The second sequence of FP's 2-day intervention-insertion-installation-production performance at Asia Art Archive's new reading room concludes, tentatively, with a show window filled with “live” traces of the varied performative actions from FP players, friends and on-site visitors. Images captured. Videos score ambiences and processes. Writings, indicative and highlighting. Maps to survey. … Nothing could stand alone to embrace the rich diversities of our action on site. And here's just another attempt to preserve this writer's personal glimpses.
[to listen to the automatic writing as sound track] [accented English][Japanese ascent] using Apple's text-to-voice service…
Linda Lai's Automatic Writings @ Floating Projects Assemblage, Asia Art Archive, 4th February 2023 – with insertions from visitors
I brought drizzles to AAA’s reading room now super organized with individual work stations based on yesterday’s endgame and I’m so nicely shocked surprised amazed and all.
After 1:00pm. RayLC came and made a book. Another Drizzles?
Lunch in the neighborhood.
A surplus egg a wanted egg a missing egg rolling into London Tube strikers’ strike. 2000 HK dollar trip from Heathrow to rendezvous downtown… an extra noodle an extra buns. Supplements not vitamins. Addiction not enhancement. Tea in a pill bottle super clear super yellow. A mushroom of toothpicks. Hollywood Lane.
Lunch in the neighborhood.
Noodle and noodle and condiments for noodles of all kinds … meat ball shrimp paste beef brisket milk tea soya
A 3-women run noodle shop red red red and red and that’s Asia Art Archive’s neighborhood. Take the staircase. Climb. Make a right right there… good value… an egg added…
3:00pm spatial pressure calibration they said…
And it’s now 3:00pm and everyone is non-calibrating…
Chun – chatting with Emily
Chop chop chop chop Kel Kel Kel badging a badging b badging
images of lost linkages…
Detached linkages…. They belong somewhere… some books, some published thoughts, someone’s mind… someone’s secret desire….
3:03pm 2023.02.04 Day 2
How many doors make a building? How many windows a view? … I am a Manifesto. I am manifestos. Sshhh! Ssshhhh…
1+1=2 3+4=7 1+1+1+1+3=7 on blue I see green I run on to red but sound is not din not noise not rushing towards dark and there there you go, dashing off? Running straight? FK meditating over a board of Chinese chess game…
A student graduates and joins the university's graduate school and moves on to do his phd and gets hired back in his own same department to teach… NOT our institution, Chun said. …. US examples abound. German examples abound… Students are paid to be trained to stay… “Isn it just an artist residency?” Chun said to Emily. …
[a visitor inserts] She is ordering papers. Pale yellow, dark blue and deep red. She pulls the paper tape from the role and turns it on her finger. Then turns around and waves. ß [visitor]
[somewhere here, with Winnie’s help, we started to play the ongoing writing on an audio track saved as music, in English with a Japanese ascent, a Spanish ascent, then English-English. It’s funny, but great soundscape..]
Many babies come. A tiny baby after that a bigger handsome girl now drawing with on color papers.
Winnie made a big paper B and babies arrive…
I urge her to make a big D to summon the imaginary favourite dogs in her mind.
Has hhha haaaa come and landed and drifted off into into nothing or out of the blue.
Sshhhhh. Sounds colliding… noise is art. Din is din yet a specific sounding…
Make a book make some sounds make a thought a thought and a thought that fleets if you don’t catch it.
May May May phone is here….. I’ve got a reader…
[visitor] Linda is crazily making a book
That may be or may not be read by the humans around
Who are chatting about what?
They are speaking in different languages
Timbutu languages, or are we in the Babel Tower
This is Helena….
This is Emily….
Ozge is typing in Turkish…
Someone behind me saying that he is losing out….while he is playing Chinese animal chess with someone in the virtual reality
Hard reality indeed while everyone is smiling, looking into one another’s eyes….
John Chow is sitting on the floor using a ruler to make some art works
Someone is making some music out of an instrument that I don’t know what
A kid is looking at the adults who are talking what….too far away can’t listen what
The kid at last sees some stars sparkling in the adults’ gazes
Andio is turning the ipad around with Sampson Cheung in it.
He said he knew me
I know him?
Wondering Li Chun Fung
What is he doing in Ping Chau?
Ozge suddenly stops typing and goes to sweep the floor
That is full of starfish
She sees red in one’s pants
What is she doing?
The man is carrying the baby and walking towards Andio’s musical instrument that is a round shape thing….
She asks, why take away all Ricky Yeung’s stuff?
A flame is in front of me
A flame that does not heat the house yet
Color pencils color hues walk and walk and fuse the fuse…
I you they want and walk and water… most most dew
FK disappeared into a shredded tomb… lost lost his sight lost his spectacles with hand over hand and over hands pushing through looking for a pair of eyes not ears not any formality of the cloud and yet as if however whatever you and I saw we translated into discourse yet discourses rejecting fragments and fragmentary thoughts retrieving hiding concealing wondering what we might smell.
