The Biennial Blog

Artist Jeanne van Heeswijk explores keyquestions in her practice. This text formed part of her acceptance speech as she was awarded the Annenberg Prize for Art and Social Change.

In a time of accelerated globalisation and rapid changes in our environment, where neighbourhoods become sites of contestation, where different conditions of power are inscribed, where everything seemed to be locked up by over-regulation and populist images prevail, people are increasingly feeling de-invested and excluded from their own daily environment. There is a serious disconnect between ordinary people and govern-mentality. Taken together, these things call into question traditional methods of artistic interventions in the city. Today there is an urgent need for us (artists and our co-producers) to re-engage and witness to the invisible vectors of power that shape the territory and the faculty of publicness, to reorganise systems of urban interaction and to challenge the political and economic frameworks.

The question is are we capable of creating a place and associated capacities for public faculty – a public domain – where we can research, debate, face up to the confrontation and address one another as co-producers of the city? Can we make this area of tension visible and develop instruments to enable intervention in that area.  In order to create models that allow for people to become participants in the process of visualizing the dynamics, complexity and diversity of the city they live in and collectively develop a narrative about the city in which everyone has a place? Can alliances between politics and art, be imagined, tested, and based in practices that establish (…) narratives for a democratic, post-national, inclusive society?[1] I often referrer to forms of urban acupuncture (hit and run tactics) that will allow the sensitive places in our society to emerge and blocked relational energies to flow again. Developing instruments that enable people to fill in this place and deepen, sharpen or question that narrative. So they can face their world in progress (not as consumers but as creators) and become actors in their own surrounding, being able to act up, to be an active citizen.

It seems to me that is really important to ask how an engaged practice can address and mobilise the existing local physical and socio-cultural capital and use it as the performative basis for a city under development. It should provide a platform for artist and non artist exchanges, for participation and real/ honest communication, that underpins a broadly supported, inclusive and integral idea about living together in the community, as a condition or possibility for bringing about changes, and preferably improvements, in social structures.[2]

Artist practice

The key concepts underlying an engaged practice are in my opinion ‘acting’, ‘meeting’, ‘learning’, confronting, acting and ‘communicating’  But these are all activities that demand mutual responsibility. Rick Lowe , who has taught me a lot in this area once explained to me ‘I began to learn to shift from creation in splendid isolation to collaboration., when I became part of the audience myself.  For this I had to develop the ability “To listen” on how to interject or intervene with my own creative energy.’

To intervene in such a way that the people who are participating can increase the number and intensity of their ties, may seems a simple act to perform. However during the course of my practice, I have learned how difficult it can be to create in collaboration with a community you are addressing and to be dependent upon the community’s continued involvement for sustainability. It also involved all of us together learning how to take collective responsibility to make the information gathered work operate significantly in the  social and political context too. These processes are always long and sometimes painful, as we have to learn about each other’s ideas and different viewpoints. This is a process of collective learning about how to unlease the potential of people to engaging with different creative energies for collective action in order to become a shaping force in our immediate environment.

What did I learn (a few notes on some projects)

So what did I learn from different communities?  While there is a growing faith in the potential of greater community participation to develop models and instruments for city-building. It is too often blind to the naivety of the notion of transformation based on harmonious togetherness. It seems to me that offering a menu of choices is just the last convulsion of the idea of supply-side transformability that still treats the citizen as a consumer. To enable the individual or the community their right to participate in building the city means more than merely presenting them with a few choices and allowing them to communicate through public consultative channels, demonstrations or standard procedures. In fact it is precisely these conditions – the notions of how we wish to and are able to live together – that we should be able to question again and again within this process. It is exactly here where people teach me what it takes to become active citizens.

Face Your World

In an intense process of more than a year, youngster work hard to rewrite the brief and with that the design of their neighbourhood park. While the City Council wanted it to be a quite green zone, the young people went to look for what the community really needed and introduced the concept of ‘Active Green’. Green that allowed for a lot of activities such as sports, play, and gathering for different generations and groups. Trough their production of different viewpoint they argued for the communities need. This might have taken a long intense time but it generated enough friction to change the political process in the end. Finally a month ago (5 years later) their new park was opened. The local Health and Sports Counsellor took this opportunity to launch his campaign to fight obesities and praised the park because of it is contribution to towards wellbeing.

Samia, one of the pupils, whispered in the background “Sure like we didn’t know what the community really needed’ I learned that when I community start t starts to articulate its own voice and aesthetic and begins to self-organise it quickly becomes apparent that they know what they really want and need. And that in facilitating this process we might be able to pass on tools to reshape their world-in-progress.

