not *another* artist...
Friday 12 September 2014
Spoken Word Artist Wanted
The Flash Residency Project
The Flash Residency Project is a series of very short residencies (one hour in length) , where artists of different disciplines inhabit our outdoor pop- up studio space. The first instalment has been commissioned by Beam for Wakefield's Playful City Festival. We are looking for a spoken word artist for one of the five residencies.
The chosen candidate must be available on October 18. If chosen you will be asked to use your residency to crowd source, write and perform a poem during your time in residence. The artist fee is £70 and must cover all expenses (including travel). We are open to artists across the country, but preference will be given to candidates in the West Yorkshire Region.
If interested please email: flashresidencyproject@gmail.com with an expression of interest, including performance experience and examples of your work
(up to 2 video clips and 1 written text)
Deadline: September 20 2014
Friday 9 May 2014
This blog has not been sponsored by…
We go on a wander and find ourselves in a line to get a group picture, and just as we are about to have it taken, I get it, the pictures will be printed for us to keep… ok cute, and then what? Projected on the wall? Why? I look at the stream of pictures projected of others at the party, wearing variations of Jack Daniels t-shirts, and over them a hashtag for a certain whiskey…
Thursday 10 October 2013
An open letter to my blackberry....
I wasn't going to write this letter, but today i've woken up so annoyed at the horrific timing (I have applied to loads of jobs recently, and am leaving the country for a short trip on Monday) that *another* one of you has chosen to die … So this is what I need to say … And it is said in the spirit of one who respected you.
It is in fact the case that your potential talents have been obscured by faulty hardware. I have looked past this in the past, for one major reason: I love keys. I like writing on phones: texts, emails, poems, I even composed parts of my dissertation on a phone. I never liked or was convinced by writing on touch screens.
Your manufacturers don't give a shit about you, or any of us. You will end up on a scrap heap while 'they' will be sunning themselves on their yachts in Antigua, which they bought by selling your body and you will find yourself very alone. All the more true when you unwittingly give the impression you don't give much of a fuck about yourself. No one who cares about you could support your being pimped … and that includes you yourself.
Yes, I'm suggesting you don't care for yourself. That has to change. When we met You were initially awkward, but became amazing. I put in the work, I was patient in learning your completely non intuitive interface. Now after FOUR MONTHS you just decide I don't need certain keys anymore. That the letter x and number 8 were superfluous. It will take 3 weeks to fix, at a very bad time for me to not have a phone. Fuck you.
For the last few years, as almost everyone I know has joined the cult of iPhone, I have abstained and defended you. After the second phone this has happened to, I am finally done. You have failed me. Whether I like it or not, I have to finally admit that you are a faulty inferior joke. And an expensive one. As much as it pains me to say this, I am finally going to get an iPhone.
Regards,
Paula Varjack
Ps. I am sorry it had to end like this, but it's not me, it's you...
Wednesday 29 August 2012
a pretty way to recycle a notebook
Tuesday 21 August 2012
the guy in the pink shirt
Thursday 16 August 2012
the great escape
He might follow her. She wasn't sure if she cared if he did. He was turned away when she got up from the seat and left. He didn't watch her walk away, as she struggled along with her bag. He was keeping himself to himself, trying to remain calm.
She made it through one carriage, and then the next, and then the next. She didn't know where she was going, only that she had to keep moving to get there. She found herself in the luggage compartment between carriages on the far side of the train. She propped her bag against the others. Across from her was an old man, a young mother and small child all waiting to use the bathroom. I was stood on the other side. I stared at her for a moment too long, before looking away. She steadied her bag again.
He was there now, standing behind her. How long had he been there? She heard him say her name. His voice was unintelligble. It was as if someone had knocked a radio between two frequencies. She looked at him, saw his mouth moving, but couldn't make out any words. She turned away. He placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. She bristled, shrugged it off. He, visibly wounded by this, stepped back, turned away. Softly he called out her name again. People around them were watching now. She knew he didn't like that.
She pushed her head forward out the window again. Greedily sucked in gulps of rain soaked air. She wanted to inhale the landscape. She was trying to breathe. She was finding it hard. He had gotten louder, he was standing behind her now. He was going on and on and she heard someone else ask when they would get to the next stop. The conductor saying, half an hour.
She nodded. pulled open the latch of the door she was leaning on, jumped forward, door slamming shut behind her as she ran. Ran fast through fields thick with tall green grass, whispering to each other as she passed. It had stopped raining. Her flaming red hair streamed behind her. She had no idea where she was going, but she was desperate to get there.
On the train, her boyfriend stood silently amongst the others. Someone went for the conductor, asking for help. The police would be called. It;s illegal to run off of trains between stops apparently. He... stood where she had. Leaned against the window, and strained to see a hint of red amongst all the green..
Friday 10 February 2012
start up meets. start up: overheard in a kreuzberg cafe
word for word.
Most of the time I see art in Berlin…And I don’t…understand it… Artists here have no incentive to sell. They don’t need to, because they have Hartz IV…Its all so.. The art here it’s not.. idealistic or conceptual its its… self entitled.
mmm (sage nodding )Have you thought about holding talks? I mean consulting? Consulting on social media? We thought about it… But it became a side project… and we have like 800 side projects now… So just go and run with it!… Right.. right..
My thing is bad English. It like kills me. ..There is a big difference between writing something in german? and putting it into google translate and sending it? Can’t you just pay someone ten dollars to write me a paragraph?? …Something that needs to be accepted is that everyone speaks English, so there is a certain level that has to be... accepted. If you create a phrase and it;s not exact..It's just one statement to get right.. It's important. That’s it… That’s one of my big things…
I can’t I can’t can’t…. You can’t take someone seriously if they don’t know how to check something before sending it. I mean if you have a web site up? That text on your website…? Should be… correct. I’m not saying perfect but… Yeah I agree I’m not saying perfect but… I go to museums here all the time and their text is terrible… I mean their translation text is terrible! In a museum… ? That is embarrassing…
Yeah that is embarrassing. …
Yeah..
Yeah..
Yeah well I think this is going to work. We really like where you guys are at. You’re like.. normal.
Yeah we’re not hipsters
(they all laugh)
We’re not naïve but we’re not pushovers, but we’re not bad people you know?
Hey.. (noticing someone at another table)
Oh god everyone knows everyone here!!! This is the place.
Oh I’m meeting him um (checking watch) now. Hi…
Well thanks guys. This is going to be great!!