And it is Saturday again. It is Saturday and so there are things that will happen. Things! The sorts of things that you expect to happen and the sorts of things that you do not expect to happen. Or perhaps it will be things that you do not expect to happen and then things that you expect to happen. It depends on what you expected to happen. This, you might not have expected this. It does not sound like what you expected to happen and yet it is almost Saturday. Saturday! Of course we are writing things and we are sending you things. And if these things are not the things that you expect us to write and the things that you expect us to send, well, that is pretty much what you expect of us, isn’t it? Hello. It is Saturday again. There are things that will happen. I am here. I will do things. I will read to you some things that I did not make and I will read to you a thing that I did make. It is about Orpheus. Warren Fry and Olchar Lindsann will help with the thing that I made and they will read to you some things that I did not make. They did not make these other things that they will read either. They are things that other people made. There will be things that other people made. There will be things made by Samuel Beckett and Mark Sonnefeld and Jacques Derrida and Tomislav Butkovic and R. M. Liuzza. Some of them will read the things that they made and others of them will not read the things that they made. Those are the things that will happen. Saturday. Seven o’clock. 131 Bayard. It is a nice house. And things will happen.
And then. On Sunday. Sunday! There will be things, things that you do not expect. We will go for breakfast. Because we do go for breakfast on Sundays. We may not go when it is time for breakfast but we will go for breakfast. We will go to The Hungry Pedlar. It is a nice place to go for breakfast. And after we go for breakfast we will go back to the house, the house at 131 Bayard, and we will do more things. More things! We will have tea and we will have cakes. Well, we’ll probably have coffee instead of tea. I know how to make a very good cup of coffee and I am not so good with tea. Coffee would probably go better. And the things. We will read things. We will talk about things. We will have things and it would be good if you had things too. It will be good. All of it. All of it will be good.
Showing posts with label Alan Reed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alan Reed. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
FIDDLESTICKS #4 Photos: D. Hartke, A. Andrews, A. Lennard finally!
Finally, here are Tsubasa's photos of the fourth installment of FIDDLESTICKS, with additions by Post-Neo co-founders dadaDavid Hartke and Aaron Andrews, and at long last Angee's work wrested away from UPS and mostly installed. Reports and video of the events to follow soon, and then documentation of FIDDLESTICKS 5...
Andrews' Fist Fuck and Hartke's ANTI- army logo adorn the door. These ought to become stickers sometime....
Beside the door, large printouts from Angee's Mossdale Estates that served as partial scores when we'd done the Mossdale puppet show the week before. In them Rose encounters Hartke's, Andrews', Lindsann's and Chriss' Post-Neo band Catharsism of Narcotica.
The Lost & Found Gallery!
Angee Lennard's new cardboard-tile floor for the L&FG
dadaDavid's amazing puppet, built for the projected Müppet Flesh project and inspired by his own mOnocle-Lash logo, reclines on a corner of Angee's floor near some of Jamie's wall drawings and J.M. Bennett collaborations with C. Mehrl Bennett, Jessy Kendall, and probably others.
David Hartke's Cheez-ItnA mask emerges from the nether-bits of some Chriss-flesh
A syzegy: Aaron's The Judgement of Los Iron Man print and two John M. Bennett pieces (one with Italy's Luigino Solamito) hung over Tsubasa's drips at the conjunction of Lenny's and Brad's wall drawings.
A painting by Craig Olsen watches over the whole affair from above.
A better look at Dave's puppet, whose leather accoutrements need repaired. This puppet performed the Funereal Poem for Sir Hugo Ball-Rat at the opening, as you'll see when we get video posted.
Somebody or other saw fit to make a wall drawing in chocolate on the wall in-between shows (and kindly labeled it for us), and it seemed a good place to post up Aaron 's Professor Aristotle poster.
Underneath Andrews' looming Kitty Genovese Must Die print, the publication table expands with a collection of Angee Lennad's Sputnik Press comics, Alan Reed's City Poems for the taking and posting, various mOnocle-Lash books and journals, and some sculpture: Dave Hartke's Ice Cream Cone made of glass for some reason, and Angee's tiny dioramas, which will get their own post with close-ups very soon here.Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Olchar's Fiddlesticks 3 Report finally!
