curator, Author at Museum of Photocopies

Sleep Life Dream Log #2

A few weeks ago the Photocopier collated some answers about the sleep life of important professionals in the music business, in the upstairs room of a Groningen pub. Some of those answers (spread over four separate posts) are to be seen here. One can only wonder; what does sleep really mean to us, during our never-ending lives?

Sleep Life Dream Log 12 — A photograph of a photocopy of a colour photocopy of a drawing. The Photocopier’s friend Charlien asked him about any recurring nightmares he may have. The Photocopier doesn’t like to think of eyes under water.

Sleep Life Dream Log 11 — A photograph of a photocopy of a form found by the photocopier in the office of WORM Rotterdam. The Photocopier asked some of his friends in the music business how they slept. Some of the answers are very revealing, some tug at the heartstrings and make The Photocopier want to illustrate their experiences, others are brief to the point of emotionally stunted. What do these answers hide, or tell? This is from a Dutchman. The makeshift questionnaire came to being when The Photocopier found a strange printed set of forms in his works copier; the fields filled with what looked liked a number of stuck keys, specifically z’s and i’s. This seemed appropriate to use in Sleep Life.

Sleep Life Dream Log 7 — A photograph of a photocopy of a photocopy of a form found in the office of WORM Rotterdam. The Photocopier asked some of his friends in the music business how they slept. Some of the answers are very revealing, some tug at the heartstrings and make The Photocopier want to illustrate their experiences, others are brief to the point of emotionally stunted. What do these answers hide, or tell? This is from a Slovenian. The makeshift questionnaire came to being when The Photocopier found a strange printed set of forms in his works copier; the fields filled with what looked liked a number of stuck keys, specifically z’s and i’s. This seemed appropriate to use in Sleep Life.

Sleep_Life_Sleep_Log_2 — A photograph of a photocopy of a photocopy of a form found in the office of WORM Rotterdam. The Photocopier asked some of his friends in the music business how they slept. Some of the answers are very revealing, some tug at the heartstrings and make The Photocopier want to illustrate their experiences, others are brief to the point of emotionally stunted. What do these answers hide, or tell? This is from a Russian. The makeshift questionnaire came to being when The Photocopier found a strange printed set of forms in his works copier; the fields filled with what looked liked a number of stuck keys, specifically z’s and i’s. This seemed appropriate to use in Sleep Life.

A photograph of a photocopy of a pencil drawing. The Photocopier once started drawing images that made him sleepy or had an inherently tiring element to them. These images – taken from various sources (the suffering of WW2 prisoners, young people being young) make him very sleepy. This particular image is a favourite of Estonian popstar Mart Avi as it reminds him of his grandfather.

Sleep Life Dream Log #1

Sleep Log 10 — A photograph of a photocopy of a photocopy of a form found in the office of WORM Rotterdam. The Photocopier asked some of his friends in the music business how they slept. Some of the answers are very revealing, some tug at the heartstrings and make The Photocopier want to illustrate their experiences, others are brief to the point of emotionally stunted. What do these answers hide, or tell? This is from a German. I think… The makeshift questionnaire came to being when The Photocopier found a strange printed set of forms in his works copier; the fields filled with what looked liked a number of stuck keys, specifically z’s and i’s. This seemed appropriate to use in Sleep Life.

Sleep Life Dream Log 16 — A photograph of a photocopy of a pencil drawing. The Photocopier once started drawing images that made him sleepy or had an inherently tiring element to them. These images – taken from various sources (the suffering of WW2 prisoners, young people being young) make him very sleepy.

Sleep Life Dream Log 4 — A photograph of a photocopy of a photocopy of a form found in the office of WORM Rotterdam. The Photocopier asked some of his friends in the music business how they slept. Some of the answers are very revealing, some tug at the heartstrings and make The Photocopier want to illustrate their experiences, others are brief to the point of emotionally stunted. What do these answers hide, or tell? This is from a Belarusian. The makeshift questionnaire came to being when The Photocopier found a strange printed set of forms in his works copier; the fields filled with what looked liked a number of stuck keys, specifically z’s and i’s. This seemed appropriate to use in Sleep Life.

Sleeplife #2

Together with two good friends of great artistic repute, the Photocopier has embarked on a new, ongoing project called Sleeplife. Quite what Sleeplife means is anybody’s guess. But the Photocopier and his friends agree on one point: Sleeplife is pretty much all we have left.

