Archiv des Autors: mm1111

11 11 11 How do you remember In Remembrance?

11 hours later, 11 artists later, 11 performances later…and 11 11 11 has died down but only for an hour- the wake starts at 11pm!

From 11pm till 2am come and join us at Platt Chapel for In Loving Memory. How do you document 11 hours of living art?  What do we the documenters remember?  Come to Platt Chapel for our wake a celebration of what we have just lived.  Hear the sounds, see what we saw read what we felt.  No matter whether you were here in the day – at 11pm we all remember together.

We felt the warm blood

The branches on our head

Visited the dead in their graveyard beds

Felt the four hooks pierce our skin

Played with leaves

Sprinkled powder from the blue plastic bag

Come on Eileen

Take a last gasp

Wearing our mums clothes

Blasting out the soundscape of our nightmares

Hear the final whistle blow.

Michael Mayhew gave the final toast.


See you at 11pm!

Martin O’Brien & Mark Greenwood

Martin O’Brien, Dragons Breathe Fire_Come and witness his total burial mate

Mark Greenwood, White Mum_smoking a cigar_speaking on a mic_your children will be next


Bean & Leo Devlin

Bean, O_walking around in circles_scattering white powder_from a cheap blue plastic bag_giving head to?

Leo Devlin, Fortifying no.4_marking his space with a chair_ branch with a single leaf_or him leading?


Nina Whiteman & Victoria Gray

Nina Whiteman_My Mother’s Clothes_An eccentric lady_you don’t want to talk to at the shops

Victoria Gray_Northness_Enjoy looking at her rib cage_Pushing people to the edges_Hear the whistle blow

Kris Responses

Hugging your struggle,

Hiding your sorrow like a friend who gives you

All you need to survive,

You won’t need your will again.

You surrendered a long time ago.


I put four hooks through my body for you,

I suspended our love from high above

till it broke my back for you.

I chose the way of pain, I walked and bled for you.

I always feel your shame.


I long for you


I’m vulnerable but no one knows that about me

Everyday I smile and everyday I’m accepted.

I’ve fallen but no one knows that about me.

I wait.  I’m still waiting.


Taut young skin stretched

Silent over his inexperience the

Pain never surfaces but

Is only captured in the eyes

Kris Canavan, He is bleeding now

Photograph: Andrea Rawlinson


A camera clicks


A lady has a cappuccino at the bar while Kris Canavan pulls weights by hooks attached to his skin.

The coffee machine intervenes.

Is that the machine or the audio

Not sure.

He is still holding blocks of piss & lambrini.

She intervenes tapping her brush on the glass of blood.

He is cradling piss and Lambrini.

Chris Canavan.

Kris Canavan.

Show some respect.

Spell the name right.

He is bleeding for us afterall.

Audience captivated by his piece.

4 hooks.

4 blocks of frozen piss.

1 large silence.

Now the hooks are out of him it’s easier to watch.

Just noticed some.

Still there.

Holding the weights.

Strong man?

She cleans her sheet off blood.

He continues to twist and holds the audiences gaze.

Like a puppet on a string.


Do you enjoy watching other peoples pain?

He is bleeding now.

Are we all satisfied now?

He twists and the weights drop.

I can’t see him.

But he is lifting them again with his skin.

Why is he not bleeding yet?

Watching from the balcony

A man stood on the stage under the lighting while the artist stands at the back of the room. Some people look at him and I wonder if this is a performance or preparing for a performance? When is someone performing or not? Watching Nicola from the balcony I like the distance, I want to photograph her but do not want to get too close. I notice her action most when she is still. She has a group of dedicated followers by her side. Happy with the lighting the man leaves the stage. I try and take a picture of Nicola on my phone but the light is too bright and bleaches her out. Many other people are documenting this using cameras, drawing, and mobile phones. The sound is piercing in the space. I keep wanting something else to happen but I’m not sure what. Giggles move around the room. A bare buttock keeps showing itself to me, I feel something is about to start.