Kiosk, Mori Gallery Sydney, 2003
Artist notes to kiosk (room work)
Pavilions open to views, often built in remote and beautiful locations. Kiosks where intrepid travellers revive, immersed in the ordinary culture and nature of places. Kiosk, chaos, a kind of paradox to mediate between the everyday and the sublime, a human contract played to reflect a reticent symbiosis between nature and a culture that takes care of it.
Kiosk, a place to recapitulate journeys before venturing further, before returning home. Someone offers conviviality, refreshments, maps, souvenirs. Wilderness, waterhole, oasis: welcome, if well come. Urban kiosks remain: corner of a park, hole in a wall. Open. Closed. New structures fold to the diurnal rhythms of city life. Refreshments, flowers, gossip, news.
A puzzle of loops of rose pink neon, the colour of sweet Turkish delight, lampworked from pyrex, like Persian fairy floss of spun sugar. Scrolled in the shape of a fan, the arc of an unfurled tumbler: running writing …
(F kiosque bandstand <Turkish< Persian kushk pavilion) toni warburton 2003-4.
Room work tunes the energy around things in a contained space, a room. Processes of placement and adjustment, some perceived play, some guessed ‘rules’, a provisional manual of manual actions for someone, anyone, in relation to the room work. A convention, an assembly of things found, and things made by the artist and others and put in place to charge the space. Viewers’ steps mark out the measures and rhythms of embodied seeing, of ambulatory looking. Time warping sensations may arise from frissons between fields around traces of movement, tactility and vision. Such perturbations may transpose into states of associative reverie and contemplation, of suspended disbelief.
TW, kiosk 2003-4 adapted from Green, Kudos 2000
Correspondence reflects the drawn projections and plans between unknown and partly known objects, viewers, room work and a gallery space. An aspect of the room work manual. Notes and glyphs on the grid patterned lining of turned envelopes pinned on a wall cross reference, read, and connect spatially. A planning notebook, on the other hand, infers direct tactile interactivity. The book must be opened and pages turned. Whilst sequential pages do not prevent random entry, one can only see one page at a time.
Lost Domain (details)
songs. (air twist glass gestures)
In the “hot shop,” time changes pace, drawing with the dance of the gaffers, the hum of the furnace and the deft imperatives of the molten glass. One can think only in the watched moment if one wants the glass to become something that the gaffer holds for you on the brink of recognition: euphoric eye, lightened body, laughter put to smile.