B a N sH Ee b OY: I Love the Night Life: Action!

Saturday, 6 August 2011

I Love the Night Life: Action!

Merging the histories of Action art, particulalry that fo the Vienese pursuasion, with the histories of Disco – I attempt to locate myself dancing-expressing, and doing absurd rituals with things like milk, nails, glitter, honey and cheese on stages in Opera Houses from Lands End to Shanghai, in nightclubs from Minskies to Anfora, in Galleries from New York to Venice, in living rooms and basement flats in Camden and Bristol and sometimes even on public transport.

How to merge these desperate practices? One that takes itself seriously; one that escapes itself through oblong rythmns and fancy dress. What do they have in common as ritualistic practices? and who likes them?

Alicia Bridges and the Vienese Actionistas! ACTION!

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I Take pictures with my Macbook camera

This is not my space -that's the point.
I don't have anywhere to keep it all except out there - with youxxx.

I am watching films at the moment, and that is why i look like this.
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Everything below this line is OLD
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This is evolving into an obituary for dying artists.
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This is a performance made from picking things up and putting them down again. It began with a song on a CD given to me as a Christmas gift. It began when I stole that green crate from the bakery on Well Street to store all my things in. My magic box David Wojnarowicz, not yours - My World!

You could say my process was pretty straight. Every night before Thursday, I panicked that I didn’t have a flash to share with the group. I panicked that I had misunderstood the task set, and spent time judging my mood, thinking about whether I felt like exposing myself tomorrow or not.

I became obsessed. I started to collect little things because they were black. I turned off all the lights and lit up my belly in all the colours of the rainbow, and remembered childhood photographs. I asked people about my ego, and they told me I definitely have one. So I started to show myself, but only a little bit at a time, a tongue, a leg, a belly. Not to scare them off.

Speaking came later. I was mostly concerned with how it all looked from the outside, the surfaces. If you could see my lips, my arse, my holes. Then one day I got beaten up so hard that it made me speak. So I spoke.

The thing about speaking is a revelation of the self, I was holding on, protecting my shins with the pads. I fancied dressing up. I have been dressing up a lot recently. In my pink hoodie and Nike pumps I began blogging. Each day I posted a new entry to the www . My world wasn’t enough, It was already brimming over, so I kept a diary out there somewhere with images, some stolen, borrowed some made up. I wrote texts and quoted others, I got acquainted with www.asianpunkboy.com and allowed people to comment on my entries. "Aaaaargh. i love this !! i am trying to write asian art history lit. review and all i can think of is star wars and Banshee Boy!"

I don’t feel done yet.

Love You
X BB