Monday, 9 December 2013
Mme Poliakov's Spirit of Christmas
Since the Christmas that we know and love these days is pretty much a Victorian concept, it's fitting that Nuts and Volts Theatre Company's witty festive show has more than a sprinkling of Dickensian magic about it.
Gathering outside The Well House Tavern on Cathedral Yard on Saturday evening - thankfully well warmed by a bracing (purely medicinal) sup of Gluhwein from the market - we were greeted by Mr Grimley-Meagre, Mrs Scrimp and Mr Humbug with the promise of an audience with the 'richest woman in the world' - Madame Poliakov! Hustled down to the cellar of the pub (where you can see the remains of an unfortunate nun and her monk lover, who pitched themselves into the well to seek union in death), we await the great lady's arrival and the revelation of her new concoction - the 'Spirit of Christmas'...
What follows is 20 minutes of festive fun, ghoulish spectacle and as many dropped consonants as you can fit in Oliver Twist's pockets. All three performers (Rachel Vowles, Fin Irwin and Richard Feltham) revel in the grimy melodrama conjured by the setting, the script and the conceit, and there's a piece of classic Victorian trickery that is surprisingly effective and delightfully gruesome (I practically elbowed my way to the front to get a good view!) I defy you not to come skipping out with your heart full of tinsel.
It's a tiny space down in the cellar, so audiences are limited to 12 per show - gather early to avoid disappointment. And it's a 'gift' from the performers - you pay what you think it's worth, donations are collected at the end. Happy Christmas!
You can next see Madame Poliakov's Spirit of Christmas on:
Thursday 12th December - 4pm, 5pm, 6pm, 7pm
Saturday 14th December - 4pm, 5pm, 6pm, 7pm
Thursday 19th December - 4pm, 5pm, 6pm, 7pm
Tuesday, 29 October 2013
Ariel
Commissioned by Kaleider, this piece was performed at Exeter Central Temporary Library during 19th-26th October...
When Alice Tatton-Brown found four photograph albums in an
Exeter junk shop, she was captivated by the lives revealed in the portraits
filling its pages. Who was this graceful, theatrical woman, so often captured
mid-dance, mid-leap? Who was the man holding her close or – more often – behind
the Leica III, intent on preserving her vitality forever? How did this couple,
who seemed to embody such passion and intensity, come to be abandoned in this
way?
Part audio installation, part performance, Ariel documents Alice’s quest to answer those
questions, and poses many more – about the relationship between the public and
the private, the attempts we make to counter the impermanence of life, and the
nature of curatorial responsibility. Moving and quietly contemplative, it
celebrates a life-long romance while tugging mortality gently but insistently
into the frame.
Instructed to gather by the enquiries desk, we are greeted
by Johnny (Rowden who, with Alice, participates in the piece) and told that we’re no longer required to whisper in the library, but
once led into the main reading room, where everyone is engaged in quiet,
private study, that comment reinforces the subtle shift in perception
associated with taking part in a private performance (the two participants for
each 30-minute session wear headphones throughout) in a public space. Surrounded
by the evidence of human endeavour, of myriad lives collected between hard
covers, preserved on paper, we receive the story of the couple in the photographs,
John and Muriel, the when, the where, the how; while we listen, Alice walks
around, putting away books, checking spines – her detective work played out
before us while her voice draws us deeper into the couple’s life together. In
the telling, Alice is seeking to preserve John and Muriel anew, creating fresh markers
for them in everyone with whom she shares their story.
The tension caused by the interplay of public and private
surfaces repeatedly throughout the piece, in its structure and its narrative:
we watch Alice and Johnny move around the library seemingly unnoticed by
everyone but us, while the intimate details of two strangers’ lives are poured
into our ears; we are led to the ‘special section’ of the library – the
‘private’ within the public – to see digitised versions of the photographs, intensely
private moments rising and fading before our eyes. Should I be looking at these
images? By accident or neglect or intention – but without the knowledge of or
consent from John and Muriel, that is certain – these photographs entered the
public realm. At one point we hear Alice discussing her distaste for Facebook,
and her fears about handing the albums over to be digitised – so that we can
see them – and yet here are these private, intimate photographs now being
viewed by two people every half hour, for eight hours a day, over the course of
seven days. Having bought the albums, Alice now owns the photographs; she can
display them how she chooses. In the telling and retelling of this story, John
and Muriel are alive again, in our ears and our hearts, but I can’t shake off
the feeling that looking at the images, many of a semi-naked Muriel, is
intrusive.
Is it surprising that, as a childless couple, John and
Muriel’s joint venture against transience ended up in a junk shop? It certainly
seems so, when we hear about their happiness, their achievements and their
adventures. But while Ariel
celebrates romance – and the piece is as much a paean to the library itself as
it is to love – it is also a reminder that mortality is always just at the edge
of the picture. In this place where deeds and ideas are catalogued, ponder
which aspects of our lives – perhaps those that reveal the most – might end up
splayed across the tarmac on a frost-bright, car-boot Sunday.
