical and the Creative Voice, Manchester School of Art, 10th November 2017; Critical Reinventions, University of East Anglia, 12 May 2018; 11th International Conference on Artistic Research, University of Plymouth, April 2018; In Dialogue symposium, Nottingham/Lincoln/Derby, November 2019; Elastic Writing in Artistic Research, UniArts, Helsinki, August 2021.
