UNDER & UNDER, 2019

2 Channel HD Video w Audio Composition

Video installation

Dimensions variable

SOLAR STATIC
00:00 / 04:04
P3CK
00:00 / 08:08
FEVER DREAM
00:00 / 04:22

These woods, this forest stripped bare

lichen, lumber, chewed up by cold steel

machinations for mulch

paper pushing industries

coloured in gold

wet

dark and cold

an incommensurable context

 

A new gauntlet for old growth

air was clean

clear was water

fire

keep warm
no late night catharsis

burning pages full of notes

those words you resent writing

still with you

and your smoke stained clothes a reminder

Have you ever had that dream?

That dream where you’re perched in a 12oz fibreglass canoe enjoying a perfectly planned little river picnic and all of a sudden everything just goes horribly wrong? Like when you’re floating down shit creek and a three-eyed fish jumps outa the water, splashes you a bit.. you get spooked and lose balance fumbling for your paddle, then the canoe starts leaking, slowly.. You’re thinking, she’ll be right, we know how to swim.. Just a few little rocks and reeds to dodge on the way to shore.. Then you remember, a couple hours ago the creek split and you made a choice.. An ill-informed one, but you were decisive, as if you knew which way to go. You remember looking at the map and the weather forecast while you were on the interwebs buying food and wine to swoon that sweet lover at the other end of the raft. And it starts to settle in that maybe tracing the right stream in cartography whilst looking down on the page, might not have the same consequential direction when you’re on the ground, or when.. you’re in the water. You look down again to reassure yourself that you still got that paddle, and you do, but this time it’s squirming in your hands, like a high pressure hose, and it’s got this energy all of it’s own.. Then the hose turns into a big black snake, and just starts thrashing around and lashing out trying to sink fangs into your forearm, or your neck.. And you’re still trying to steer this sinking flimsy vessel with a snake.. So you start looking up wondering what you’ve gone and got yourself into, looking up at a great big giant moving image of you in the sky, pointing in the other direction, laughing and cackling like a swarm of crows in the distance. But crows don't swarm or cackle like the kookaburras in your other dreams, they scavenge, they’re fiercely independent black birds and they can see fear and smell death miles away.. And they’re only hanging round because they wanna eat it.. If them crows were at all impatient your eyeballs would be gouged out before you even saw what was coming. Then rapids start appearing, you’re trying to stay calm and be stoic even though your friend in front of you is starting to worry, she’s seen you, and you look like you seen a ghost.. and you did, but you just don’t know it yet.. This ghost was your own. You got a pretty distant dialogue going on here. An emergence at rest where the serpent sleeps. You’re learning to swim all over again, but these waters are sacred and you probs shouldn’t have even dipped your big toe in here. Land is near, you can smell it, but you can smell blood too.. The snake got you.. There’s rope still swinging from the trees, strangling reeds below and shimmering eyes that menace in the mist above, and all this is hissing, at you. You can hear thunder and you’re clutching at plastic straws for connection, but forced to feel nothing but slippery distance and unforgiving loss, from every angle. Something starts churning, turning in your weakness for strength, but only to be used against you.. no physical barricades just extended burden, no locatable landmarks but underground aquifers mapped by scars, and geographies of memory that never end. So much water.. And now you’re drowning in doubt, being swirled around in the undercurrent by riddles of darkness. Over the falls you say, but your friend walked the plank and started swimming miles back and somehow you didn’t notice. In disaffect, you throw that paddle, I mean, that useless hose that turned into a big old black snake, you throw it away.. It’s gone now, Country’s got it.. Them snakes can swim better than the smartest school of fish you ever hooked into. And here’s you, life flashing before your eyes and you’re trapped within the kaleidoscopic landscape of trauma, passed down from generation to generation over time immemorial, where flow and descent are as if nothing stands out at all.. and you keep falling into this deafening silence, mesmerised by this mist and haze like some static torrent, then only the fog itself, appears still. Plummeting fast as rapids down a long merciless stream, only for your endless fall to be broken by unflinchingly jagged rocks, and nobody knowing in time it’s you, you will re-shape them. Like water. But not all things are.. You’re learning that now, below the surface, screaming for air at the same time as realising the future belongs to those who can breathe.. it was you who sucked up all the oxygen.. Just like the flames engulfing your Country in wildfire.. And then you make another choice. You decide to let go, and this time, that adventurer-discovery mindset you’ve been clinging to.. it lets go of you too. Gravity just gives way, just evaporates in an instant altogether. So you keep falling, and falling.. The canoe, the consumables, your lifejacket, all those maps, all your research and purchases, those protocols you ignored, all your pre-emptive planning, and the lies you kept telling yourself, the exploitation you were complicit in, and the minerals you extracted, all just swallowed right up.. Submerged and cascading over the precipice, and you just choose to become part of it, dominated by this new context.. this new climate.. this total catastrophic happening.. But the crisis only exists within you.. while you try to remember that image Barbara Kruger made.. Or that thing Bruce Lee said.. Or that thing Paulo Coelho wrote.. Those things that weren’t really about water.. Have you ever had that dream?.. Me neither..