At the close, we are led down to the stacks, and invited to
stand within the monuments of manilla and have our photograph taken with a Leica
III, the same model used by John more than 60 years ago to preserve his
adoration of Muriel. It neatly bookends this thought-provoking, layered
Find out more about Ariel here.
This review first appeared on Exeunt.
Sunday, 20 October 2013
Mugs Arrows at Bike Shed Theatre
Apologies again for late posting - this play has now finished...
Pat and Ed are in mourning, so they head for a familiar
haunt to sink a few more beers and throw some arrows in memory of the fallen,
Simon. In the dingy lounge bar of a decrepit pub, where the décor is as out of
date as the power ballads on the jukebox, the pair play darts, reminisce and mull
over their run-down lives. Gradually, stealthily, and with creeping unease, the
rituals of this male-oriented space – the pints, the darts, the hats – are appropriated
by newcomer Sarah, who then moves on to the rituals of male friendship and the
arena that supports them and shakes them up in ways Pat and Ed could not have
believed possible.
Photo: Rhys King & Eddie Elks in Third Man Theatre's Mugs Arrows
To be too explicit about the plot of Mugs Arrows would pepper this review with spoilers, which would be
a real shame, because one of the twisted pleasures of this deliciously
constructed piece is the reveal early on that pulls the beer-stained rug from
under you and forces you to reconsider what’s gone before, while simultaneously
going straight to the heart of what makes these characters tick. Just as the
opening sequence uses a spotlight to pick out the details of this male space –
the pint mugs, the darts, the trilby hanging on a wall peg – so the narrative
shines its torch on the motifs of the male relationship, peering into the
darkest corners to see what’s lurking there. As Sarah’s presence picks at Pat
and Ed’s friendship, and the myriad failures and disappointments begin to stack
up like so many dead sheep – “their little black faces in the snow, all dead” –
then the real demons come slithering out. A dodgy bladder, a tendency toward
panic attacks… these become the least of their worries.
And while the dark humour keeps us laughing, and the
steadily unfolding narrative – exquisitely paced by director Ken McClymont –
tightens its grip, so we are pulled deeper into the recesses of the psyche,
where all those desires, resentments and fears lie hidden, festering, primed to
add their stain to the already blackened wallpaper. Well, here is Sarah with
her bucket of blue paint to tackle the rot. Who does she think she is?
Exactly who Sarah is builds to a scene of such brilliantly
bonkers surreality that you’ll be agog. Just as the grimmest, most effective
fairy stories reflect our primal fears, so Sarah becomes Pat and Ed’s worst
nightmare. Twisted through the prism of their vulnerability, loneliness and
self-denial, what she represents –
change, disruption to their routines, progress – turns her into their very own
demon.
With a script rich in subtlety and subtext, so the
performances draw out the nuances of every glance, every word, with masterly timing.
Elks (Ed) and King (Pat) perfectly capture the paradox of male friendship: the unstintingly
loyalty undercut by cruel-edged one-upmanship; failed relationships, careers and
reputations forgotten until a barbed reminder calls forth the shame. There’s
tenderness here, too, and a recognition that each is sanctioning the other’s stagnation.
As the harbinger of change, Polly Hughes conjures Sarah as a force of nature,
channelling and focussing the sinister undercurrent seeping up from below.
Mugs Arrows began
life in Exeter last year, during Third Man’s residency here with the wonderful Botallack O’Clock. During this run, the
company will also be starting work on a new piece, Skylark, the early stages of which will be revealed in scratch
performances. I can’t wait to see what they come up with next.
This review appeared on Exeunt
Unexpected Festival
Apologies - a bit late posting this here...
15-22
September 2013
A brand new autumn festival for Exeter, Unexpected presented
a programme of outdoor events and performances, taking them out of the usual
spaces and thrusting them into the public arena. Funded by the council, it turned
the city centre into a sort of multi-ring circus, filling outdoor (and
semi-outdoor) spaces usually dominated by commerce with trapeze workshops,
acrobatic displays, interventions and performances, most free to access. Three indoor
ticketed events – Reckless Sleepers’ The
Last Supper, Blind Ditch’s ThisCity’s Centre 3: Here, Now, and Joel Cahen’s Wet
Sounds (which I didn’t see) –
subverted the spaces they occupied (the historic Guildhall, an empty office
space and a swimming pool, respectively) by their form and/or content, and each
was enhanced by the knowledge of how we usually interact with and in those spaces,
if we are permitted into them at all.
While there seems little doubt that these public spectacles
and interventions engaged those who sought them out (there was a sense of
excitement and expectation in evidence throughout the city centre, and plenty
of spectators gathered, waiting, watching), there was also the fact that you
can’t fail to miss a performance when it inserts itself into your daily commute
to work, or one man is doing a headstand on the head of another – and both are
wearing animal skins – while you’re trying to get to Superdrug. Your routine is
inexorably altered, your perception of a familiar journey or place transformed.
And is that enough, or is there the expectation that these events will nudge
the casual observer towards a ticketed event in a theatre at some point, if not
today?
