Diary

25 May 2007

Hole hearted red tape

Four artists, eight hours, one hole. Last night, in two-hour shifts, the Muscle team dug for victory and to success. The Cafe Gallery's cafe society gravel garden has suffered the rudest intervention. A large mound of claggy brown earth - the totemic turd pile of toil - points skyward, away from an impressive cylindrical tunnel, the depth of which is difficult to gauge. It's hard to believe you would be able clamber out if thrown in (and personally I doubt the four-headed artist, even with its eight neatly positioned ears, would hear you scream).

This pure activity, defined by the eight-hour day of the grafting proletariat was presided over by a panel of cruel arbiters. Competitivism may have driven the physical process, but the finished piece is all about joint authorship. Visually, it's a beautiful organic piece of yin-yang formalism (accented by the cheeky slice of an RSJ visible beneath the surface), conceptually it speaks of the modernist sensibilities that have defined sculptural output (Rodin's "science of the bump and the hollow", helpfully evaluates one Muscle) and emotionally it is the tunnel of love (and of sweat and sleep loss) that has helped reconfigure the previously split mercurial beads of Muscle back into a single, indomitable form.

And are they ever back on form. The 'BURNT OUT WHITE CAR' has been obviously doctored to read: 'BURNT OUT WHITEY', which neatly alludes to the level of exhaustion the team are experiencing and the slow and steady impact they are having on the white cube itself. The Cafe Gallery, as far as outside appearances are concerned, is no longer a gallery but simply a cafe (the 'GALLERY' component of the black text sign has been negated with a single line of red tape, while 'CAFE' has been revived with new cherry lettering). It feels like WWII Paris - conscientious objectors gathering in cafes to rail and create about a world in crisis.

It's nightfall and the smell of melting cheese is in the air. Cabin fever may be setting in, but this microcosmic world is far from crisis.

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