The Hague 12/02- 16/02/2014
6 mixed-media miniatures performed as an ongoing sequence, in one space without pre-order.
The name of the piece is the dates and place in which all miniatures were composed.
'The Hague, 12/02-16/02' was premiered in the final concert of Ogen/blik collective residency at Studio Loos, The Hague in March 2014.
The 2nd performance took place in Kc Spring Festival 2014, in which I performed the sequence for 7 hours with no break.
the 6 miniatures:
I MISS U | Composition for Viola and voice
Someday: Karaoke-gone-bad | Tape, voice and hand-made karaoke
Ice | Tape, voice and ice
Braid | Monologue - Viola and text
Fear weights | Interactive installation with text
14/02 | Viola, leg percussion and thunder sheet
The name of the piece is the dates and place in which all miniatures were composed.
'The Hague, 12/02-16/02' was premiered in the final concert of Ogen/blik collective residency at Studio Loos, The Hague in March 2014.
The 2nd performance took place in Kc Spring Festival 2014, in which I performed the sequence for 7 hours with no break.
the 6 miniatures:
I MISS U | Composition for Viola and voice
Someday: Karaoke-gone-bad | Tape, voice and hand-made karaoke
Ice | Tape, voice and ice
Braid | Monologue - Viola and text
Fear weights | Interactive installation with text
14/02 | Viola, leg percussion and thunder sheet
fear weights
In 'Fear weights' one audience member sits next to weights at a time. S/he puts on the headphones and play with the balance of the weights. By changing the balance of the weights the balance of the sound changes accordingly. The sound is constructed from 6 layers of the same text recorded in different manners.
|
|
Someday
A karaoke-gone-bad song, based on the performance of 'Someday' by Patsy Cline.
|
|
|
braid
Monologue, haired Viola and text (written)
Translation of text from Hebrew
My hair died in my hands. One second ago it was alive. I touched it and souped it, bathed it, caroused. it moved with me. Now he's lying here dead. She doesnt know its dead yet. Soon his roots will tell him. Its not even the roots. The roots are on me. In the same way she's now, the braid, it could be on me. That's why i never cut my hair. I hate changes. the ends wont grow anymore.
Finally, when she's lying down this way, I can look her whole. Thick, full, drawn. Ends jumping out of her. Round. I started making her almost one year ago. A bit more then one year of braid. And you're the last braid for now. Here, its starting to dry, getting stiff. Does it know it wont move anymore? does it know it lost the ability to grow? I can either die from this, or I wont care. No bridge, Im jumping.
You're still wet, but I don't care about you anymore. Water dripping down from you to the floor. Your form is distorted, un-pretty.
I looked in the mirror, and I saw myself this way. And it has great momentarily power. Your form will remain this way, and wont move anymore.
This is how static is. Its not true. She will move. Just very slowly. And only time will move her, not she. Actually, time moves everything.
Also dead things have life. There's no separation between dead things and alive things. As long as there's time, there are lives.
Everything moves.
You're lying on the table. Still wet from the morning. The end is dry, and its nice, light and curved. And yes, why carry this rag around, pulling down. And still its beautiful. Its alive, bright, just not attached to anything. Its as if you want me to put you on. You want me to take you for a walk. Waiting to be me. I'm not you anymore.
Now when I saw you suddenly I got scared, you reminded me of someone else I used to be only this morning.
Here, this way its easier. I can look at the dead object and say goodbye to it every it.
Its funny, she thinks she's going to live, but she wont. She'll stay the same. Frozen. In the beginning, still pretty and shiny, and slowly - lame and pale, You're so beautiful from the neck down. Only the head is cut.
My hair died in my hands. One second ago it was alive. I touched it and souped it, bathed it, caroused. it moved with me. Now he's lying here dead. She doesnt know its dead yet. Soon his roots will tell him. Its not even the roots. The roots are on me. In the same way she's now, the braid, it could be on me. That's why i never cut my hair. I hate changes. the ends wont grow anymore.
Finally, when she's lying down this way, I can look her whole. Thick, full, drawn. Ends jumping out of her. Round. I started making her almost one year ago. A bit more then one year of braid. And you're the last braid for now. Here, its starting to dry, getting stiff. Does it know it wont move anymore? does it know it lost the ability to grow? I can either die from this, or I wont care. No bridge, Im jumping.
You're still wet, but I don't care about you anymore. Water dripping down from you to the floor. Your form is distorted, un-pretty.
I looked in the mirror, and I saw myself this way. And it has great momentarily power. Your form will remain this way, and wont move anymore.
This is how static is. Its not true. She will move. Just very slowly. And only time will move her, not she. Actually, time moves everything.
Also dead things have life. There's no separation between dead things and alive things. As long as there's time, there are lives.
Everything moves.
You're lying on the table. Still wet from the morning. The end is dry, and its nice, light and curved. And yes, why carry this rag around, pulling down. And still its beautiful. Its alive, bright, just not attached to anything. Its as if you want me to put you on. You want me to take you for a walk. Waiting to be me. I'm not you anymore.
Now when I saw you suddenly I got scared, you reminded me of someone else I used to be only this morning.
Here, this way its easier. I can look at the dead object and say goodbye to it every it.
Its funny, she thinks she's going to live, but she wont. She'll stay the same. Frozen. In the beginning, still pretty and shiny, and slowly - lame and pale, You're so beautiful from the neck down. Only the head is cut.
i miss u
When an expression loses its meaning (written)