Photo: Benjamin J Borley
Whatever the overarching intention, there is something
rather splendid about a bus-full of people applauding their driver just for
being their driver, which is just one of the subtle subversions employed by the
nostalgia-tinged and nasal-toned Public Transport Appreciation Society (created
by new Exeter-based company Nuts & Volts Theatre), who spent the week
intervening on city buses, offering tours of specific routes, with local
history facts, quizzes, sing-alongs and I Spy. Bemused travellers received a
Werther’s Original plus the chance to win a goody bag for correctly knowing
what it was Phil Collins – “from the band Genesis, not Barometer World…” – who has never lived in Exeter. The crowd on
the H Bus (to and from the hospital) was a tough one, including a
semi-aggressive heckler and some resolute eye-rollers, but the return journey
had some participants in fine voice and with the enthusiasm to play a game or
two. As gentle interventions go, it was sweet and good-natured, although still
obviously too challenging for some, but it was a much-needed reminder of how
much more pleasant the world is when we talk to each other and interact with
those with whom we share the day-to-day mundanities, let alone the big stuff.
By the time the PTAS left the bus, there were smiles all around, and no doubt a
smile in the retelling later that day.
Interrupting the flow of people’s routines and challenging
the notion of where art can and does take place has driven the work of two of
the companies presenting ticketed events at Unexpected. The first was Reckless
Sleepers’ 2004 piece The Last Supper,
which is built around the rituals associated with eating and dying. An
immediate thrill in seeing this show was being permitted inside a building not
open to the public: the historic Guildhall, parts of which are the oldest still
in use in the city. More resonant – and no doubt contributing to the hush all
39 audience members automatically fell into as we filed in to take a number (13
of which correspond to the last meals of death row inmates) and were directed
to our seats around a formal dining table – was the knowledge that under the
stone flooring is the old city jail (more like a pit, really), where prisoners
were held before trial in the space where we were to watch the performance. The
walls dripping with the oiled dead, wood panelling like so much coffinware,
there was as much ceremony and ritual in the location as that promised by the
piece. It’s gratifying to know that The
Last Supper’s performance here has led to bookings in other Guildhalls
around the country.
With no pretence at characterisation – Mole Wetherall, Tim
Ingram and Leen Dewilde play themselves, seated at the top table – The Last Supper invites us to bear
witness to the last moments of the famous, the infamous, the factual and the fictional,
to partake of last meals and last words, some self-aware, some mundane, all
made profound by the finality of the breath that uttered them. We hear Kafka
calling for morphine and Monroe calling Kennedy; Che Guevara’s final utterances
are manipulated depending on whose objective they serve; and all are eaten by
the cast, for they are printed on rice paper. Some of those quoted, we know
their lives, their achievements, their failures simply by the nature of the
lives they lived or they deaths they endured; others we know only by name,
prisoner number and last meal. Death is the great leveller.
Deceptively simple, there are subtle segues that create a
narrative of sorts: a prisoner’s last meal of deep-fried everything is placed
in front of an audience member to be followed by a list of Elvis Presley’s
gargantuan daily diet, and details of his demise atop the toilet, a peanut butter
and jelly sandwich clutched in one hand; a slice of cake accompanying another death
row repast feeds Marie Antoinette’s walk to the guillotine. Two scenes early on
hint at horror – the entire
Romanov family massacred, only a maid remaining to tell the tale; Rasputin’s
fierce battle with his assassins and the reaper – but mostly there is a calm
delivery, a slipping away, a receding, which makes the executions all the more
unsettling. What of their victims, the other deaths that lead to this one?
Where are they?
Most satisfying is the piece’s identification of the rituals
and ceremony around food and death, inextricably linked – the last meal, the
last supper, the Eucharist... When a prisoner’s requested chocolate cake with
candles is delivered, the audience member blows them out and we all clap
unprompted, this ritual buried deep within us since childhood. How many more of
these are there, hidden from awareness until called forth by a specific
situation? The calling of numbers, the presentation of meals, the pause before lifting
the lid of the silver serving dish, the pouring of water and wine, the toasting
of the departed – all combine to create a quietly moving piece.
Occupying a far more prosaic space – an empty office – but
producing the most challenging and rewarding experience of the festival was This City’s Centre 3: Here, Now, from
Devon-based collective Blind Ditch, who have been presenting genre-busting, digital
performance art work in unusual spaces – including touring a multi-screen
converted caravan with young people’s films to village fetes in Devon and
Ireland, exhibiting supersize storyboards on train station platforms, and
performing over the internet from people’s homes across the world – for 12
years. The third part of a multi-layered work in collaboration with local
performers/devisors and residents – the other aspects are a video+sound
installation called Window in the
Royal Albert Memorial Museum and an interactive mapped walk of the city called Linger – Here, Now combines live performance, live video feeds, live music
and audience interaction to create a genuinely affecting performance event.
