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.

Her writings in blood

People keep going up to her writings in blood. As if they held some secret to her thoughts, wishes or desires. As if each fragmented de-nucleated cell was a mirror to Pandora’s box. They inspect her calligraphy in real time….. Words hit the page; she has literally bled for her art. “From her heart” apparently. There is a slight asynchrony to the four clocks that stand watching. Marginally out of phase, but enough to remind us of how realisations set amongst a crowd.

Each drip of blood that stains the white iridescent sheet blots out light that would otherwise bounce. These are the kind of tears that neither wash nor awaken. They mock our inevitable need to dirty ourselves so that we may become clean. It is not in the purity that we find peace, but in the cleansing. We are ritualistic bastards, illegitimate children of Faith and Controversy. Intimate bedfellows of process.

Murky Noises

A murky, primal electric soundscape; industry roars to be set free.

Blood decanted into ten glasses.

An offering.


Time drowned in a tin bath.

I am submerged.

As blood runs down Nicola’s arms a baby cries.

She moves to the wall to stick or to read?

A man looks over her shoulder while the other woman continues to read.

The sound is unsettling and I don’t know why.

Something falling Nicola continues to stick.

Back of her shirt is still pristine white, wet washed out bloodstains

Down the back of her white jeans.

Pair a Pare, Alistair MacLennan, Platt Chapel, Graveyard, Manchester

After the Silence

The minute went on for three and then Nicola Canavan starts. The room feels settled and focused on her as a man draws blood from her into a bag. Pristine white shirt she holds the warm bag of blood to her chest. Sound of breathing maybe a heart beat? Is the sound live or is it pre-recorded? The audience look directly at her others look away although stay still. Performer or audience member sits in the seat opposite her and holds the bag with Nicola to her chest. I wonder what if feels like? An usher directs the audience to take part and sit with Nicola. The audience seems to be a little unsettled although most stay. Nicola cradles the ladies head into her shoulder and she cries.


Platt Chapel is chattering with artists, techies, documenters, volunteers.  People with cameras, carrier bags, experiences they are ready to create and share with others.

The public is to be let in shortly.  “Will you just grab that mic stand?” a techie asks.

We await the silence.  Ours will be two minutes.

Jess (documenter)


I arrived here at 9.30am wanting to get set-up and logged on. All the documentors are situated up on the balcony overlooking the main space. Not sure whether to introduce myself, is that really important? I applied for this opportunity to look at other peoples work, learn about live art and to develop my writing. My background is performance and video although my pieces are very short. There will be a lot of durational work throughout the day which sometimes I can struggle with although I do want to engage with it. The documentors have been talking about structure, for example recording sound every hour, editing in the moment, a stream of consciousness. I just need to get into my own flow and will write when something needs to be written. Other people can contribute on this blog during the day not sure if people will? A few techy things I need to sort out such as linking into the 11 11 11 facebook page. Audience members are now getting let in. Shortly there will be a minute’s silence.

How to blog about other peoples work?

Working in the Chapel today I have found it a struggle to get started on Word Press. I was kindly helped by a colleague although being placed in the corner, I felt a little excluded from the documentation discussions. I tried to listen although I got tied into getting this blog up and running. I was present at the start of our talks however I did struggle to keep up with the flow of conversation and when I finally had something to say, the moment had gone. Although I did not agree with all the comments I still take them on board which for a while left me with writers block. I just need to start making regular posts, let the words flow and a structure will follow. I think I was a bit optimistic trying to write before the 11 11 11 event. I have to allow for mistakes and remember that this is a learning process, which may not work all the time. After the documenters initial meeting we went for a drink and had a lovely homemade meal at Michael’s studio. I have now come home fired up for tomorrow.

News from the exchange partner from Manchester!

We are here in Platt Chapel, Manchester discussing how to document the 11/11/11 event. How do you document an eleven-hour event? When do we start? When does it end? Where in the building to record sound? How to film? Generally it sound’s like most people want some structure. There are eleven documenters and eleven performance artists. Allot of people in a small space. Where should we all be placed during the event without interfering with the performances? Talking about tweeting, short condensed. Hai Ku is being mentioned about rhythm being scattered around the space. People’s voices are being echoed in the space and I’m finding it hard to capture what people are saying. Michael say’s ‚brilliant‘. I’ve got a question; Is it ok to say I’m going to do what the fuck I want? Will the documentation of the event just go everywhere? Not to delicate upsetting the artist. It’s our own discretion? The structure for the next three days: How to document the event. Documenting the event. Creating an art installation from the documented material.