Given the subject of sleep has been misunderstood, abused or harnessed into many things over the years that have nothing to do with it – or employed as the courtier to our rampantly egotistical and psychotically-squeezed waking state – it’s maybe time to add to that confusion.

We are all agreed on that.

The first seeds of confusion – and eventual absolution – were sown in a gloomy December week in Brussels, a city with many lives and psychic arteries. Manifestos, explanations, actions, reflections and other artistic or socio-cultural bricolage will all be photocopied and added here; as is my wont.

These posts will show the Photocopier’s modest contribution. The work of Charlien Adriaenssens and Larissa Monteiro are “deep linked”, daddy-oh. They may, or may not post about Sleeplife. Who can tell?

A photograph of a string of photocopies and a drawing imposed on a wall in Brussels Schaerbeek. The photocopies were first stitched together and then sellotaped strategically to the wall (which displayed a treatise on the politics of sex; the remnant of the previous exhibition). Here we see photocopies employed as imps of legend, there to obfuscate, upturn or confuse. No answer need be given. Image sources are: Polish film posters, Czech communist-era toys made from industrial waste, images from the Photocopier’s own imagination and a pencil illustration from a book about the Black Death. Part of the opening – and ending – of the inaugural Sleeplife residency (KAK Brussels, December 8-12, 2019, CE). Next to the copies we see a long strip of wallpaper with the Photocopier’s drawings of skulls and a remarkable silver bear head found at the Residency, denoting frustration at his lack of sleep on the first night. This was taken during the show. The dingy light appeals.

A photograph of a string of photocopies, imposed on a wall in Brussels Schaerbeek. The photocopies were first stitched together and then sellotaped strategically to the wall (which displayed a treatise on the politics of sex; the remnant of the previous exhibition). Here we see photocopies employed as imps of legend, there to obfuscate, upturn or confuse. No answer need be given. Image sources are: Czech communist-era toys made from industrial waste, and an approximation (from memory) of the horses drawn by C19th illustrator, Edmund Dulac. Part of the opening – and ending – of the inaugural Sleeplife residency (KAK Brussels, December 8-12, 2019, CE). This was taken during the show. The light (from a ground light used to illuminate other works) may lend a certain poignancy to the juxtaposition of the slogan and children’s toy and horse drawings.

Sleeplife #1

We are all agreed on that.

A photograph of a line of photocopies imposed on a wall in Brussels Schaerbeek. The photocopies were first stitched together and then sellotaped strategically to the wall (which displayed a treatise on the politics of sex; the remnant of the previous exhibition). Here we see photocopies employed as imps of legend, there to obfuscate, upturn or confuse. No answer need be given. Image sources are: a bastard marriage of the Sphynx and a Czech communist-era toy, and Soviet children sleeping. Part of the opening – and ending – of the inaugural Sleeplife residency (KAK Brussels, December 8-12, 2019, CE). This was taken during the show.

A photograph of a photocopy imposed on a wall in Brussels Schaerbeek. The photocopies were first stitched together and then sellotaped strategically to the wall (which displayed a treatise on the politics of sex; the remnant of the previous exhibition). Here we see photocopies employed as imps of legend, there to obfuscate, upturn or confuse. No answer need be given. Image sources, Polish film posters, and an pencil illustration from a book about the Black Death. Part of the opening – and ending – of the inaugural Sleeplife residency (KAK Brussels, December 8-12, 2019, CE). The Photocopier can’t be arsed turning this image the right way round.

Seeing Red #2

This post is the second in a series that was originally to be called a ‘Study in Scarlet’. Both titles are appropriate given where Albion finds herself in late October, 2019. Balm is given by way of some old comics that somehow passed down to the Curator by way of his father. Plus some altered photographs of West Yorkshire and pictorial catharsis.

“………………………………….It seems a humiliation
to let you go to your ships with our treasures
unfought—now you have come thus far
into our country. You must not get our gold
so softly. Points and edges must reconcile us first,
a grim war-playing, before we give you any tribute.”

A photograph of a photocopy of a children’s comic printed during the first Christmas of the Great War. The comic was the possession of the Curator’s father. If only all wars could be so simple. A salutary reminder too, that what happens in real life never gets into the press. The Curator draws a line at commenting on international negotiations.

A photograph of a photocopy on red A3 paper of a photograph of some fine arts students discussing a sculpture at St Martin’s in 1992. In an act of desperation, the Curator applied for the Art History Masters course. He never heard back from them.