Sorry about the sporadic blog updates, if anyone's trying to read them, but we're busy as motherfuckers out here trying to keep Fiddlesticks going and attempting to get everything ready for June (especially since so few people are communicating via the blog, which of course results in more work for us). But better late than never, so here's my (admittedly basic) report on the events for Fiddlesticks #3; we'll get reports and documentation up for the next two asap, along with other goodies.
Video documentation of all of this is a bit further down the blog.
Of course, by the time this thing went down, UPS still hadn't delivered Angee's contribution, though I'd had several arguments with them concerning it over the phone. So in the meantime, we tried to give her a presence by producing a puppet play based on an episode from her comic book Mossdale Estate. Initially this seemed like an unlikely decision, and it was certainly quite different from the prototypical Post-Neo puppet play, with its cartoon voices, screaming, shouting of nonsense, vomiting, pounding mayhem; like the comic book it was (relatively, at least) understated and sober. But both in the production of the play itself and in the story that Angee sent us to (anti-)dramatize, it showed how Post-Neo can and has existed in a very wide variety of modes that despite being very different on many levels, nonetheless inform and enrich and even directly develop each other. On the one hand, Mossdale Estate and Angee's work in general is aesthetically and even conceptually very different from the most noisy and assertive tendencies in Post-Neo. It is accessible and down-to-earth; in fact it is generally not even 'absurd' at all (the same could be said of many other people who have been vital parts of the Post-Neo community--Emily Panzeri, Edward Lense, Alan Reed, Casey Bradley, Imogene Engine, and many others). On the other hand, Angee, as one of the earliest collaborators on the Mr. Squibbles films, in fact helped to pioneer the Post-Neo puppet aesthetic which was here expanded to reach back toward what her work is. So on one level this puppet play was a new direction for Anti-puppetry to exlore, while on another level it was a homecoming. And the passage that she chose for us to perform also treats this encounter of the raucous face of Post-Neo with the everyday, with 'real people': her nursing-home resident Rose has come by chance upon the album of the first Post-Neo group, Catharsism of Narcotica, and we watch her quietly come to terms with her encounter with this 'thing' that she has no way to even contextualize.
Next Warren read a poem of his own, one of my favourites from Synapse 3, and four phonetic poems by William Clippenger (no relation to Martha Clippenger as far as I know--correct me if I'm wrong; I've corresponded a bit but never met him in person). These are precisely the kinds of phonetic poems Warren excels at reading: repetitive cycles morphing slightly upon each return, plenty of open vowels that allow him to hurl his voice unrelentingly against the wall in wave upon sharp wave, with the no-nonsense attack of an a-verbal battering-ram, atavistic and throaty. I've actually not seen Warren perform per se nearly as much as I'd like or expect ince I came to New Jersey, and it was refreshing.
I myself have scarcely performed at all since I came here either, and actually this was my first solo performance since I arrived! (needless to say, Brute Salon and soirees are something else, really, more like conversing.) I did my sub-phonetic poem Prayer for the Poison-Child, the first from this body of work I've performed for over a year; and I've missed it. Due to the nature of New Jersey's particular version of Post-Neo, in which group automatism is more the focus than discreet or semi-discreet poems, plays, and sketches as it was in Britain, and also due to my having nowhere to rehearse and exercise my vocal apparatus for a few hours a week as I used to, it was a bit strained, and my breathing was especially shoddy; for the most part though I settled into the poem like an old glove (which it is), and my time apart from the score may actually have helped me to find a greater range of interpretations. Hope to rehearse and do another, longer one at the festival in June.
After all the performances we all went up and hung out in Jamie Bruno's studio, which has just about become a little Fiddlesticks tradition; talked about whatever it was we talked about (hey, it's been three weeks), did some exquisite corpses and other games while Jamie drew on her wall, and finally split about 4:30 AM or some such ungodly time.