Ruhr  2010

By working with a small community living in the middle of one of the largest motorway intersections in the Industrial Ruhr area in Germany I learned a lot about the way in which ‘small happiness’ can be a resistance force.  In a time where the Ruhr area wanted to put itself on the map as a ‘creative Metropole’, They effectively fought to retake an empty church so as to create a community centre. Together, we created a large table (at which it was possible to seat the whole village) to serve both as a council table, a beer garden and most of all as a place to publicise their ongoing fight to be recognized as a viable community and to be taken serious for that. “We are the Ruhrgebied.  We are people open to the world and principled, acting in solidarity. We are the heartland of Europe par excellence. You have to take us in account while dreaming up a new Metropole” While at the same time, through selling  beer, cofee, cakes, marmalade and soks they raised the neccesary amount of money to do the building work. I learned that the programs of action (a offline form of crowd funding) and multipliers of images which make up the work, made it is possible for a to maintain itself in its own indetermination and at the same time, to multiply its links with a world that it continually approaches.

Stavanger  University Hospital

The same counted for the employees of one of the largest university hospitals in Norway. They used the opportunity to be part of the public art project ‘Neighbourhood Secrets’, in order to tell their own narrative on the ethical and moral dilemmas they face every day, but which have no place in the ‘official information the hospital is supplying to the outside world. After collecting stories from within the Hospital an  Open Call for Actors (players) was made and over 80 people both working as being patient in the hospital showed up for audition. It took two years to shoot  (completely in house, actors, camerawork, musical score, scene locations) an episode hospital sitcom series. Imagine how difficult it is to have 7 ‘volunteer actors present in a real time operating hospital and at the same time to shoot a scene. But all the actors/players always found away to be there. When I expressed my concern, that we might take time away from more urgent matters, they had to tell me–that besides saving lives –the way in which the hospital performs and to discuss the sensitive issues publicly is also important. So they told me to just do my job and do it well’

Freehouse

The Afrikaander district was one of the first in the Netherlands with a population mostly of foreign origin. In the 1990s, the Rotterdam City Council started a major urban development scheme adjacent to the area, and while one architectural feature after another rose up around it , with the slogan ”Clean, Whole and Save” stricter regulation were put in place and the economic activity in the Afrikaander district itself died out. In order for the Afrikaander district to survive the expansion of the ‘creative city’-and to thrive from it – Freehouse actively challenged this new regulation imposed by the local government in doing over 300 interventions. Freehouse helped to set up small-scale skill based projects to regenerate the area and its market, by improving products, services, market interactions and social integration in order to retain its intimate local character and cultural diversity.  In collaboration with residents, artisans, artists and designers new sustainable infrastructures were different skills and knowledge were combined were created such as a neighbourhood workshop for making and designing clothes, a communal kitchen area, a neighbourhood shop selling local products and a small-scale delivery service, which at present offering 40 jobs and various internships in the community. But more important by radicalising local production people together created a different image of success showing that a skill based city could be a viable alternative to the creative city.

The money of this prize is also going to the Freehouse project, as it is exactly the amount we needed to establish a local holding to ensure the duration and sustainability of the different cooperatives.

For my practice, becoming part of the community and being part of the whole process of change a neighborhood is undergoing, is key. Learning how at a deeper level we can face today’s broken circuitry between people, culture and the political process. To take collective responsibility to learn from each other how to produce change can make it possible that the processes started, work in a larger social political context as well. Encouraging people to make in their territory an environment in which they can create, produce, disseminate, distribute and have access to their own cultural expressions.[3] So that the energy generated through people acting out in their own environment will lead to a network of support, a critical reading of one’s own surroundings and an involvement in the changes that take place. Finding ways to re-set the public value of the arts, its public faculty as a contributor to greater solidarity. And for this you need to continuously go back, again and again to create an understanding of public domain as a shared space, a space that everyone can contribute to and change.

[2] My own lesson from practices about the contemporary state of the public domain is that it will require nothing less than making private public during this state of exception

[3] UN Convention on the Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural Expressions (Signed Paris 20/10/2005 and entry into force : 18 March 2007). Specifically  Article 7 – Measures to promote cultural expressions

Roswitha, a volunteer invigilator for the Liverpool Biennial Festival, reflects on 52 Renshaw Street in general and Enjoy Yourself in particular, taking photos on her mobile phone

Today my invigilation took me to the first floor of 52 Renshaw Street, where I overlooked the work of Aime Mpane, Y. Z. Kami, Markus Schinwald and Oren Eliav – all excellent art works, but among these four artists I chose my personal favourite style for narrative work, execution and colour (sorry, a splash of colour always works for me) – Aime Mpane’s paintings.

