Thursday, February 10, 2011

(coke bottle a drumstick a chair)






studio 12        

Schedule of Public Programs for Dylan Martorell, Aguas de Marco


Wednesday, February 9 at 12:00pm - February 26 at 4:00pm


Location Gertrude Contemporary

200 Gertrude Street


Fitzroy, Australia


Created By


Gertrude Contemporary-Fitzroy


More Info DYLAN MARTORELL


Program for Aguas de Marco


All events are free and open to the public with no reservations necessary unless otherwise specified



PART [I]


Wednesday Lunchtime Cinema and Symposia


Wednesday 9 February


Performance DVDs from Indonesia and Thailand


Commencing 12 noon


Location: Studio 12, 1st Floor Gertrude Contemporary


No booking necessary


Wednesday 16 February


Performance DVDs from Indonesia and Thailand


Commencing 12 noon


Location: Studio 12, 1st Floor Gertrude Contemporary


No booking necessary


Wednesday 23 February


Symposia present by Carl Scrase


Duration 12pm—4.30pm


Location: Studio 12, 1st Floor Gertrude Contemporary






PART [II]






Weekend Events



Saturday 19 February




Kids Workshop & Exhibition


Workshop 11am—2pm


Exhibition Opening 2pm


Hosted by Lucrecia Quintinella


Location: Studio 12, 1st Floor Gertrude Contemporary


Places are limited—reservations required


Please contact Amita Kirpalani: amita@gertrude.org.au


Saturday 26 February


Julian Williams Album Launch with Hi-God People performers


Duration 3pm—4pm


Location: Front Gallery, Gertrude Contemporary


No booking necessary


PART [III]



Evening Event


Thursday 24 February


Non-musical performance with Skull, Studio 12


Live—Paul Sloan, Front Gallery


Duration: 6pm—8pm


Location: Studio 12 & Front Gallery, Gertrude Contemporary


No booking necessary








   What creative Phoenix will rise from the ashes of Melbourne’s failing art    schools?
  On the Wednesday the 23rd of February the Wemakeus collective will facilitating daylong session of provocations about the state of arts education in Melbourne. The session will be held in studio 12 at Gertrude Contemporary, it is part of a series of events curated by Dylan Martorell, 
it will run from 12-5. 
We invite you to come talk/draw/write/think with us.
If you would like more information please contact the Wemakeus collective at: 

info.wemakeus@gmail.com or call: 0412867554 
.



Sound Prismatisms: Studio 12 Gertrude Contemporary 19th Feb 2011

DIY music.  Fancy dance and movement enhancing costumes.
Workshop for people aged 4 -7.
Time: 1.5 hours
Using synthesizers, loop pedals, keyboards and an assortment of instruments we will collaborate in creating

 the ULTIMATE dance track. 
The Prismatisms crew will provide ribbons, streamers and all sorts of dance shape enhancing accessories.

Max. 8 participants

http://www.belavista-rio.com/blog/item/2009/03/aquas-de-marco-antonio-carlos-jobim-lyrics

Saturday, February 5, 2011

......wednesday film screenings / studio 12 200 gertrude st Fitzroy

12.10pm wednesday February 9th - Risky Budoy / 12.10pm wednesday februarey 16th - But Cilik

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

///////hammerhead sharks and infinite vision




 ...........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

         HAMMERHEAD SHARKS AND INFINITE VISION
     I suddenly saw the whole thing. The vision at last. This is what I have chiefly to record this evening, against the day      when my work will be done and perhaps no place is left
in my memory, warm or cold ... 
I'm lying down in a white walled room that is balanced on the sharpest of three towering, craggy, black granite mountain peaks. 

A young lady with almond shaped eyes is with me.



The visions begin.

I am at the water's edge.

The slope is gentle and carpeted with fine grass. 
Littering the shore are a score of medium sized smooth round grey boulders. 
Tall willow shadows lope down to the edge and their thin branches dip as though reaching to drink. 

The river is moving swiftly and turbulent boils appear on the surface.

It seems I have been on this shore, staring out across the waters, for perhaps eons. 
In that time, I have inhabited many feet and my eyes have become part of the endless, nameless currents. 

"What are you waiting for?"

An old man has appeared suddenly on my left and he seats himself on one of the smooth round rocks. 
His pockmarked and weathered hand traces over the surface as though he has 
made all the rocks in the area in just the same fashion.

"I don't know."

My vocal cords sound like cracked static. 

He speaks to me again.

"This place here is not yours, it is not your place. This place is not for you"

I stare around me. The sun above has begun to shine brightly. 
It has a hidden power and illuminates a spot not far away. 
Suspended in this spot is a strange vessel, one of many colours and intricate shapes and moulds. 
It is of a  surreal and unique construction. 
Mesmerised by this vision I have to shake my head and turn back to face the old man. 
My vocal cords regain their strength.

"Fuck you old man! No-one else is here. I'm not bothering anyone. Not until you turned up anyway."

He laughs at me and my dull eyes and slaps the rock he is seated on. 
Strangely, it doesn't sound like a rock at all. The slap produces a deadened beat that seems to pulse in 
waves for a long time afterwards.
 It causes my feet to move against my will and soon fear covers me like a blanket. 
The old man laughs louder and hits the rock again. This time the beat is stronger and accompanied by bass heavy thuds. The shudders echo through the ground and my right foot starts stepping forward into the mud of the stream. 

"Hey! What are trying to do?"

His smile drops and with graven eyes he looks at me very deeply.

"You must move on. You must enter the stream."

Up until now, I had never considered that. 

"I'm not going in there. We don't know where it goes or what will happen. Why don't you go in? Why don't you move?"