And that was that.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Documentation and Olchar's Un-Report on the Silent Soiree and The Disappearence of Imogene Engine
Never say that we're not suckers for self-inflicted punishment, for it has come about again: the 'documentation' must be specific to the particularities of the event from which it is culled, even though it entails our giving ourselves absurd amounts of extra work that we certainly don't need.
There have been (among others) two key motifs that can be seen in both the FIDDLESTICKS #2 exhibition and the events related to it (and there was a great fluidity between those two parts of the whole shebang that weekend), that it is worth pointing out here, to whit:
1. Tsubasa's beautifully subtle care-taking of the space; cleaning up the debris of the shit we leave him to deal with (last week, the local bureaucrats; in this case, the bloody rubber carnage of five life-or-death surgeries!) despite our attempts not to do so, and in the attention that he pays to that process, transforming the space in a way that is nearly invisible but entirely pervasive, better than than a work of 'art' because we can't even put our finger to it, it is already dissolved into the world. (You could compare this to Post-Neo's roots in an art school maintenance department; what if instead of Catharsism of Narcotica you'd had someone who wasn't lazy? You might have Tsubasa...)
This care extends to his documentation of this whole campaign; in a way that is far from merely aesthetic, in the attention payed to all of the nuances of each situation as it unfolds, and an equal sensitivity of how it might say itself in a different form when viewed by you-all out on the blog in England or Ohio or Canada or Washington or Florida or Chicago or Cornwall, he does not record what happens, but translates it into another language. Because of this there has been a kind of growing conversation between the photos and blog, and the events as they happen; his photos have become as much a part of the whole enterprise as the events they come from.
To be (relatively) brief, Tsubasa's photos are different from 'what happens', but are something just as integral, and a definite addition, to constituting what the festival 'is'.
2. The action of arrangement in Imogene Engine's poetry, which as many of you presumably know was part of the literary/performative aspect of FIDDLESTICKS 2. This constant arrangement and shifting, and the way in which it oscillates between the life that it stems from and the 'something else' that it is, might be related to the subtle shifting about, lining up, relating, that Tsubasa does with objects such as the remnants of the Surgery, and with patterns of light and socialized movement through his camera. Re-arranging relics. The way in which her poems are dismembered and refigured, constantly re-arranged, to create discrete poems that are never in fact discreet but are different forms and combinations of parts of each other.
3. You might also see how this theme relates to the idea of silence, of not-saying, of thinking of saying but--because you can't or because it won't be said--withholding. And even more specifically to the idea of a Silent Soiree, the need to communicate even when you cannot say, to find a way to speak when you can't speak; and so whatever you talk about isn't itself. And so really, in Imogene's work, in Tsubasa's work, and in the idea of a Silent Soiree, its the idea of speaking through silence, of speaking through not speaking-about.
Pure magical evasiveness. (Engine: 'if she tucks her leg underneath, she disappears')
This is also to say that if this installment of Fiddlesticks throws up a certain facet of Post-Neo (and all of the people involved--Alan, Imogene, Tsubasa, Charlotte, and Angee ,whose work was absent due to UPS--have positioned themselves outside the noisy, polemic aspects of Post-Neo, and in some cases or ways outside of its various more 'speechifying' (un)centres, while all being vital to Post-Neo in a relatively silent manner; a quiet and careful and even cautious embodiment of it, or interjection into it, without which Post-Neo as it is would be unthinkable), a facet which realizes that subtlety and respect are not enemies of fun or energy, and in fact that neither has any value without the other.
And it is here that we find that the idea of silence has an unexpected relationship to that of trust (and therefore, equally, with its reciprocal, respect). To withhold speech, to remain voluntarily silent, is a mark of respect for the speech, or the silence as such, of the other. To request silence is to trust that the other will extend this silence, to allow one to speak to them. To withhold speech may be to hope that one has earned enough respect for others to trust in what is not said, in the deliberation of this withholding.
Of course, all of this does not only go for what calls itself a 'silent soiree' (and the soiree itself, in fact, was fairly silent).
Now, as events continue to unfold, these kinds of motifs have a tendency to reduplicate themselves, especially once you notice them; so that they somehow manage to become seemingly necessary to carry on, even if it costs you a good deal of extra energy, worry, and time that you can ill-afford. And what do you know, it's ended up happening once again.
