Oh Well...

Another year's Experimentica has drawn to a close. So what have we learnt? The current Chapter site-redevelopment may or may not have hindered this year's proceedings, but as I am a mere "Saturday girl," i deign not to comment any further. I think everybody managed admirably, even wonderfully, under the present circumstances. In passing, I would like to relate my final encounters of the festival.


The Hare and I met to have a few drinks and discuss the Devil. It transpired that both of us, at some time in our lives, had happened to be His consort. What the hell did you expect? We popped up to see Shaun Caton doing one of his eight-hour, "shamanic" performances. Now, while in the past I may have dabbled in -- OK, I mean thought about -- shamanic practice, these days I can take it or leave it. Balancing a giant stick on top of your head for twenty minutes may be some people's cup of tea, but these days I would be more inclined to attempt to resolve the world's conflicts via witty repartee; that's just me.

We went on to see the gorgeous! Paul Granjon do a collaborative piece with a Japanese artist, in a room full to the brim with technological knick-knacks. It was all very entertaining, but it must be said I am not an expert in boys and how they play around with their bits and bobs. I started to panic, and turned to the Hare to ask what we could possibly say about it all. I hadn't even started to move my lips when, instinctively, she replied, 'I don't think I'm going to write about this.'

Whew.

We spent the rest of the evening in the midst of the Swansea mafia, in order to witness a durational performance by Adele Vye. Beginning at 7pm, she would continue her beguiling and brave metaphorical journey into the wee small hours, in full public view in the storefront-style window of the G39 gallery. I was intrigued by how the passing drunks, on witnessing the heavily-cloaked Vye, would pass comment -- assuming the performer was male. I would like to write a little aside on the gender politics of this, but considering the deplorable nature of the Cardiff sots in question, why waste my breath?

We would have liked to have kept tender vigil with Adele through the night if we could, but we were frozen half to death and needed to make the rail-replacement bus back to the homestead. After our great struggle with fans of a contemporary comedy duo I would rather not name, we were relieved to get back. Ambling down the High Street, artist Gemma Copp and I were surprised to see that the sandwich-board that sits outside to advertise the Elysium artspace had been left out for the night. 'Hmm,' I said to Gemma, ' that's not gonna be wrecked by the morning.' I dragged the sign around and left it more securly at the backdoor of the gallery. Gemma got out her mobile and phoned the curator most likely to blame for this act of negligence. His response was, to quote: 'Well, I never.'

SUSHI LUNCHBOXES £1 ONLY

Gwilly Edmondez and Richard Bowers - Pandaemonium

Make mine a G & T

May I offer my hearty salutations and thanks to Esther Pilkington, Daniel Ladnar, Sandra Laueri and Gareth Llyr for their inspirational performance in 'Random People (Versions 1-5)' last night in the theatre. (To all who missed it just close your eyes and imagine you hadn't).

Personally, I will be taking my newly learned strategies for overcoming stage fright and public speaking to Newport where I will be teaching animation to 50 BA students next Tuesday, God help me! Presenting an idea to a large group of people is a nerve shattering experience that many of us avoid at all cost and no amount of preparation can compensate for the memory lapses, technical hitches or lack of response from one's audience that result in private melt-down. However, there are ways to help make it all run smoothly.

For instance, Power Point, bullet points on individual cards, props, good old blackboard and chalk, weaving in personal experiences, wearing a disguise, demonstration, and if all else fails, imagining your audience naked. Evidently it takes courage to get on stage and deliver your piece, whether you are the author or whether you are interpreting the idea of another person but the conclusion I have come to is that a little vulnerability goes a long way.

Versions 1-5 was in turn funny, painful, sensitive, engaging, endearing, courageous and entertaining, delivered with authenticity and conviction and full of individual personality. By the final and fifth version (which thankfully did not involve audience participation) the four of them had us eating out of their hands, or at least declaring love! The chemistry between them was accentuated for me by the odd technical blip which, far from being distracting, only added to the warmth of the performance as they were genuinely, visibly and vocally sorry for each other when it happened.

