A fleet of earnest dancers


Even if I didn’t have a good friend who is an improv comedian, brilliant tour guide and attentive host, I’d still try to get down to Brighton for the fringe in May. Even if I couldn’t swim in the sea because it was dull green and violent I would go to eat olives in the Grand hotel and to nose around artists houses and still feel like I’d got a good deal.

I recently heard artists defined as people who have found a way to do pointless things, and Brighton is full of them.  Creativity is fun. We are original when we are playing, not when we are worrying what people will think of us or where the next meal is coming from. I feel jealous and inspired by people who seem to have found a way.

My favourite shows were the ones that seemed effortless, the silly ones. One hundred belisha beacons against bright blue skies. A forest of pendulums that force the viewers to dart and dodge and become a part of the show.  A fleet of earnest dancers posing on a raft of shiny bathroom scales. I loved these shows but not as much as I loved being allowed into private buildings to gaze at light switches and spiral staircases and elevate them to high art.

What was Joseph Dahlgren trying to say to me with the bathroom scales? I know because I read about it later.  At the time it was all about reflections. I could see people more clearly in them than in real life. The dancers movements looked so contrived compared to the children playing round them, bumping into their legs. Yet again, art pales into insignificance compared to reality.

I didn’t spontaneously question my impact on the environment as a domestic consumer, but does that make the work unsuccessful? Or does that just make it pointless? Maybe that’s the point.



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This post was written by Vik

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