Photo: Benjamin J Borley
Engaging directly with the notion of public-private space, Here, Now allowed us into an empty
office in the Princesshay retail development (owned by Landmark Securities, Princesshay
is one of those unsettling spaces with an almost seamless transition from
public highway to private land; tarry too long on one of the benches after the
shops have shut and you’ll soon have uniformed guards emerging en masse from
different corners to question your intentions). Fitting, then, that Blind Ditch
rebuilt its version of Exeter in a room situated on the same floor as the
security team.
“Forget everything you know about Exeter,” commands our
guide (Phil Smith) as we converge outside the office building, the shops around
us all closed, our presence here already anachronistic and a little subversive.
Red-coated like the well-known city guides who conduct regular tours of Exeter’s
past, he demands that we ignore all associations that spring to mind. It’s a
call to open our perception to possibilities, to embrace the next two hours
with a willingness to think differently.
He leads us inside, and laid out before us is the city
rendered in cardboard – there the cathedral, the streets mapped out in
miniature. Two of the cast (Katie Villa and Smith) walk among it like giants,
evoking myth and legend, and during the course of the performance we too get to
stalk its tiny thoroughfares, committing our hopes and dreams to its walls and
roofs while live video feeds stream images from the streets outside the space
and spaces within people’s homes onto the insides of two windows; the cast play
out scenes from the day to day dynamics of the urban environment, the
interactions and engagements that make a living, breathing city. Tales from an
imagined past mesh with personal experience, testimony, night-time behaviours
and day-time activities – as if every possibility is conjured and allowed to
find its own form, slipping away as immediately as it is suggested or finding
its way into consciousness, making connections there.
Photo: Benjamin J Borley
Encouraged to walk into the city and write a statement about
a regular activity that we engage in, numbering it from 1 to 10, we ponder what
it is we actually do. What is worthy of being committed to cardboard? Numbered
cards are held aloft and we read out statements in succession or together, our
voices merging to create a heteroglossial mash that evokes the stories and
voices of the city – a chorus of experiences. Later we write a wish for the
city, and again read them out – ‘to hear music everyday… to spend more time
with family… to buy a tweed jacket’. Then the city is dismantled, leaving just
roads and buildings’ footprints in tape on the carpet, the performers using the
space to play out the various changing moods and dramas of everyday life,
before the inscribed cardboard is brought into play once more, and rebuilt with
the wishes clearly visible on the outside, like monuments to expectation,
monoliths of hope for change, for doing it differently, better.
The live feeds are both technically impressive and
intriguing, adding to the narrative in the space while also creating separate
narratives that feed into each other. We see views onto the street through the
windows of city centre homes – through one, performers play in the road, observed
by us in the space and by the resident in their home. On another screen sit a
couple on a sofa (Jane Mason and Volkhardt Muller), surrounded by the trappings
of comfort and yet seemingly discomforted by each other. Later, a figure (Lizzy
Humber) seen lying on the pavement through one view appears outside the
couple’s window like a wraith, and reaches in to deposit a piece of greenery on
the windowsill, unnoticed.
Just as the actual performance space – and the whole Princesshay
development – plays with the boundaries between the public and the private, so Here, Now incorporates that negotiation
into its structure and its narrative. A screen pulls us inside a home
overlooking Cathedral Green, its own night-time personality a backdrop to
what’s happening inside, the resident kicking a football around his living
room, before throwing it and various items out of the window, where they are
gathered up by one of the performers (Jonny Rowden). The feed then switches to his
footage of bouncing and kicking the ball through the streets, while inside the performance
space Smith recounts his experiences watching Exeter City Football Club,
wrapped in a sheet like an ancient statue (ECFC are called the 'Grecians'). As the
excitement of the described game builds, we see on screen the familiar outside
of this building, the stairs we walked up on our way to see this performance,
and hear the bassy bounce-bounce of the ball through the corridor while we see
it simultaneously on screen… Here, Now
is packed with moments like this; moments in which what we see, what we hear
and images evoked by the narrative unfolding before us slip, slide and leak
into each other. Public, private, real, imagined, on film but live, recorded
but echoed in the live performance – it all combines to create a thrilling and
stimulating experience that continues to provoke contemplation long after the
performance has ended.
It’s not perfect, certainly. There’s too much going on in a
number of places, so that it feels a little baggy at times; on occasion I didn’t
know which screen to look at and missed a whole section because I shut down
slightly and focussed on what was happening in the performance space. Only in
the bar later did I have an aspect of narrative explained to me (which in
itself is a nice metaphor for the city experience). Being able to hear the tech
team in charge of mixing the live feeds occasionally issuing instructions to
the performers operating cameras elsewhere was distracting. A scene in which
the whole cast move through a gestural dance of relationships, personalities
and behaviours felt a little self-indulgent (I would rather have seen more of
performer/choreographer Jane Mason on her own, or with one other cast member).