A photograph of a photocopy of a children’s comic printed during the first weeks of the Great War. The comic was the possession of the Curator’s father. If only all wars could be so simple. The Curator draws a line at commenting on international negotiations.

Seeing Red #1

This post is the first in a series that was originally to be called a ‘Study in Scarlet’. Both titles are appropriate given where Albion finds herself this 20th day of October, 2019. Balm is given by way of some altered photographs of East Yorkshire and East Lancashire letter nonsense.

Hige sceal þē heardra, heorte þē cēnre,
mōd sceal þē māre, þē ūre mægen lytlað.

In a curveball that maybe typifies this topsy-turvy time, the featured image has very little to do with Albion at all. Its origins are Estonian, but its provenance is unknown.

A photograph of a photocopy on red A3 paper of a photocopy hanging on a wall (during an exhibition about England), of a photograph of a collection of roof slates in Rising Bridge, East Lancashire. The Curator took this in 1999 whilst walking with friends. The day was a wet one.

A photograph of a photocopy on red A3 paper of an amalgamation of receipts (one for a cow costume on the Westgate Road, Newcastle upon Tyne), business cards, press clippings and a pen and ink drawing by the Curator. The Curator’s life in the 1990s – and for small periods in the early 2000s was barren. He needed to pass the time somehow. If that meant a sojourn in Belgium, so be it.

A photograph of a photocopy on red A3 paper of a superimposed photocopy of a photograph of a briar hedge near Bridlington, East Yorkshire . The Curator travelled a lot in a company car in 1998. Clandestine activities such as photographing hedges was his release.

Futbol Moderne #6 – Wardrobe

In light of England’s demolition of Panama a requiem is needed for the idiocies of English football. The Photocopier’s spare wardrobe is now a shrine to those halcyon meathead days. His text below, written for an exhibition in the East of the Netherlands in 2012, now has the feeling of the Rosetta stone.

Oh, how short our time is on this planet. Try, then, to put the past in front of you whilst ensuring the future forever escapes you...

“Peter Ackroyd tells us that England’s “genius” is essentially a linear one. While Ackroyd explains this by way of Blake, Milton and Romanesque architecture, English football culture can be similarly expounded – especially in relation to “place” and the glorification of our island’s fighting forces. The linear aspect is seen through the shield wall at Hastings, the thin red line at Alma and Waterloo, Haig’s “backs to the wall” order of March 23 1918. This is mirrored in Hodgson’s reliance on 4-4-2, Milner’s legs crumpling as he basically “dug in”, ploughing down the right wing… The 10th century poem “The Battle of Maldon” could have been written for England’s knackered midfield in 2012 – “Courage must be the firmer, heart the bolder, spirit must be the greater, as our strength grows less”. Chat room comments saying Micah Richards would be “first over the top” hints that even after 100 years this idea is still with us. Place too… rows of terraces that once nestled round Ewood Park, Kennilworth Road & Main Road, evoking trench systems like Plugstreet and Givenchy: the (Spion) Kops at Hillsborough and Anfield… Pals battalions, films like Away Days evoking 1979 hoolie loyalties evoke in turn 1880s gangs like Bengal Tigers and the recruiting policies for the local regiment – the right caggy & trainers, your street, the regimental flash, that Norman short back and sides…”

The Photocopier’s wardrobe, here showing a casey, Slim Jim Baxter, a referee and two casuals. The hastily assembled collage also boasts the titles of legendary Liverpool FC fanzine, The End, and British alternative rock band The Fall’s mid-1980s classic, ‘ This Nation’s Saving Grace’ .

The Photocopier’s wardrobe, seen here at its midpoint (notice doors). We see a Tommy wearing a Gor Blimey with the stiffener out (which dates him before spring 1916) two Buurberry-clad hoolies giving the Agincourt salutation and three further casuals striking poses dumb and mute. Plug Street is a classic English language bastardisation of an inpronounceable foreign language. Plug Street is taken from Ploegsteert.

Futbol Moderne #6 — The Photocopier’s wardrobe, here showing a classic late ’70s boot boy, a Bobby/Rozzer/Copper/Buzy from the same period (delete as appropriate) and a British Guardsman from around the period of the American War or Waterloo (company not identified, given the shako has a waterproof covering). Two scallies make up this hastily assembled collage, with further references to Accrington brick works, William Shakespeare and Joy Division / JG Ballard (delete as appropriate).

