So i have been given a tour of old Paper mill. I cannot get over the amount of the debris that is lying around.isbn 978-089281455-8
R murray Andy Goldsworthy Processes Rivers and Tides. He works intuitively with nature.(documentary) baschet brothers France (athens) designer and sound artist betroia visual sculptures so where does your work fit in, what category or where would it be seen, is it fine art, conceptual craft, art etc… screens on one side, sound emitters on the other, as the viewer and listener moves down the strip, each screen independently shows a silent video and the sound is emitted behind them for that particular video. we need to use some type of sensors for this interaction. So I have arrived in Sweden and have been picked up by Chris at the train station in Åmaal. We drive to not quite about 22km from the station into the wilderness and society starts to evaporate. Upon arrival we drop my things off at his place and he says “Lets get started”. We take a walk down to the paper mill. Unlike all of the places I have visited before we have free access and I become excited at the prospect of not having to illegally enter the site. The tour starts and it becomes apparent to me that there is a wealth of really interesting spaces with their own types of debris specific to their location. I get a tingle down the back of my neck and spine, I start to sweat; not from being too hot or being gripped by fear but from the sheer abundance of stuff in this wonderful place, and it is more than wonderful. It is like no other site i have visited as you can feel something extraordinary oozing out from beneath our feet and we are only in the first room that is filled with pumps and turbines. Chris says “ this is the place for sound” the floors and stairs creek beneath our feet as we slowly meander around this massive and impressive place. Chris describes what the place means to him in a spiritual manner which excites both the teller and listener alike, and I start to realise that i am in a truly remarkable void that stands still in time, unchanged, undisturbed and unchallenged. The ephemera of this place is subtle yet strikingly obvious to the naked eye. He exclaims that this is the place where you will learn to listen, this is the place where you will understand what quietness really is. At first I do not understand, until we visit the “clapping room”. We had climbed a multiple if staircases and the sweat is starting to drip from my armpits, down my back and from my forehead, this time the sweat is pure fear, as i am not the best with heights, but i soldier on to a point until I have to admit my fear of heights. We open a thick rusted bomb proof like door and it squeals. The door which he had opened with a crow bar years previously groans in anticipation. Inside the door is a small platform on top of which i can only describe as a huge silo and the feeling that it will crumble at any moment is almost inevitable. We stand on the edge and he claps, the claps echo in different ways depending on the energy created by his hands, a smile grows across his face as if to say “you ain’t seen nothing yet”.
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