Despite that, it’s the scope and ambition of this project,
the technical adventurousness, the collaborative and participatory ethos
embedded in its very being that make it such a success. And just as the digital
aspect is intrinsic to its narrative and structure, so is the sense of hope –
the potential for change, for us to build the city we want, to be who we want
to be. The set and process of the piece – the possibility of remaking the city
with new attitudes, the sight of the performers dismantling and rebuilding
before our eyes – implies that we can do this too, out there. And perhaps that’s
the most challenging aspect of this work, because it encourages the audience to
address the notion that the potential for change lies in us, a result of the
changes we make within ourselves, our relationships and our behaviours in society.
It is our responsibility to shape our idea of the world, a world in which
people talk and engage with each other, share their hopes and dreams and try to
make them a reality.
Any outdoor festival in the UK is a gamble – we’re always at
the mercy of the weather – but Unexpected really seemed to capture a shared
sense of fun, and the importance of actually getting on and doing stuff rather
than just talking about it, which was embodied in the festival’s finale
performance: Weighting, a work commissioned
especially for the festival and produced by Extraordinary Bodies, a new company
formed from Cirque Bijou and Diverse City. The piece, which saw a company of
mixed ability performers create a somewhat narratively opaque but undoubtedly
visually spectacular display of aerial acrobatics, with Exeter’s cathedral a
suitably impressive backdrop. Cathedral Green was absolutely heaving, packed
with families, everyone shaken out of their routines and out of the house into
the somewhat unseasonal balminess, embracing the chance to see the city with
fresh eyes and enjoy the performance.
Perhaps because I’m so invested in the arts and performance
scene in the city, Unexpected seemed to dominate the week, but I overhead and
had various conversations during the run about the festival not being very well
advertised. Admittedly this was after the rather disappointing turn out on the
opening day (it rained throughout the day) but again and again I and others
pointed out the flyers in many venues, cafés and meeting places throughout the
city, the adshel posters, the coverage in every local newspaper, city magazine
and listings guide in the run-up to the launch, radio interviews and features, Facebook,
Twitter, as well as a full-page feature in the Exeter Citizen (a free
newsletter delivered to practically every home in the city)… there has to be a certain level of
self-determination, a willingness in people to actually explore further the
snippet of information they do notice to see where it leads; a willingness to
meet experiences half way, rather than expect to be spoonfed, and then reject
what’s on the spoon as not being to their taste. Despite this, Unexpected is a
welcome addition to the Exeter festival scene, and long may it continue to
programme innovative and challenging work.
This review appeared on Exeunt
Monday, 16 September 2013
Corridor by Sissy Lange
TruPrint Store, Guildhall Shopping Centre, Exeter
Until 22 September (a part of Surprise!, the pop-up visual art component of Unexpected 2013)
Until 22 September (a part of Surprise!, the pop-up visual art component of Unexpected 2013)
Tuesday, 27 August 2013
Saturday, 24 August 2013
This City's Centre 2: Linger
I'm loathe to start another blog post with 'the weather', but ISN'T IT GORGEOUS! I've been quacking about this summer being a re-run of 1976 since February (should have taken my hunch to William Hill, dammit) so I'm making the most of every sun-kissed moment. When the sun's out, it's as if the years fall away and I just want to get outside and play (and chase ice cream vans, natch). So this week I grabbed a couple of friends, some copies of the new interactive Exeter map, Linger – hot off the press! – and hit the streets in search of fun.
Part 2 of the This City's Centre project (Part 1: Window is a video+sound installation at RAMM, which I wrote about earlier), Linger is a beautifully designed manifesto for playful interaction. An artwork in itself, the map encourages you to explore the city centre with an open mind and a willingness to participate, to engage in positive activity and to immerse yourself in the familiar in a way that reveals fresh perspectives. The colour-coded actions under different headings – including Street Dance, Be Neighbourly, and With No Particular Purpose – direct you on a walk around the city, inciting experiences and interactions along the way.
Some of the locations have QR codes attached. Scan them with your smartphone and you are pulled inside someone's life as their experience of that location unfolds in your ears. Standing by the war memorial in Cathedral Green, you hear revelations about the night-time behaviours witnessed by one resident; sitting on a tree-dappled bench on Fore Street, looking down towards Exe Bridges, you hear hopes and dreams for alternative vistas and are asked to imagine what you would do to change the view. I'd like less traffic, personally.
On the steps in front of the Cathedral we performed Green 2 and danced the Twankidillo. Behind Rougemont Gardens we followed the directions for Purple 7 and found a secret spot with spectacular views. On the crossroads of South St and North St we embraced Blue 3 and became monuments that announced our hopes for the city. But mostly we had a huge amount of fun. We tweeted our pictures and thoughts to @thiscityscentre using specific hashtags – you can see the interactions on the website.
It's such a common city-centre sight: people glued to their phones, plugged up with earphones, transported from their present location by the escape afforded by technology. Linger uses the same technology to root you firmly in the here and now. By hearing the voices of your neighbours, of people who have walked the same stretch of pavement over and again, just like you, and having their ideas, opinions and thoughts flow into your ears as you contemplate the exact same view that inspired those thoughts, you just might – as I did – feel increasingly connected to the people around you. It creates an opportunity to meet the city anew, to appreciate its intricacies, to see beyond the perceived mundanity of transitional actions – waiting for a bus, rushing to work – and hear the beating heart of its inhabitants.