Futbol Moderne #5

British football culture has long fascinated Richard the Photocopier. Its idiocies, its fashions, its smells – its march from being a rabid, unregulated, violent cavalcade to a bovine testing ground for control through entertainment – have been played out in front of him since the mid 1970s. And very often, he couldn’t be arsed understanding it. It was an ever-present shade, formed from Albion’s darkest, most begrimed and befouled underground recesses. It needed no explaining, outside of its gloriously unintended role as metaphor for street-level, Walter Mitty-esque British militarist dreaming. These photocopies were deliberately photographed in a manner that left questions, showed edges, felt scruffy, uneasy. And secretly homoerotic. Like the past they depict. Note the amount of bums in the pictures.

A photograph of a photocopy of a photograph of either Manchester City or Bolton fans in the late 1970s. The Photocopier can’t remember exactly which. The text is the precursor to a violent passage from Kingsley Amis’s novel, ‘Girl, 20’ (1970). The image, in felt tip, is His Royal Majesty King Nicholas of Montenegro, “somewhere in France”, 1916.

A photograph of a photocopy of a photograph of Bolton Wanderer’s Cuckoo Crew from the mid 1980s. The Photocopier remembers being uncouthly catcalled by some of them from a car as he went to watch his mate’s team, Blackburn Rovers in the same period. “Blackburn Bastard” was the phrase, which was patently untrue on a number of counts. Lord alone knows where the text is from. The biro drawing is of a Russian colonel in Salonika, 1916.

A photograph of a photocopy of a picture taken from a tabloid paper around the time that then-British Prime Minister David Cameron tried to get to grips with the rich-poor divide and a parallel crime wave by visiting a council estate in Manchester. Again, the text, about one of the great icons of Modern British Ladhood, Liam Gallagher, can’t be placed. The felt tip drawing is of a Greek Major General in Athens, 1917.

Futbol Moderne #4

British football culture has long fascinated Richard the Photocopier. Its idiocies, its fashions, its smells – its march from being a rabid, unregulated, violent cavalcade to a bovine testing ground for control through entertainment – have been played out in front of him since the mid 1970s. And very often, he couldn’t be arsed understanding it. It was an ever-present shade, formed from Albion’s darkest, most begrimed and befouled underground recesses. It needed no explaining, outside of it being a perfect help-meet for the heady, Ice Cream War dreams of British militarism. These photocopies were deliberately photographed in a manner that left questions, showed edges, felt scruffy, uneasy. And secretly homoerotic. Like the past they depict. Note the amount of bums in the pictures.

A truly Baroque image of some matchday aggro at Manchester United; the composition is worthy of Caravaggio. The butcher’s coats were quite the thing in the early to mid 1970s and may owe something to Clockwork Orange. Or not. The head is wearing the Mark I pattern British helmet. At first glance it looks like a typical depiction of the long-suffering Tommy, but the Photocopier thinks it could well be a Doughboy. The Photocopier can’t remember the provenance of the Anthony Burgess quote. Maybe the preface to the Penguin edition of Clockwork Orange. It sounds a very 1970s thing to say.

A photograph of a photocopy of a photograph from the internet showing some determined police action in a crowd disturbance from the mid 1980s. The drawings in pencil are mannered caricatures of Russian and German officers from early in the war. The (unintended) homoerotic nature of this particular image is particularly striking. Of course the photograph was taken in the moment. But as with many of these pictures there are a lot of bums in tight-fitting jeans on show. And Burgess’s text from Clockwork Orange only adds to the frisson.

A photograph of a photocopy of a photograph of a full bloodied charge from the mid 1980s. The text may have been written by a half-cut Photocopier during his marathon 10-hour drawing session) but is Homeric in its longevity. The caricature of two French officers, resplendent in their kepis is executed in biro.

Futbol Moderne #3

British football culture has long fascinated Richard the Photocopier. Its idiocies, its fashions, its smells, its march from being a rabid, unregulated, violent cavalcade to a bovine testing ground for control through entertainment, have been played out in front of him since the mid 1970s. And very often, he couldn’t be arsed understanding it. It was an ever-present shade, formed from Albion’s darkest, most begrimed and befouled underground recesses. It needed no explaining, outside of it being a perfect help-meet for the heady, Ice Cream War dreams of British militarism. These photocopies were deliberately photographed in a manner that left questions, showed edges, felt scruffy, uneasy. Like the past they depict.