Helena Helena the one of Helen the little Helen hiding behind the shredded hill for a nice picture. Children curiosity I don’t understand Andy walks in is he a child? He knows he knows whatever however and so we said and so we wonder and Andy takes off his jacket as Kel greets him Ocean wondering what aim what Andio passes by for it doesn’t matter and and and or the hill of paper somehow switching growing intensifying and Ozge always diligently working. Typing for hours? She’s now helping to pile the pile to heap up the heap so as to be part of it and I became a typing sculpture writing on a weenie gray cloth the words that tumble into my mind as things keep happening and people keep arriving. Ashley is still chatting, hanging out with Emily, two post-docs talking. Helena at a game with Chun and Daddy Ryo. Someone strikes the piano again. Is Ozge cleaning up or sculpturing? I dare not ask her and would leave her where she is. Hector is coming, John says. Ah…. Could he do some automatic writings on my behalf so I can play with something else? Something else something else what that could be good question. Two cases of artwork. Twocasesforpermanent display. Really? Badges.
Hugo is here!!!! Long time no see.
Hector is here.
Who is here? Enumerate everyone, exhaustively, who is, now, here, make a list, put them into some random order, give everyone a place, their proper place, their proper name, the name that belongs to them, the name to which they belong, a place that is a prison, a place that has been assigned to them, given, as a gift, since a gift, too, is a prison, and what is given is always given conditionally, a placing of expectations, you will write, you will speak, you will in so doing fulfill the identity that you bear, like someone bears a code, a mark imprinted on your skin, grafted on it, you will speak as you are expected to speak, in the role that marks your entrance, here, as he who is here, here now, among them, in a place that marks you as one of us yet not one of us, not one and yet the one, he who speaks, and because he speaks he cannot be heard, cannot possibly be heard, because only by being silent could he be heard, only by obscuring himself, by depriving himself of a voice, can he hope to have a voice, or at least avoid hiding who he is behind the voice that is not his, that cannot possibly be his, because nobody is a voice, not one can have or be this or that voice, the voice whose sound is expected, one’s proper voice, the voice that would render one’s own self, beyond any code, any listing, any enumeration, would be true to oneself, true to what one is, in all truth, in this place, in any place where one steps in, insofar as stepping in is always stepping in as this voice, as the voice that can only stop insofar as it comes under the expectation that it can and will speak when expected to do so, and will not disappoint, will give, as one gives a gift, an opinion, a belief, the mark of one’s seriousness of purpose, the mark that is also one’s mask, the gift that cannot satisfy because it is the gift that hides the donor, because it is a gift whose donor cannot be in this place from which the gift is given, the place assigned in advance, cleared out by the name that calls you out, that signals your presence, the presence from which nobody can speak and yet you are singled out as the bearer of the voice. The gift. The gift that kills the donor and the recipient. Papers on the floor, on the seats, in the shelves.
Daddy Andy with baby in his bossom moving out… Hello Linda it's Jiaming. I turn to find J chatting leaning sitting on the floor…
[visitor's insertion] It’s been a while. I haven’t done this in a while. Voiceless. Speechless. I’m thinking, thinking, thinking… sound and noices. Books and pens. I see fire. I’m sitting on a chair. Fingers lingering. Hesitating. Stale. Struggling. Surviving. No censorship? Does it count as censorship if there’s nothing to tell? Noise coming through. People talking.
[visitor's insertion] I just visit from working out. My body is warmed up but my mind is struggling anything... what is anything, sleepy, the god of AI, but who is he or she or …ummmm fire, painful, franz west, I don’t like spring, humidity is unpleasant, what is automatic writing,
I’m back I’m back here here to write and thanks to those many generous minds and people who left behind precious thoughts perhaps secret codes things that make sense and yet non-sensical.
Hector is taking a picture of me. Put me in the centre please no distortion. All in vain. Vennes was just writing earlier on. Helena left left and left behind a little rainbow inside the box of a storyboard sheet the traces of her quiet concentrated presence and she is now gone with Daddy Ryo with a rabbit umbrella her favorite rabbit umbrella with white-mask bunny ears.
Experience is what but nothing seems to be smooth and sliding. Nothing nothing if you ever search on purpose but something snaps….
Snap. A fresh new library surrounded by chaos and calm before tempest. Free conversations absolutely free and automatic and without a frame from a handful of frames and many breakable frames. Grab the moment.. Freedom is not given, but given is to be fought for…
I like words. They are quiet. They don’t scream but they are determined, inscriptive. They compromise not they speak as if… they speak in order that… they speak since….
Boxing the assemblage. Time to make sense of the two days and if a full-stop is abounding. …
A safe cosy box it is. Here. Now. For 2 days.
This box is warming up out there quick death slow death at their own speed…
[5:41pm. Time to glean floor-wise and fill the trash cans. Table-top objects next. Hoi and Winnie fathoming how to fill the display window with object we have created on-site. Badges. Hand-made books. Shredded paper balls and sculptures. Signages. Anonymous left-overs…]
Special thanks to Day 2 (4 Feb 2023) visitors who contribute to the above composite automatic writing:
(in order of appearance)
Emily, May, Hector, Hugo, Vennes
Quick death slow death … … That evening, I filled my mindscape with Wang Jingwei and modern China. Histories revisited revisitable. Assessment reviewed renewable. Interpretation revised revisable. The power of discourse. 《驚弦》。Beyond poetry. To reach out…
More variety of documentation will show up as we keep looking and organizing.