The Memory Vortex – Stasis #2

In the Spring of 2000, the Photocopier left England to live in a caravan in the Netherlands.  He took a lot of pictures before leaving and on arriving.

Back then, photographs were taken on a camera. Some turned out well, some didn’t. Some are of a Lancashire long gone, some of a Holland just discovered but now disappeared for ever.

What remains in these photocopies of photographs is the stasis, the time that never existed, the time that floated around not asking to be captured. That’s the time that stays with us when we see it again.

The Memory Vortex – Stasis #1

In the Spring of 2000, the Photocopier left England to live in a caravan in the Netherlands.  He took a lot of pictures before leaving and on arriving.

Back then, photographs were taken on a camera. Some turned out well, some didn’t. Some are of a Lancashire long gone, some of a Holland just discovered but now disappeared for ever.

What remains in these photocopies of photographs is the stasis, the time that never existed, the time that floated around not asking to be captured. That’s the time that stays with us when we see it again.

 

SleepLife Dream Log #3

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 #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 #1

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?

Bubbles #3

Sometimes I think my life, especially that part of my life I have spent living in the Netherlands is akin to being stuck in a bubble. Or sitting in a greenhouse floating through an endless void. Of course, both situations have their advantages.

Bubbles #1

Life seems to be led in a bubble of our own current fancies. This is true in the Netherlands, where I live, where my longstanding obsession with images of the descent from the cross and the last judgment are often put politely to one side.

Over the summer, I decided to throw out all my old papers and photocopies and paintings. My friends Paul and Dan rearranged them for me and added their own mark. The resulting works were shown – and remained – in Rotterdam.

The three new works somehow managed to have an air of the Baroque, and Northern Renaissance images I have long admired. Details of two are shown here in black and white. I wonder what’s going to happen when giving answers to everything stops being a going concern.