There were a lot of visitors during lunch hour, when besides the normal amount of lunch visitors the students from Liverpool John Moores University arrived, equipped with all their sketch pads etc. Most of them took a photo of the Cuban Artist Loidys Carnero’s ‘tongue-in-cheek’ work Enjoy Yourself (click here to download more info), part of which is basically an old dilapidated fireplace on the first floor.  Very often was I asked by people if this was part of the exhibition while they wore a big grin on their faces.

However, one visitor to Liverpool built her own installation.  She took off her rucksack and placed inside the chimney and took a photo of it!  But little did she know, that I stood behind her and took a photo of her whilst she was creating her own interactive artwork…  Unfortunately, my image it is not totally focused as we all moved a little whilst rushing… She was very surprised when I showed her the photo that she had been ‘caught in the act’ and her friends really loved the idea of the double take.

This is another guest blog is written by Doug Herbert, a Liverpool Biennial Volunteer Information Assistant as well as model for Daniel Knorr’s The Naked Corner.  These are his personal perspectives on his experiences invigilating the works in Bloomberg New Contemporaries, Afoundation, and the Wood Street garage.  New Contemporaries runs until this Saturday.

You might be interested to know that I’m writing this in Afoundation and that, despite it being close to freezing in the New Contemporaries exhibition, I’m sweating. Is it because I’ve just been looking at the Patrick Coyle piece, This Works – which is just graphite pencil on the wall which reads, “This Works is extremely fragile, Please do not touch.” For some reason it put me in mind of my first piano teacher, which is enough to make anyone break out in a cold sweat, but no, that’s not why I’m sweating.
Has everyone here seen Toy Story 3? Remember this? That’s why I’m sweating. Just like Buzz and the gang I got the shock of my life a moment ago and I suppose to explain why we need to talk about this morning.
I spend a lot of time in the public realm, this morning I was in Raymond Pettibons garage on Wood Street. I like it there, its home to My little red flip book and a video piece called Sunday Night and Saturday Morning. The video is from 2005 but the paintings were done specifically for the Biennial, apparently there is quite a good story behind them involving lots of red wine. Funny how all the best stories include red wine. I am clueless about art but I like the animation and some of it is really funny. If you can stand the cold it’s worth sitting through the whole hour. It’s quite cryptic but what art isn’t?

I particularly like the reference to Dennis “Beach Boys” Wilson, “Dennis you’re the only one who can surf, Dennis you’re the only one who can’t sing.” This is particularly meaningful to the residents of my flat because “Dennis Wilson- Pacific ocean blue” is the equivalent to the Marvin Gaye LP my dad breaks out on special occasions, very special occasions. Yep, when Dennis is rocking, don’t come knocking. In fact, if Dennis is rocking, just stick Born to Run on your head phones and reach for the whiskey.

Anyway, this is meant to be about volunteer experiences not volunteer “experiences”. So as I was saying, I spend a lot of time in the public realm so when Joёl comes over the radio warning “all volunteers, there is a large group moving through the building so be prepared.” I get all smug, sip on my luke warm tea and proclaim to whoever I’m with (this morning it was Craig), “Mugs, listen to them making mountains out of molehills.”

This brings us back to Afoundation, New Contemporaries, Toy Story 3 and me, sweating. I experienced my first large group, they were foundation year art students and they tore through the building like a tornado, I was all “Don’t touch anything!”, “Please don’t run!”, “No horse play!” I sounded like a teenage life guard trying to control Wavertree pool during the inflatable fun afternoon. I now have a sore throat.  Luckily nothing has been damaged, which is good, because I’d quite like to come back.

The stuff here is good, I like the Nathan Barlex paintings for no other reason than I like the colours, (how valuable you must find my in-depth analysis of art) and I like Untitled by Daniel Lichtman, it reminds me of The Catcher in the Rye. If you’ve read it you’ll know the books main protagonist, Holden Caulfield has a thing against phonies, well the two artists commissioned by the Biennial here are anything but phonies.  Antti Laitinen built a boat out of old tree bark from his native Finland and sailed the thing across the Mersey, having just seen it I’ll tell you I wouldn’t even sit on it. His exhibition is great. There’s a video of Antti building an island out of sand bags, I don’t know why he did it but I’m glad he did.