For the video (we're getting to it) stemming from the Silent Soiree and my reading of Imogene's poems attaches itself to this set of themes. It is not a representation of what happened, but an attempt to remain silent about it, while re-arranging its elements to create something else of value, something new; because what happened, of course, cannot be said, and those of you who did show up and experience it itself will understand why; though even then, only in part.
(What a lot of speech I have found necessary to articulate this silence, which nonetheless remains silent within itself,--it turns out to be practically a whole essay on silence! And motivated by the very silence that it perpetuates while, perhaps, speaking.)
At times, one wants to speak to so many people at once that the only option is a complex silence through which one can speak silently to each; only silence has so many tongues. And one must be silent even about the relevance of this silent speech (which is the opposite and the same as a speaking silence).
Therefore: Here is a palimpsest of the evening--and all palimpsests are, of course, creations, they are leaving things out or they would not be palimpsests, and that is such a lovely word. The transition from silence to speech, which was not an easy one (it never is), is here, as much as I could make it, preserved; I have arranged Imogene's poems into something that I hope is (even, of course) better than the reading itself that has disappeared; if her disappearance that night (and she did disappear, of this there is no doubt) cannot help but disappear again when all the many of you who were not there view it, then is it not best that it disappear as beautifully as possible?
Of course it is equally possible for her not to disappear, and her poems may reappear at any time.
Now. Please excuse my digressions; and feel free, if you wish, to put it all down to simple eccentricity. I will remain verbosely silent on the subject, as usual.
There have been (among others) two key motifs that can be seen in both the FIDDLESTICKS #2 exhibition and the events related to it (and there was a great fluidity between those two parts of the whole shebang that weekend), that it is worth pointing out here, to whit:
1. Tsubasa's beautifully subtle care-taking of the space; cleaning up the debris of the shit we leave him to deal with (last week, the local bureaucrats; in this case, the bloody rubber carnage of five life-or-death surgeries!) despite our attempts not to do so, and in the attention that he pays to that process, transforming the space in a way that is nearly invisible but entirely pervasive, better than than a work of 'art' because we can't even put our finger to it, it is already dissolved into the world. (You could compare this to Post-Neo's roots in an art school maintenance department; what if instead of Catharsism of Narcotica you'd had someone who wasn't lazy? You might have Tsubasa...)
This care extends to his documentation of this whole campaign; in a way that is far from merely aesthetic, in the attention payed to all of the nuances of each situation as it unfolds, and an equal sensitivity of how it might say itself in a different form when viewed by you-all out on the blog in England or Ohio or Canada or Washington or Florida or Chicago or Cornwall, he does not record what happens, but translates it into another language. Because of this there has been a kind of growing conversation between the photos and blog, and the events as they happen; his photos have become as much a part of the whole enterprise as the events they come from.
To be (relatively) brief, Tsubasa's photos are different from 'what happens', but are something just as integral, and a definite addition, to constituting what the festival 'is'.
2. The action of arrangement in Imogene Engine's poetry, which as many of you presumably know was part of the literary/performative aspect of FIDDLESTICKS 2. This constant arrangement and shifting, and the way in which it oscillates between the life that it stems from and the 'something else' that it is, might be related to the subtle shifting about, lining up, relating, that Tsubasa does with objects such as the remnants of the Surgery, and with patterns of light and socialized movement through his camera. Re-arranging relics. The way in which her poems are dismembered and refigured, constantly re-arranged, to create discrete poems that are never in fact discreet but are different forms and combinations of parts of each other.
3. You might also see how this theme relates to the idea of silence, of not-saying, of thinking of saying but--because you can't or because it won't be said--withholding. And even more specifically to the idea of a Silent Soiree, the need to communicate even when you cannot say, to find a way to speak when you can't speak; and so whatever you talk about isn't itself. And so really, in Imogene's work, in Tsubasa's work, and in the idea of a Silent Soiree, its the idea of speaking through silence, of speaking through not speaking-about.
