Incredibly Boring and Strange

  • Project: Irish Architecture Foundation, Momentum Exhibition
  • Location: Dublin, Ireland
  • Category: exhibition
  • Year: 2021
  • Photography: Peter Maybury

 

...’ the window opened on a broad lawn and behind, as if accidentally, a vista of dunes which were incredibly boring and strange. Do you occasionally wonder at the inscrutable nature of visual experience, an undeniable and far from optometric distance?...’ 

Frank O’Hara, Day and Night in 1952

In the end the installation is the room rather than any particular object in it and I hope that the considered adjacency of these disparate objects resolves the given space and forms some sort of gestalt/whole... I took the title from Frank O Hara’s poem because I do wonder this, all the time... we live under an illusion that what we see is what is there.... forgetting for the most part that we are limited by ‘inadequate ideas’, or put differently - naive realism .... yet we’re also capable of imagining beyond our limitations.... there’s a tension there - it hits us from time to time ... like when we look at lawns , or crows waltzing on lawns... anyhow it was also interesting to play at making space by placing objects , furnishing an interior..... In this world a poem ( house - posted below ) is a building material to tie these things together and to another inner world, in what I hope is a tangible poetic spatial experience for the visitor.

 

 

Momentum Irish Architecture Foudnation Exhibition
Momentum Exhibition, Irish Architecture Foundation
Momentum Exhibition, Irish Architecture Foundation
Momentum Exhibition, Irish Architecture Foundation
Momentum Exhibition, Irish Architecture Foundation
Momentum Exhibition, Irish Architecture Foundation
Momentum Exhibition, Irish Architecture Foundation

House

The world precluded houses
And so I became a house

I have horey walls like the chestnuts on a horses hock
Deep thick walls  of concrete block
My mortar joints are unraked like eclairs
My windows are made of nascent vagaries
I am home to those who are for life
I am closed to business, avarice and fakery

I am a life , a priori to my life,  a life
My roof is flat stones stitched to larch beams
Stand in under my eaves - I am resilient
Come in within  - I am whitewashed in lime
Not smooth but rough
Not dark but dim
Horse hair half closed eyes

I have no lover
And so I will love myself
One block upon the other
I am my own gift

I am a horse
That’s a lie
I am a dog
I lope around myself in loops

I learned  life from an old deaf dog
Fell down dead in the field full gallop
His heart gave through  
I brought him home in my arms and burned him
On a hawthorn pyre
He is the attic and cellar of me
He sleeps at the hearth

I am up on the roof for the starry sky
I climb putlog holes for scaffolding poles

My roof is open to the cosmos
It smokes plumes of amber leaf
If the world of men offers nought I want
I am not obliged to bow to it
Instead I bauen to the  be.