They didn't get to hear the audience applause at the end as they had left the room but if you are reading this, Esther, Daniel, Sandra and Gareth,

"We love you!".

Rum Mingers

Is it just me, or do butterflies fly more quickly these days? It had been my belief that it was customary for them to flutter, but whenever I do see them now and then, they always dash at me like fiends. Perhaps I'm becoming sensitive in my old age.

I apologize if my recollecting of the latter part of yesterday evening's events is, um, fuzzy. I blame rum, I blame Tom Marshman, and I blame theatre usher Claire Vaughan. Claire, if you're reading this, you know what I'm talking about!

Apart from judgment-altering rum distribution, Tom Marshman's performance was one of the most compelling things I've seen in a long time. Having a great deal of sailor blood running through my own veins, the sentiments he expressed were, indeed, resonant.

WHO THE HELL ARE YOU NEIL TREFOR HUGHES?????????

I have no idea if you meant to do what you did in your performance, but now my curiosity knows no bounds. I urge you to contact me at trulykaput@hotmail.com were we may discuss your costume further.

Anyway, I'm off tonight, but you will recognize me on Saturday by my haunted demeanor and the dark circles beneath my eyes, as I ask you 'Why, why would anyone make choices such as these???'

Chill.

Gridlock in the basement

On one of my more meandering journeys today I was taken via Castle Park to G39 on Mill Lane where it was my duty to deposit berries, fir cones and crab apples as a token offering to The White Stag who resides there. On entering the building I was distracted by a mysterious sound coming up through an open trap door in the floor. Against my better judgement (I am not the underground type) I descended a steep flight of steps into the bowels of the gallery where the smell of damp immediately hit my sensitive nostrils.

Here in this airless and limited space I made myself comfortable on the little bench provided and watched a short and curious film which depicted the monotonous drone of traffic in the heart of a city. Usually I go to great lengths to avoid such an experience, sitting in traffic that is, not watching experimental films, and I found myself looking around nervously from time to time hoping that no one would close the hatch on me. I played out the scenario that would ensue if I had been trapped down there and started to feel a little breathless.

As it was, the sense of entrapment became palpable as the cars on the screen idled along, nose to bumper in an endless procession, seeming to drive directly towards me at times. A driver, unable to move, stared rudely at me for an unprecedented amount of time before passing by. Little scenarios occurred: a lone individual stood at a bus stop conversing on her mobile adding to the dislocation I was feeling from the world. Pockets of humanity were present but cut off, stranded by the wall of metal and noise.

Through this unsettling sound filtered a woman's voice singing 'Que Sera, Sera (What ever will be, will be)', as if to herself, which was both soothing and frustrating as she was barely audible. And then a beautiful thing happened. The point of view switched to rolling clouds in the sky, albeit through the sun roof of a vehicle. I could almost feel the cushioned warmth of the seat, laid back for my comfort as I viewed my little rectangle of paradise. This sequence of cloud is probably extended in my memory, such was its power to calm and soothe. Was the drone of traffic muffled or was there complete silence? I do not remember.

The reflection of dashboard paraphernalia did not lessen my pleasure but reminded me of how lucky I was to be in my cosy cocoon. Memories of my walk in the park came to life as a woodland scene evolved from the clouds. A large dog stood stock still and focused on something out of shot while light seeping through the forest canopy created a stunning and dreamlike ripple of motion over him.

But all good things must come to an end, and the jumble of cars returned to the screen once more, accompanied by their hateful noise. The spell was broken and it was time to move on.

Metro Article

If you want more of an insight into Experimentica 08 then check out the link below:

http://www.metro.co.uk/metrolife/article.html?Enjoy_a_feast_of_the_weird_and_wonderful_at_Experimentica_08&in_article_id=354839&in_page_id=244&in_a_source=