Pure magical evasiveness. (Engine: 'if she tucks her leg underneath, she disappears')
This is also to say that if this installment of Fiddlesticks throws up a certain facet of Post-Neo (and all of the people involved--Alan, Imogene, Tsubasa, Charlotte, and Angee ,whose work was absent due to UPS--have positioned themselves outside the noisy, polemic aspects of Post-Neo, and in some cases or ways outside of its various more 'speechifying' (un)centres, while all being vital to Post-Neo in a relatively silent manner; a quiet and careful and even cautious embodiment of it, or interjection into it, without which Post-Neo as it is would be unthinkable), a facet which realizes that subtlety and respect are not enemies of fun or energy, and in fact that neither has any value without the other.
And it is here that we find that the idea of silence has an unexpected relationship to that of trust (and therefore, equally, with its reciprocal, respect). To withhold speech, to remain voluntarily silent, is a mark of respect for the speech, or the silence as such, of the other. To request silence is to trust that the other will extend this silence, to allow one to speak to them. To withhold speech may be to hope that one has earned enough respect for others to trust in what is not said, in the deliberation of this withholding.
Of course, all of this does not only go for what calls itself a 'silent soiree' (and the soiree itself, in fact, was fairly silent).
Now, as events continue to unfold, these kinds of motifs have a tendency to reduplicate themselves, especially once you notice them; so that they somehow manage to become seemingly necessary to carry on, even if it costs you a good deal of extra energy, worry, and time that you can ill-afford. And what do you know, it's ended up happening once again.
For the video (we're getting to it) stemming from the Silent Soiree and my reading of Imogene's poems attaches itself to this set of themes. It is not a representation of what happened, but an attempt to remain silent about it, while re-arranging its elements to create something else of value, something new; because what happened, of course, cannot be said, and those of you who did show up and experience it itself will understand why; though even then, only in part.
(What a lot of speech I have found necessary to articulate this silence, which nonetheless remains silent within itself,--it turns out to be practically a whole essay on silence! And motivated by the very silence that it perpetuates while, perhaps, speaking.)
At times, one wants to speak to so many people at once that the only option is a complex silence through which one can speak silently to each; only silence has so many tongues. And one must be silent even about the relevance of this silent speech (which is the opposite and the same as a speaking silence).
Therefore: Here is a palimpsest of the evening--and all palimpsests are, of course, creations, they are leaving things out or they would not be palimpsests, and that is such a lovely word. The transition from silence to speech, which was not an easy one (it never is), is here, as much as I could make it, preserved; I have arranged Imogene's poems into something that I hope is (even, of course) better than the reading itself that has disappeared; if her disappearance that night (and she did disappear, of this there is no doubt) cannot help but disappear again when all the many of you who were not there view it, then is it not best that it disappear as beautifully as possible?
Of course it is equally possible for her not to disappear, and her poems may reappear at any time.
Now. Please excuse my digressions; and feel free, if you wish, to put it all down to simple eccentricity. I will remain verbosely silent on the subject, as usual.
So here it is:
THE DISAPPEARENCE OF
THE DISAPPEARENCE OF IMOGENE ENGINE
and the SILENT SOIREE!!!
thusly:
THE DISAPPEARENCE OF
THE DISAPPEARENCE OF IMOGENE ENGINE
and the SILENT SOIREE!!!
thusly:
Thursday, March 20, 2008
FIDDLESTICKS #2 VIDEO TOUR!
As promised, here's the video tour of FIDLESTICKS #3, with poem machine by Charlotte Whalen, video installation by Alan Reed (which you hear playing in this documentation), and ink washes and surgery-curation by Tsubasa Berg.
FIDDLESTICKS #2 DOCUMENTATION
All right, it's pretty fucking crazy out here trying to keep all of this moving, and we're behind on our documentation, but here are some of Tsubasa's photos of the second incarnation of FIDDLESTICKS, Alan Reed, Charlotte Whalen, and Tsubasa Berg. (Angee Lennard was supposed to be included, but UPS stole her artwork--see the post below; we've finally received it and it will be installed for the next one).