In total silence his stony face grimaces. 
He stands upright and flexes his bony frame. 
I can see now that his eyes are dense round black cones. 
This ancient man with cone eyes then leans down 
and grasps the edges of the boulder he has been sitting on and hoists it well above his head.
In a few swift practiced movements and with great and impossible effort he hurls the rock clear 
into the middle of the stream. It sails to the deepest part and the splash is an immediate orchestra. 
Deep drones sound a release of cosmic turbulence, 
my feet move further into the stream, and as they do, he speaks again.

"I have built all here that you see. I travelled on the current until I collected all I needed. 
I am a sound-maker and found my place. Now, you must find yours."

I am standing knee deep in the water and mud and eddies swirl round my shins. 
The current feels strong as though it will pull me under. 

"In the end, you will see."

In the heart of this strange landscape, standing ever deeper in this water, 
I now realise linear compositions are limited. 
Brash primitivism, courage and raw adaptation are needed. 
The water is rushing much faster now and it stabs at me with slashes of white noise. 
Fuelled by paranoia I imagine schools of hammerheads lurking in the depths. 
I can see those strange creatures with their broad shapes and senses, 
shaped by the needs of their world and rewarded in turn with a unique and infinite vision. 
Then, like the bright power of the sun, it dawns on me. 

A calm undertone drifts with understanding throughout 
this strange landscape and I notice the old man has disappeared. 

I opened my eyes.
Past midnight. Never knew such silence. The earth might be uninhabited. 
We lay there without moving. But under us all had moved, and moved us ...
s.m. taylor 
(first and last two lines from Krapp's Last Tape - Samuel Beckett, 1959)


Monday, December 13, 2010

/////////random lunacy

Águas de Março




"É pau, é pedra,





é o fim do caminho





É um resto de toco,





é um pouco sozinho




É um caco de vidro,





é a vida, é o sol





É a noite, é a morte,





é o laço, é o anzol




É peroba do campo,





é o nó da madeira





Caingá candeia,





é o matita-pereira




É madeira de vento,





tombo da ribanceira





É o mistério profundo,





é o queira ou não queira






É o vento ventando,





é o fim da ladeira





É a viga, é o vão,





festa da cumeeira






É a chuva chovendo,





é conversa ribeira





Das águas de março,





é o fim da canseira






É o pé, é o chão,





é a marcha estradeira





Passarinho na mão,





pedra de atiradeira






É uma ave no céu,





é uma ave no chão





É um regato, é uma fonte,





é um pedaço de pão






É o fundo do poço,





é o fim do caminho





No rosto o desgosto,





é um pouco sozinho






É um estrepe, é um prego,





é uma ponta, é um ponto





É um pingo pingando,





é uma conta, é um conto






É um peixe, é um gesto,





é uma prata brilhando





É a luz da manhã,





é o tijolo chegando






É a lenha, é o dia,





é o fim da picada





É a garrafa de cana,





o estilhaço na estrada






É o projeto da casa,





é o corpo na cama





É o carro enguiçado,





é a lama, é a lama






É um passo, é uma ponte,





é um sapo, é uma rã





É um resto de mato,





na luz da manhã






São as águas de março





fechando o verão





É a promessa de vida





no teu coração






É uma cobra, é um pau,





é João, é José





É um espinho na mão,





é um corte no pé






São as águas de março





fechando o verão





É a promessa de vida





no teu coração






É pau, é pedra,





é o fim do caminho





É um resto de toco,





é um pouco sozinho






É um passo, é uma ponte,





é um sapo, é uma rã





É um belo horizonte,





é uma febre terçã






São as águas de março





fechando o verão





É a promessa de vida





no teu coração"






Waters of March


It's stick, it's stone





It's the end of the road





It's a rest of stump





It's a little alone




It's a shard of glass





It is life, it's the sun





It is night, it is death





It's the snare, it's the fishhook




It's peroba of the field





It’s the knot in the wood





Lamp caingá tree





It's the matita-pereira tree




It's wind-resistant wood





Falls of the ravine





It's the profound mystery





It's the you wish or you don’t




It's the wind blowing





It's the end of the slope





It's the beam, it's the span





The new roof party




It's the rain raining





It’s riverbank talk





Of the waters of March





It's the end of the struggle




It's the foot, it's the ground





It's the walk on the road





Small bird in the hand





A slingshot stone




It’s a bird in the sky





It’s a bird on the ground





It's a creek, it's a fountain





It's a piece of bread




It's the bottom of the well





It's the end of the way





In the face the annoyance





It's a little lonely




It's a thorn, it's a nail





It's a point, it’s a dot





It's a drop dripping





It's an tally, it’s a tale




It's a fish, it’s a gesture





It's silver shining





It's the morning’s light





It's the brick arriving




It's the firewood, it's the day





It's the end of the trail





It's the bottle of liquor





Splinter in the road




It’s the house’s design





It's the body in bed





It's the broken down car





It's the mud, it's the mud




It's a footstep, it's a bridge





It's a toad, it's a frog





It's a rest of brush





In the morning’s light




They are the waters of March





Closing the summer





It's the promise of life





In your heart




It's a snake, it’s a stick





It's John, it's Joseph





It's a thorn in the hand





It's the cut on the foot




They are the waters of March





Closing the summer





It's the promise of life





In your heart




It's stick, it's stone





It's the end of the road





It's a rest of stump





It's a little alone




It's a footstep, a bridge





It's a toad, it's a frog





It's a beautiful horizon





It’s a tertian fever




They are the waters of March





Closing the summer





It's the promise of life





In your heart