FALLING IN LOVE AGAIN
artist's statement
In this (literal) case, the guest is invited into my (literalised) archive.
The archive ostensibly documents my trip to Austin, Texas, where I researched the poet Anne Sexton. The archive is comprised of found objects, collected in seemingly random assortments, designed to prompt the visitor to forge imaginative links between the items. The items are linked by an overarching aura of domesticity: an homage to Sexton's ability to find the beautiful and brutal in the everyday. My archive aims for a self-aware, exaggerated version of the archival function of elevating the quotidian to talismanic proportions.
The bond between me and (my imaginary) Sexton grew beyond an intellectual interest, into what must also be called love. Sexton’s recognition of the permeable nature of the self also spilled over into transgressing normative boundaries between self and other – as I was also doing, actually, by obsessing over her archive. In Sexton’s life, this was harmful, but the personal appeal (in both senses of the word) is central to her poetry. For this reason, I have attempted to recreate the intimacy of the archive with the visitor here, acknowledging a sense of lineage that Sexton also shared: that writers imitate each other, as they imitate life. The persona of writer emerges as figurehead, and mirror.
A writer lights the shadowy corners of the human heart, and head. The responsive reader, in return, lets this intimacy deepen through identification: feeling, thinking and experiencing life as another being. Readers are often writers, too. Romantic love recreates an original state of union, according to Plato’s Symposium. It seems to me that our need for communication might also involve a longing for communion, and that the merging of selves which is the ideal of love is echoed in the relationship between reader and writer.
The archive ostensibly documents my trip to Austin, Texas, where I researched the poet Anne Sexton. The archive is comprised of found objects, collected in seemingly random assortments, designed to prompt the visitor to forge imaginative links between the items. The items are linked by an overarching aura of domesticity: an homage to Sexton's ability to find the beautiful and brutal in the everyday. My archive aims for a self-aware, exaggerated version of the archival function of elevating the quotidian to talismanic proportions.
The bond between me and (my imaginary) Sexton grew beyond an intellectual interest, into what must also be called love. Sexton’s recognition of the permeable nature of the self also spilled over into transgressing normative boundaries between self and other – as I was also doing, actually, by obsessing over her archive. In Sexton’s life, this was harmful, but the personal appeal (in both senses of the word) is central to her poetry. For this reason, I have attempted to recreate the intimacy of the archive with the visitor here, acknowledging a sense of lineage that Sexton also shared: that writers imitate each other, as they imitate life. The persona of writer emerges as figurehead, and mirror.
A writer lights the shadowy corners of the human heart, and head. The responsive reader, in return, lets this intimacy deepen through identification: feeling, thinking and experiencing life as another being. Readers are often writers, too. Romantic love recreates an original state of union, according to Plato’s Symposium. It seems to me that our need for communication might also involve a longing for communion, and that the merging of selves which is the ideal of love is echoed in the relationship between reader and writer.
the archive: curiosity is welcomed; rummaging, encouraged; falling in love, optional
Two poetry zines form part of the exhibition, and are also for sale separately. 'Rats Live On No Evil Star' explores the closeness I felt with Anne Sexton, as I spent time in her archives. I grew familiar with her private correspondence, and possessions, and listened to her taped analysis sessions. These acts extended the intimacy that began from reading her ‘confessional’ poetry. As an experiment, I decided to allow these feelings, rather than discount or quash them. This openness, which the zine documents, explored what it means and does to go beyond officially sanctioned levels of interest and attachment in any sort of relationship (in this case, research vs obsession). I let myself wilfully be guided, something referenced by the paper fortune teller with Sexton quotes which is included in the archive. This was a conscious performance of how, in love, how we create another person, and then let them guide us. With Sexton, the performance led to something that felt like reciprocation: as I delved deeper into her archive, mystical signs and portents of our connection appeared - these are referenced in the zine. The zine includes poetry I deem my most Sexton-like. It employs a deliberately naive, unpolished approach: using drafts, an unfinished script (inspired by Sexton), typos, fragments and crossouts, to recreate the experience of handling drafts and private correspondence in an archive. This vulnerability also pays homage to the direct, raw, address of Sexton's work.
The second zine, 'The Scorpion', explores the act of recollecting a relationship as another sort of archiving. This zine both provides a commentary on 'Falling in Love Again' as a whole, and links memory and storytelling with the theme of the group show ('Love & Intimacy') through remembrances of a partly fictionalised romantic relationships. How we remember past relationships forms a large part of the memories we use to maintain our identity. I focus on the narratives we create about love: both when it is new, and when it has gone. The stark difference between these two stories draws attention to their constructed nature. How much we invent the people we love. How much we invent ourselves. Writing is a more tangible instance of the storytelling our memory does constantly: writing it down keeps the story in one shape, at least for the length of that telling. This is especially evident in autobiography because it pertains to our life story.
The melding of fact and fiction in the archive and in both zines works to undo the artificially imposed binary opposition between truth and storytelling. A frog can also be a prince, as any child can tell you. In 'Falling in Love Again' the figure of me, a reseacher-artist, and Anne Sexton, a famous author, both stand as ciphers, and jumping off points, to explore memory, identity, and desire.
The second zine, 'The Scorpion', explores the act of recollecting a relationship as another sort of archiving. This zine both provides a commentary on 'Falling in Love Again' as a whole, and links memory and storytelling with the theme of the group show ('Love & Intimacy') through remembrances of a partly fictionalised romantic relationships. How we remember past relationships forms a large part of the memories we use to maintain our identity. I focus on the narratives we create about love: both when it is new, and when it has gone. The stark difference between these two stories draws attention to their constructed nature. How much we invent the people we love. How much we invent ourselves. Writing is a more tangible instance of the storytelling our memory does constantly: writing it down keeps the story in one shape, at least for the length of that telling. This is especially evident in autobiography because it pertains to our life story.
The melding of fact and fiction in the archive and in both zines works to undo the artificially imposed binary opposition between truth and storytelling. A frog can also be a prince, as any child can tell you. In 'Falling in Love Again' the figure of me, a reseacher-artist, and Anne Sexton, a famous author, both stand as ciphers, and jumping off points, to explore memory, identity, and desire.