This installation was for a show in my house. I live in a live/work house with 9 other artists in Elephant and Castle, London. We put a show on which was surrounding the topic of domesticity and opening up what it meant to live collectively in this communal way. Brobdingnagian studies other organisms that live in the house in sync with us. I wanted to raise an attention to hidden matter or dust, which humans tend to disengage with, looking into micro/macro ecosystems that contribute to the cosmos. Work was influenced by Hartmut Bitomsky’s film Staub (Dust). I wrote a text as if I was experiencing in the house on a micro level as an insect. I performed on an enlarged microscopic stage whilst moving a USB microscope around my body. The footage from the microscope was then projected via a live feed altering the audience’s perception of scale and space. Text I wrote for performance, “Some nebulous flicks the Magnetic fizzy box to ON. Butchered head, thorax and abdomen. All available energy immediately passes slowly through your notched body. Feel the day’s dreggy ripples of Dust and Dawn. You swallow, take-out your compounds and reflect as to when, and, how you arrived here…. last year, to the brobdingagian. It was an instinctual upgrade. From the inside of that un-shapely beige Amazon room, with bubbled plastic pools pushing against your face; you were suddenly granted access to the human communication slab. Home to the wiggly living organisms with nodding heads, gutted, smoking and laughing. Amorphous lumps of clay. You watch their attempt to tune a wave, with a counterfeit antenna. Eventually, in completing the circuit, a gaggle of fruit flies congregate and begin to pulsate in time to the sound with a randomly regulated beat. One human spreads meteorite particles onto burnt toast and begins to transmit a voice. You are beginning to understand their language... In the kitchen as you’ve learnt it’s called, the humans marvel at their alchemical endeavourers. A flux of tasks involving different consistencies, congealing and fermenting, splattering and smearing. You take pleasure in noticing cosmic daily patterns emerge; the silk worm grubs in the kitchen working hard to produce silk and honey for the human mission. The falling of fine powder every hour on the hour. Your tripodal gland finally comes back to you as you scramble across matter within matter; coy legs touch the ground in alternating triangles, interlocking the gears as you go. A clamber across a dusty repertoire made up of shaved minerals, excess and potions. Gells, creams, nets, sweat and soups. Paprika mounds which have been burrowed over time, toenails, smoked tea and fish flakes. You Encounter peripheries paved with coffee granules, eyelashes, and animal hair. Basking in skirts of sunshine whilst leaving glistening trails behind you, for others to follow. You pick up the pace and crawl faster over salt, human body sweat and oils, through the vinaigrette natatorium, and the over veiney stiff kaffir leaves. The natatorium is bogged up with seaweed; you wade into the swampy green goo. When through, you rest on a dried out jagged orange peal that has lost its pif. Its' bright reddish-yellow rind cloaks you to your core. Breath. Mass, mass physical mass. Congealing and fermenting. (GLOBULES SOUNDS).”
 
 
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