We're taking this weekend off from installing more and performing in order to try to get the documentation up to date, so over the next few days look for photos, video, written reports, etc etc. of the events for FIDDLESTICKS 2, the gallery show and events for FIDDLESTICKS 3, and announcements for the following weekend's FIDDLESTICKS 4.
We're taking this weekend off from installing more and performing in order to try to get the documentation up to date, so over the next few days look for photos, video, written reports, etc etc. of the events for FIDDLESTICKS 2, the gallery show and events for FIDDLESTICKS 3, and announcements for the following weekend's FIDDLESTICKS 4.
We'll post a video-tour this weekend.
So here you go, Post-Neo: THIS WAS FIDDLESTCKS !!!!!!
What you saw as you entered the gallery: Tsubasa's largely subtractive intervention into the space included adding layers of wash over Lenny's and Brad's wall drawings, taking down most of Jamie's string sculpture (how sad to see it gone! a combination of Tsubasa's prerogative and the school bureaucracy expressing disapproval of the removed ceiling tiles), and his uncannily apt and thoughtful stewardship of the space itself--organising the debris from the surgery on opening night into a kind of display, with a recovery/sick-bed for the Familiars.
To the immediate left as you enter, Charlotte's wonderful 21679 Short Poems About Capitalism, including a shredder-turned-poem-generating-machine that guests can use themselves.
What you saw as you entered the gallery: Tsubasa's largely subtractive intervention into the space included adding layers of wash over Lenny's and Brad's wall drawings, taking down most of Jamie's string sculpture (how sad to see it gone! a combination of Tsubasa's prerogative and the school bureaucracy expressing disapproval of the removed ceiling tiles), and his uncannily apt and thoughtful stewardship of the space itself--organising the debris from the surgery on opening night into a kind of display, with a recovery/sick-bed for the Familiars.
To the immediate left as you enter, Charlotte's wonderful 21679 Short Poems About Capitalism, including a shredder-turned-poem-generating-machine that guests can use themselves.
Instructions.
Free poem-refills.
If you look carefully, you'll see that somebody has recently fed one of Alan's City Poems through the shredder--a different shade of white. Like finding a needle in a poem-stack.
Tsubasa's arrangement of the surgical instruments from the Familiars' Hospital.
He preserved the operating table as well.
Alan Reed's video piece There is a Table. At first the video ran on a loop with headphones, but we later decided to remove the headphones and let the soundtrack play aloud to the whole gallery, as you'll hear in the video tour.Also in the gallery and elsewhere around the city are various of Alan's City Poems, posted anonymously in appropriate (or otherwise) spots; they'll continue to appear for the duration of the run of FIDDLESTICKS (maybe longer), and there is a stack in the gallery for you to take and post somewhere yourself. Some have also been fed through Charlotte's shredder, creating several score of Short Poems About Capitalism and the Alienation of the Post-Capitalist Flaneur (with the latter word under erasure). Alan, you are free to berate me for the inadequacy of this off-the-cuff moniker and suggest a better one, if you so desire.
More to Come!
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
FIDDLESTICKS #2, EVENT #1: IT'S VERY HARD TO TELL YOU THIS...
Soon we'll post photos and reports of BOSCH ON ICE; but in the meantime... well...
Sit down.
We TOLD Hector Clam not to attend Bosch on Ice. "You'll get hurt," we said. But he insisted. It is such a major event for the New Brunswick community who have collectively raised me, he argued, that I must be a part of it, how could I not be involved? Especially with the Professor and Miss Ricketts going, and even the two rubber chickens who don't have names! We reminded him that they were made of tough rubber (though that didn't stop one of those rubber chickens from getting slashed from throat to gullet!). "After all, the Comptroller and Bill Murray were staying home!" But you forget, he countered, that my first appearance was at the first Brutesthletics game, four days after Olchar arrived in town, as everyone was buying props at the thrift store! I must come! I owe it to all of my beloved Brunswites!
Well.
