(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 a 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

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

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

///////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)

/////////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