Maps are designed to take you from A to B; that is their purpose. In its playful yet insightful subversion of that premise, Linger encourages you to enjoy the journey.
Pick up a copy of Linger for £2 (at that price you can have one to play with and one to frame – it's that lovely) from RAMM, Exeter Phoenix and various other outlets across the city.
Part 2 of the This City's Centre project (Part 1: Window is a video+sound installation at RAMM, which I wrote about earlier), Linger is a beautifully designed manifesto for playful interaction. An artwork in itself, the map encourages you to explore the city centre with an open mind and a willingness to participate, to engage in positive activity and to immerse yourself in the familiar in a way that reveals fresh perspectives. The colour-coded actions under different headings – including Street Dance, Be Neighbourly, and With No Particular Purpose – direct you on a walk around the city, inciting experiences and interactions along the way.
Some of the locations have QR codes attached. Scan them with your smartphone and you are pulled inside someone's life as their experience of that location unfolds in your ears. Standing by the war memorial in Cathedral Green, you hear revelations about the night-time behaviours witnessed by one resident; sitting on a tree-dappled bench on Fore Street, looking down towards Exe Bridges, you hear hopes and dreams for alternative vistas and are asked to imagine what you would do to change the view. I'd like less traffic, personally.
On the steps in front of the Cathedral we performed Green 2 and danced the Twankidillo. Behind Rougemont Gardens we followed the directions for Purple 7 and found a secret spot with spectacular views. On the crossroads of South St and North St we embraced Blue 3 and became monuments that announced our hopes for the city. But mostly we had a huge amount of fun. We tweeted our pictures and thoughts to @thiscityscentre using specific hashtags – you can see the interactions on the website.
It's such a common city-centre sight: people glued to their phones, plugged up with earphones, transported from their present location by the escape afforded by technology. Linger uses the same technology to root you firmly in the here and now. By hearing the voices of your neighbours, of people who have walked the same stretch of pavement over and again, just like you, and having their ideas, opinions and thoughts flow into your ears as you contemplate the exact same view that inspired those thoughts, you just might – as I did – feel increasingly connected to the people around you. It creates an opportunity to meet the city anew, to appreciate its intricacies, to see beyond the perceived mundanity of transitional actions – waiting for a bus, rushing to work – and hear the beating heart of its inhabitants.
Maps are designed to take you from A to B; that is their purpose. In its playful yet insightful subversion of that premise, Linger encourages you to enjoy the journey.
Pick up a copy of Linger for £2 (at that price you can have one to play with and one to frame – it's that lovely) from RAMM, Exeter Phoenix and various other outlets across the city.
Monday, 5 August 2013
This City's Centre 1: Window
When I lived in central London and the weather was so hot that it felt as if the tarmac was trying to consume you from the feet up, I loved to escape into the cavernous cool of the British Library. To stand amid the Ancient Egyptians, for instance, savouring the quiet chill while filling my imagination with stories about lives I’d never know, seemed a wise investment of time.
Our very own RAMM offers similar refuge, and its tagline –
Home to a Million Thoughts – is enough, regardless of the temperature outside,
to entice me in. There’s little better than picking a room and completely
immersing yourself in its treasures; like sitting in a giant pile of gifts and
slowly unwrapping them one by one. I could write reams about each room, about
each corner of each room – especially enthralled by the taxidermy, of course,
particularly the owl hat. Have you SEEN the owl hat?! – because everything
comes back to the people, the individuals, at the heart of each exhibit. The person
who carved intricacies into that grain of rice, collected and catalogued those
beetles, wore THAT HAT… Where was home? How did they live? What did they see as
they went about their daily business? These are the questions that keep me
lingering for hours beside each exhibit, and it’s what’s lured me for repeated
visits to This City’s Centre 1: Window, the video/sound installation currently
occupying the Central Courtyard (just by the café).
Projected onto two adjacent walls are the views from Exeter
residents’ houses, each one encompassing stories about home, place, and space –
both public and private, and privatised public – and how those residents view
that space. The screens show identical images – terraced roofs, a church spire,
Haldon Hill in the distance – then one pulls back to reveal the frame of the
window through which this view is seen; like looking into the distance and at
the particular at once. The long-distance view is slowed down, encouraging you
to take the time to savour it: the bird dancing with a breeze, the leaves
playing with the light, life in careful transit. The second image is in real
time, and as your eyes flick between the two, noting the changing pace, the
voice of the view’s owner fills the headphones, giving that view substance and
context. In the conflation of personal testimony, the view framed by its particular
position and the horizon in slow motion, we are positioned between the intimate
and the universal. The voices reveal the past and the present, cares and
concerns, hopes and dreams; the meaning of ‘home’, and the sense of feeling part
of something larger, of feeling connected to the immediate environment and the community
that shares it. The stories are funny and moving; generous in their honesty and
compelling in their detail. Some of the views I recognise – not in particular,
of course, but in a directional sense – but most are completely fresh, offering
new insights on the city.
