Invisibility - inspiration - breath

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The threshold of visibility has always been a recurring interest in my art practice, although I probably rarely mention it as a defining aspect of my work. In a recent email to Lucy Bleach in relation to the essay she is writing for the Unkept catalogue I talked about invisibility to her in the context of the air/wind and its visibility through the cobweb. I reminded her of a project I had done in Melbourne two years ago, which she had actually visited, where I sat in a chair at Blindside ARI and meditated on the notion of inspiration, while staring out the window of the gallery, waiting for it (inspiration) to arrive. The project was called Lines of Flight and I kept a blog during its three week duration (also coincidentally it was during this project that I made a work on the light on the wall with white chalk). I revisited the blog to find for Lucy the bit where I had observed a cobweb flapping about on the window, and came across two posts dedicated to thoughts "On Invisibility" (here and here, if you want to read more) - so I realised it has been a prominent thought for some time now...

Air is only apparent to us when it is manifested through other things, such as: smells, dust in the light, movement enacted upon something (such as wind on a cobweb)... etc. And like you said Jessie, without the wind in it, a sail is only a piece of cloth. I also quite like the idea of the potential embodied in a sail or a flag though, whether or not it is  realised. Maybe that's something for another project entirely - it'd be interesting to make a catalogue of objects that embody that kind of potential, whose purpose is to be activated by something invisible (like wind). But that's a bit of a sidetrack.

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In another project, earlier still, titled That which is breathed or blown, I explored the manifestations of air and light via walking, observing and mapping - using the gallery space as a working hub, where the artifacts of this exploration were installed/arranged/distilled and experienced by the viewer. The title though, came from the word 'pneuma' which means literally in Ancient Greek, "that which is breathed or blown" and refers to a certain intangible life force, which in a literal sense could be understood as the breath, or air, but has also been used in a spiritual sense to refer to the life-giving spirit or vital essence of our being.

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Inspiration is interesting too in relation to the breath, another thing that has been coming up in preparation of this Unkept exhibition. Inspiration, as in, to draw breath. Expiration also meaning exhalation. The interlinking of air/light/breath/wind and ghosts/spirits is particularly interesting to me. There is a definite relationship between the two fields, and I believe it is to do with the threshold of visibility that they occupy. When a gust of wind slams the door shut it could indicate ghostly activity. A flash of light at the corner of your eye, or strange light formations in a photograph might be a spirit. Inspiration in the Romantic era was often described as a kind of transcendental intervention, or an otherworldly illumination - the ability to 'tap in' to some higher source of knowledge and purity. In this vein we could logically go on to say that if inspiration is the drawing of breath then inspiration in the other sense of the word is like the breathing in of creative energy, or spirit; and exhalation, expiration, is the breathing out of this to create new forms, or to breathe life/spirit into something - to animate that which is static.

What if ghosts were considered, rather than as beings or entities, in more every day terms as extra-perceptive presences, matter that exists at the periphery of our sensory limits, phenomena that occupy the space between appearance and disappearance?


*sorry my posts seem to be getting longer and more rambly!