Plans for reinstallation of TRP must stop. Everything must stop. There is no way–no way–the body refuses–the air refuses–to occupy any space in the ordinary way. The body refuses. The air refuses. It isn’t that TRP is beside the point now that Trump has won. It is that no action can be other than reaction. If I have a space to fill, it must be filled with outrage. Out. Rage.
As I consider how to install TRP at Feast, I am thinking about the nature of space and place. I can equate space with the unrepresented world–everything in the world as it is and has been–and place as the narrativized world–a selection (or selection out) of specific elements of the world in order to describe the world. Meaningless and meaningful.
The humanist geographer Yi-Fu Tuan writes that space requires the move from one place to another. I developed all of the elements of TRP for the Salon Refu space in order to transform it into a place. Now as I relocate it to a new space, as I consider how to transform that space into the place that is TRP, there is then a gesture–a motion–that describes/inscribes a new, larger space. Can that space also be a place? The space described by the gesture…can it be a place? And can that place be TRP?
I spent the weekend packing up index cards and patching tiny map pin holes. Salon Refu is restored to emptiness. The criss-crossing wires of The Archive no longer contain the space between floor and ceiling, transforming it into object. No redaction pattern shadows on the floor. No sentient, skin-prickle flutter of words as the door opens.
It all fits nicely into four boxes.
I listened to Krista Tippett’s interview with Ann Hamilton (On Being, November 2015) as I took The Instance Cards down, feeling very keenly the impossibility of anyone other than myself having the experience of time rushing out of the room in that hour. Hamilton said some of what I have said and felt about the banal and incremental nature of large works, about the experience of being in the room with my own work…getting to know it only having made it. I feel very fortunate to have had long hours alone in the space. It has given me a chance to understand some of what I was doing all these years. And then my understanding shifts.
Hamilton also talks about not knowing. Not saying. Waiting as long as possible to fix a thing to a name. I hope I remember this.
Here I am in the awkward place again of searching for sticks…or perhaps I am not at that point yet. At the beach in Maine, we always made little homes for inch-tall avatars. It started with an idea of the home formulated long before that moment. So it seemed the first thing to do was find enough sticks of the right size. But really the first thing happened with the idea of home, the perfect shape of shelter. Or maybe the first thing was before that first thing. Maybe the first thing was the need for shelter. A need so powerful, it dominated imagination and play.
What is my new powerful need?
What is the new shape of shelter?
Where are the sticks?
Three months of intense production, and The Redaction Project is finally installed and open at Salon Refu. Contact for information about purchasing installation artifacts or the show catalogue.