Posts

Showing posts from April, 2014

Bury Art Museum and Bury Sculpture centre

Image
Just two weeks off the opening of the Bury Sculpture Centre and the launch of the fourth international Text Festival . Pulling the forthcoming programmes together has been one of the toughest workloads I can remember for various reasons beyond my control; but I think it is a programme to celebrate: I'll  expand on the individual aspects as it gets closer to the day, but I'm pleased to list some really great people involved in the Text: Lawrence Weiner, Ron Silliman, Phil Davenport, Simon Patterson, Riiko Sakkinen, Jayne Dyer, Caroline Bergvall, Penny Anderson, Jaap Blonk, Derek Beaulieu, Sally Labern & Bobby Lloyd, Tim Etchells, Sarah Sanders, Carolyn Thompson, Marton Koppany, Vanessa Place, Jez Dolan & Joseph Richardson, Peter Jaeger, Liz Collini, Mike Chavez-Dawson, Maria Damon, Juxtavoices,  Rhys Trimble, Debbie Walsh, Richard Barrett, Tom Jenks, Bobby Parker, Lucy Harvest Parker, Tim Allen, Steve Giasson, Andrea Cotton, Carol Watts & Will Montgomery, Eran Ha

Arriving at the same place at the same time

Image
The Text Festival has had a relationship with Lawrence Weiner since the very first one in 2005. Back then we commissioned WATER MADE IT WET and acquired his Horizon work from its original location in Hull, which he reconfigured to become Radcliffe Horizon . In the Festival exhibitions programme, we supported the public art works with a survey show of Lawrence’s poster art works. Burned out after the insanity of creating a Festival that was 9 months long( never make that mistake again!), in 2006, I took a sabbatical to write 50 Heads .   Within which the poem ‘Sculpture’ was my personal creative response to Lawrence. Sculpture 0. The object of making your opponent weep descriptions between the upper and lower structures in vertebrates forming the framework of the mouth, containing the teeth, the parts of tool or machine. That body language material with the tongue intropunitive instead of angry, anger our faults are most obvious as nothing hides them breasts move as sacks of