![]() |
Courtesy of Blind Ditch |
Every five minutes or so, the views tessellate, each screen filled
with a grid of different windows, the voiceovers merging to create a
heteroglossial mash of stories, like the city of which they are a part. Your
eyes flash over each, while your ears pick out snippets from the wash of words;
a detail, a decorative element, an ornament catches your attention, and you
wonder which voice matches which view. Who sees that vista on a daily basis,
and what do they think, how do they live? And then the screens pull a view into
focus, and once more we are invited into someone’s life for a few minutes.
![]() |
Courtesy of Blind Ditch |
Created by Devon-based art collective Blind Ditch, this
installation offers much more than tantalising glimpses into the lives of
others; it explores the boundaries between public and private space, concepts
of ownership, and community engagement. It reveals the city in new and
interesting ways, and encourages us to look more closely at the intricacies of
our daily lives – the details and moments that get overlooked through regular
exposure – and to appreciate them fully. And to turn to the person next to us,
and ask, ‘How are you today?’
This City’s Centre 1: Window is the first part of a ‘digital
triptych for Exeter’. Coming soon are an interactive map, called Linger, that invites
participants to walk around the city, be active in specific places and listen
to sound files via your smartphone, followed by a series of live performances - called Here, Now - in
September during the new Unexpected festival. I'm planning to experience all the aspects of this artwork, so will be writing about the map as soon as it's released and booking my ticket (£10/£8 from the Phoenix) for Here, Now...
This City's Centre 1: Window is at RAMM until 22 September.
B
This City's Centre 1: Window is at RAMM until 22 September.
B
Monday, 29 July 2013
Changing Rooms
At the end of last year, my brother Mike bought a beautiful little cottage, right in the heart of Lympstone. It was perfect: 30 seconds' walk from the beach, right by the pub, very spacious and with very little structural work to be done. However the decor was, how shall we say...? Not to his taste. Maroon and owls featured quite heavily, and that was just the bathroom.
Mike and his girlfriend Lizzie have been working very hard to get the cottage up to scratch over the past few months. Mike works away during the week so they have devoted many weekends to the stripping of wood chip wallpaper, sanding of skirting boards and papering of walls.
So, when Mike and Lizzie headed off on a well-deserved
holiday, we thought it would be fun to lend a hand and transform one of the
bedrooms to take the pressure off them. To add to that, we knew Mike was
planning to pop the question while they were away, so unbeknownst to Lizzie, it
was to be a bit of an engagement present too! (She said yes - hurrah!!)
Here are a few shots (post wood chip stripping) to give you an idea of what we were dealing with.
This little project of ours happened to coincide with the heatwave, which made for rather uncomfortable decorating conditions, but the copious amounts of rollering and sanding in a room of sauna-like temperatures more than made up for the hours I was missing at the gym!
There's still a little way to go - photos on the walls, new carpet, curtains etc - but I think you'll agree that it's now looking one heck of a lot smarter!
One of my favourite parts of the process was finding this dressing table from The Children's Society shop on Fore Street. It had already been given the Farrow and Ball treatment by the previous owner, so after a little bit of TLC (artful distressing) and the teaming up with this mirror, (which I found in the pile for the tip!), a lovely getting-ready area was finished.
I painted the mirror in Fired Earth's Oak Apple emulsion. The closest stockist to Exeter is Darts Farm. The staff are very friendly, incredibly helpful and - writing from experience - have patience with the most indecisive of customers!
Congratulations to the happy couple!
Ax
Location:
Exeter, Devon, UK
Tuesday, 23 July 2013
Saturday, 13 July 2013
A Tenner in My Pocket - Magdalen Road
Well known for its independent spirit and friendly atmosphere, Magdalen Road can satisfy most needs in one neat little street. Insiders A & B spent a lovely couple of hours there one sunny Friday checking out what £10 will get you. Rather a lot, as it turns out…
Gifts & Homewares
Whether you’re on the hunt for the perfect present or
looking for yourself, Magdalen Road will not let you down. For vintage and
retro-styled homewares, Bel Green is a gem (it’s also a café, should you need a
pit-stop).
Remember those bowls your granny made steamed puddings in? Well, Bel
Green stocks those, among many other delights, with lots of lovely stuff for
under £10, including a classic hand mirror (£9.50), a pair of TG Green soup
pots for £9, handmade pottery mugs for £9.50, tea towels for £6.50. Tonnes of
stuff. And although they overstep the funds by 50p, the Rob Ryan mugs are ideal
for when you need A REALLY BIG CUP OF TEA.
At Leela, we were rather taken with these glass bud vases
for £4.95(and the sweet peas smelled incredible).
Devon jeweller Ruby
Horologie makes these quirky and original pendants and earrings (£10) that have watch parts inside tiny phials. And just in case the weather turns, you can buy two
pairs of Bamboo Socks for £9.