Someone--there are conflicting reports as to whom--got hold of Hector Clam. Over and over again he careened into the ice like Icarus dropping onto a frozen ocean. In the end he was split in half, and a part of his flank caved in--
BUT NEVER FEAR--
Reid Bingham led us all in an emergency triage operating--Hector was bound together again by a rubber snake (caduceus?) wound round his waist, and a donkey-puppet pulled over his head like a hood-mask to hold his skull together (and to protect him from the sight of his own temporary dismemberment). Hector Clam is still among the living! But like the Professor, the Comptroller, Miss Ricketts (whose tongue was torn out and who has sprung a leak), Bill Murray (who no longer sings and dances), and the unfortunate unnamed rubber chicken who was torn apart while being used as a drum stick by Tsubasa during the climax of Bosch on Ice, Hector is certainly worse for wear.
Before (above) and After (below)
This is why we are convening an emergency Anti-Surgery THIS SATURDAY at 5:00 PM at the LOST & FOUND GALLERY at the opening of the 2nd FIDDLESTICKS installment. In addition to Angee Lennard (Chicago) and Alan Reed (Montreal), this show features Tsubasa Berg and Charlotte Whalen, both of whom have been Hector's roomates and foster-parents during his formative years.
Hector Clam will require some heavy reconstructive surgery, so it's been suggested that perhaps we might provide him with a form even more befitting of his grandeur; hasn't it always seemed like he might have a unicorn's horn? a __(noun)___? an etc.?
So come visit, see what these four have done with the gallery, and bring along some ideas or materials as all of us work together to repair and comfort our rubber friends and RESURRECT HECTOR CLAM!
And then, after a break for eating or otherwise refreshing, meet us AGAIN at our place at 221 Howard St., floor 3 (enter through the rear) at 8:00 PM for a Silent Soiree culminating in poems by Imogene Engine--more information below!
Sit down.
We TOLD Hector Clam not to attend Bosch on Ice. "You'll get hurt," we said. But he insisted. It is such a major event for the New Brunswick community who have collectively raised me, he argued, that I must be a part of it, how could I not be involved? Especially with the Professor and Miss Ricketts going, and even the two rubber chickens who don't have names! We reminded him that they were made of tough rubber (though that didn't stop one of those rubber chickens from getting slashed from throat to gullet!). "After all, the Comptroller and Bill Murray were staying home!" But you forget, he countered, that my first appearance was at the first Brutesthletics game, four days after Olchar arrived in town, as everyone was buying props at the thrift store! I must come! I owe it to all of my beloved Brunswites!
Well.
Someone--there are conflicting reports as to whom--got hold of Hector Clam. Over and over again he careened into the ice like Icarus dropping onto a frozen ocean. In the end he was split in half, and a part of his flank caved in--
BUT NEVER FEAR--
Reid Bingham led us all in an emergency triage operating--Hector was bound together again by a rubber snake (caduceus?) wound round his waist, and a donkey-puppet pulled over his head like a hood-mask to hold his skull together (and to protect him from the sight of his own temporary dismemberment). Hector Clam is still among the living! But like the Professor, the Comptroller, Miss Ricketts (whose tongue was torn out and who has sprung a leak), Bill Murray (who no longer sings and dances), and the unfortunate unnamed rubber chicken who was torn apart while being used as a drum stick by Tsubasa during the climax of Bosch on Ice, Hector is certainly worse for wear.
Before (above) and After (below)
This is why we are convening an emergency Anti-Surgery THIS SATURDAY at 5:00 PM at the LOST & FOUND GALLERY at the opening of the 2nd FIDDLESTICKS installment. In addition to Angee Lennard (Chicago) and Alan Reed (Montreal), this show features Tsubasa Berg and Charlotte Whalen, both of whom have been Hector's roomates and foster-parents during his formative years.
Hector Clam will require some heavy reconstructive surgery, so it's been suggested that perhaps we might provide him with a form even more befitting of his grandeur; hasn't it always seemed like he might have a unicorn's horn? a __(noun)___? an etc.?
So come visit, see what these four have done with the gallery, and bring along some ideas or materials as all of us work together to repair and comfort our rubber friends and RESURRECT HECTOR CLAM!
And then, after a break for eating or otherwise refreshing, meet us AGAIN at our place at 221 Howard St., floor 3 (enter through the rear) at 8:00 PM for a Silent Soiree culminating in poems by Imogene Engine--more information below!
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