"28 Artists for 25 Years" exhibition is still up at Blue Star. I'll be headed there this week for more performances on First Thursday and First Friday. The piece I installed is titled
No Talking, Just Typing, and it is just that. I sit at a desk dressed as a file clerk circa 1970's, people take a number, they get called (the only time I actually talk during the performance), they sit with me, and we have a conversation of sorts. Two pieces of paper with carbon paper between them are passed back and fourth from our two typewriters that sit across from each other, they receive one copy. The results are a slow, analog IM. Or not so instant message/text. I've written some summations and notes in my phone and notebook post last month's performances, here are some:
There is a certain authority of a desk. A desk, a tie, and a numbering system. There is a bureaucracy of having people take a number and then wait to be called. Give the people numbers and they will wait, even if they are not sure what they are waiting for. The first night, I had a seating area, which was removed the second night. It worked fine, as the seaters just sat there because there were chairs, and they rested their weary feet, they were not waiting for their number to be called. The sessions of typing, where the participant and I type messages to each other, last from five to ten minutes. More numbers go out than can be achieved during the openings, I have gone up to 68 on my official counter, somewhere around 40 something actual sessions, while somewhere around 90 numbers have been pulled. And like all bureaucracies, it comes apart sometimes. The no-shows come back, angry they've been skipped. What is really interesting to me is the odd sense of authority, you can make people feel like they belong or are left out. Even in my system of stamping, ("Approved", "Completed", and "Void") incorporates this. Most of the conversations get "Approved", those are ones that I did quite enjoy and found some real shared ideas. "Completed" is just satisfactory, I had a handful of these. Two conversations were stamped "Void", one as requested by the participant, and the other by someone who was trying to make jokes that really weren't amusing, or truly could not type at all; I wasn't judging on typing skills, as one would think we'd all have some sort of experience by now.
I had a few sessions with kids, and they absolutely love the typewriters. Most have never seen one I assume, though they must be familiar with a qwerty keyboard. I imagine it must be like a computer with no screen. A buzzing, mechanical, loud (they are mic'd) computer; with no delete, no spell check, no google. I think the tactility of the typewriter is fascinating for kids, it's loud, clunky, and clumsy compared to computers, and spits out this real piece of paper, an original somewhat; that is the only document and evidence of the exchange. Maybe I'm just a big kid.
At some point in the night I took a break to eat something, and two teens sat down at the desk and typed to each other. I came back to find them, and first was a little annoyed, but then realized how magical this was. The audacity of youth! So I directed them, as they didn't understand the carbon paper, or what they were supposed to do. I didn't give them much instructions, just helped out, and then dj'd the effects as they typed, and made some dub sounds. One of the participants, this girl with shockingly orange hair, types to her friend "there's no talking asshole." That's how it started. Fantastic.
Problems? This piece is installed as a participatory work, days I'm not there, people are invited to type and leave me a message, or whatever they feel. Gallery staff turning on and off my set up is a question. I disconnected my mixer and turned off my amp so those won't be on for entire days. If the typewriters stay on for days, they might burn out their motors or blow their belts. So far, it's been ok. Lots of random messages. Wite Out on my desk. (Yes, Wite Out is spelled like that.) People leave me their email addresses on types pages, I find that so amazingly charming. I like to do things the most backwards and analog way possible sometimes, and I'm really happy others see the beauty in that too.
More to come.
1 comments:
I wish I had a typewriter.
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