Leaf Street specialises in bespoke, local handmade gifts,
and is one of those brilliant shops where you are guaranteed – GUARANTEED – to
find the perfect present for even the most troublesome person. We love these
mugs (£10) and coasters (£7.50) by Exeter-based Giddy Sprite. There are also
cute fabric badges (£6.95) by Poppy Treffry. Don’t forget to look downstairs,
where there is pre-loved clothing for sale.
And who doesn’t love a bunch of blooms? At St Leonard’sFlowers there were delphiniums for £3.50 and sunflowers for the same price, and
a generous mixed bunch with a gloriously vivid gerbera at its centre for £9.50.
And if those lovely flowers put your walls to shame, check
out eco champions Earthborn Paints, which are free from dangerous chemicals and
come in a range of gorgeous colours with excellent names like Paw Print, Fruit
Salad and Smidgen. You can pick up a tester pot for £4.25 at Duo Interiors.
Food & Drink
Morning coffee never tasted so good as at Café Magdalen,
where a perfectly made flat white (£2.20) plus a diet-busting slice of moist
lemon Victoria sponge (£2.20) set us up for our shopping challenge. They serve delicious
lunches, too (and MASSIVE veggie breakfasts) all of which come in well under
budget, but we just had time to stock up on Tea Pig Darjeeling (15 pack from
£3.49) before heading off.
With a deli, a bakery, a butcher and a fishmonger, as well
as a grocer, Magdalen Road really is foodie heaven. Gibson’s Plaice (fish
landed daily at Brixham) more than met our challenge to come up with a
two-course supper for two for under a tenner: either scallops (75p each) or ½ kilo
of mussels (£3) to start, followed by two whole lemon sole for £5.
For ethically produced meat of the highest quality, pop across
the road to multi-award-winning Pipers Farm, where you can combine slices of
black pudding (£1 each) to your scallop starter – which is a great pairing – or
go for chicken dressed with lemon, garlic and thyme for £8.90.
Would you like wine with your dinner, madam? What a daft
question… At Smith’s Wines & Spirits, the welcome is as warm as the stock
is as varied and budget-friendly.
Ian stocks more than 50 wines that come in at
under £10, and suggested a Chilean Pedro Ximenex (£8.20) as the perfect
accompaniment for our fish main course and a L’aristocrate viognier (£9.15) as
the ideal match for the chicken. Too tired to cook your own meal? From August,
you’ll be able to get a glass of wine and a plate of food for £10, when Ian
launches his Cheeky Midweek Suppers at the shop (Tues-Thurs, 6-9pm). What will
be on the menu? “Whatever I’ve cooked,” says Ian, who then insisted that we
share his BLT lunch, which was delicious, so if that’s anything to go by the
Midweek Suppers are going to be a real treat (regardless of the food, you’re in
for a great night; Ian is a fantastic host, which you’ll know if you’ve ever
been to one of the Magdalen Road Food Safaris, which he runs in conjunction
with Pipers Farm, Gibson’s Plaice, Café Magdalen and a visiting chef). Ian’s
BLT was on sourdough bread from Oliver's, the new bakery next door. It was so
good that we rushed straight round and immediately bought a loaf each (£1.23!).
At E.M. Hills & Sons greengrocers, you can stock up on your five a
day for well under a tenner. Look at these redcurrants for £1.79 a punnet –
like summer in a box!
At Bon Gout, we found a box of our favourite chocs – salted
caramel – for £7.99. And then we had to try the salted caramel ice cream (£2
for a cone); I have to admit that I actually drooled, which says all you need
to know about how tasty it is. There’s so much here that fit our criteria –
including fruit-packed jams by Waterhouse Fayre for £3.55 – and that’s before
we even looked at the deli counter, where there’s anti-pasti, cheese, cured
meats… oh, just go in.
Is it time for lunch yet? Oh good, because at The SaltyPigeon you can get two courses – homemade soup of the day or a goat’s cheese
salad to start followed by steak and chips or seafood/vegetarian tagliatelle –
for £9.95. Bargain. And they have local wines from Sharpham and Kenton on the
menu, too.
Beauty
Time for a pampering session? Call in to Visage House to
check out Brenda Anvari’s products, which are all paraben-free and
animal-friendly. The hand cream (£9.95) is scented with rosemary and grapefruit
and fairly zings with frisky freshness. And don’t leave without having a sniff
of the new pomegranate, raspberry and patchouli eau de parfum – it’s like
summer in a bottle. In fact, the whole shop (there are treatment rooms out back
where you can really indulge yourself) is a sensory explosion, with creams and candles,
lotions and potions, all in fresh, summery scents.
At Zamora, there are great offers on treatments if you need
some pampering (20% discounts for students, 10% for nurses, teachers and senior
citizens), and an eyebrow tidy & shape comes in at a very budget-friendly £9
– very handy until the mono-brow comes back into vogue. For a beauty night at
home, you can pick up a pot of Nourish face mask for £10.
And the wild card…
With its amazing antique clocks and time-related
paraphernalia, not much comes in at under a tenner at Prime Time, but you can
get watch straps and some batteries… and it’s worth a visit just for the
peaceful ticking.
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