I also don’t know why Sachiko Abe has decided to dedicate 10 hours of her day everyday for two months to cutting paper into tiny strips, the accompanying sculpture is beautiful and Paper Clouds is amazing. I don’t know why she’s doing it, but again I’m glad she is. It’s my highlight of the biennial so far and I have no idea why. Coming from a man sat sweating in a freezing cold warehouse watching a video of Emma Hart playing Dice with the sea I’m not sure how much weight can be put behind this statement but to paraphrase my friend Joe, artists be crazy.

We are art monsters from Melbourne, Australia. We aim to engage the community and promote non-violence by creating a dialogue about violent human and monstrous urges, both individual and en masse. Monsters get a bad rap for eating brains. John and Yoko got a bad rap for promoting peace. We’d like to show you that even out and out monsters can contribute to a better society, and indiscretion or two aside.

We demand monster-rights!

We’re better educated than Sarah Palin, and we have even better hair than Kim Jong-Il.

Viva la Monsterpiece!

Yours Sincerely,

The Monsters xx

Watch us

Stuart Driscoll, a volunteer invigilator for the Liverpool Biennial Festival, reflects on his experiences so far – the good and the bad

Prior to me volunteering at the biennial I’d been living away in Asia and Europe for 10 years. Of course I’d never lost contact with Liverpool, but following my return when I heard about this volunteering opportunity I thought it would be a great chance to…kind of in keeping with the theme of the biennial… get back in touch with my hometown.

The locations in the public realm such as The Black-E, The Scandinavian Hotel and The Oratory had long been features of everyday Liverpool to me, but I’d never been inside any of them before. And I’m not the only one. I’ve noticed that a lot of visitors are drawn to the biennial out of a curiosity to visit some enigmatic local landmarks that have been out of access to the public for a long time, and once inside they tend to stick around.

I was in the Black-E when a couple came bouncing in full of tales of how they used to hang-out in there during their younger years, then they looked up and noticed Kris Martin’s Mandi XV hanging down above their heads. They were blown away by it and asked me questions about the size, weight and construction of the massive sword which I was happy to answer with the help of some insider knowledge. They left happily leaving echoes of “Boss that” swirling around the dome.

And while I enjoyed some autumnal sunshine outside of The Scandinavian Hotel an older couple who were local to the area passed by. They were curious as to what was going on in there and was it being renovated. They told me it was a fantastic building in the past and I managed to persuade them in for a few minutes to look at the films and the building. They left a good while later, to wander around the corner for a real-life look at Cristina Lucas’s Touch and Go.

Such interactions with visitors are great, it often starts with a discussion on a piece of work in the biennial and leads to someone telling you about their own painting or sculpture that they practice in a lock-up garage/studio in Southport.

Mind you its not always so positive, a mad, aggressive person threatened me with a car key at the Cathedral. The man clearly needed a touch of peace and calm in his life, and if he didn’t find the priest that he was looking for and if I had been braver…I’d have recommended him a therapeutic visit to The Mending Project at 52 Renshaw Street.”

Lee Kendall, a volunteer invigilator for the Liverpool Biennial Festival, writes on the Government’s cuts in reference to Kris Martin’s Mandi XV, a giant sword which hangs in the Black-E.

Britain’s newly unelected Prime Minister has announced a raft of public spending cuts the likes of which the citizens of this country have never before experienced, not even during the austerity drive following the end of WWII.  The real reason that we are all in this mess, the global financial crisis and the impact of profligate bank practices in the City, that still remain unchecked, is being sublimely, gleefully ignored.

As with all of the other public sectors that have been most affected by swingeing cuts, the arts sector has been hit by a hammer blow. Or should that be sword?

I took a walk inside The Blackie this afternoon, set against the gloomy backdrop of crepuscular storm clouds and drenching, icy rain, and Kris Martin’s phenomenal Mandi XV (2007), suddenly represents not just a physical manifestation of the fabled Sword of Damocles, but the absolute physical reality of what these gigantic cuts are going to mean.

I stood, open-mouthed, beneath the deadly point, watching the massive blade swing slightly in the breeze funnelling inside the space from Berry Street, and wondered whether we will ever be fortunate enough to see such a fantastic piece of art in such a wonderful public setting again? The sword seems glaringly malevolent today, the eve of the spending review announcements that will mean the end of many community arts centres such as The Blackie all over the country.

How fitting it would be perhaps, if the whole edifice were to come crashing down?

Liverpool Biennial volunteer Anne Schottle reflects on her experiences inside the Scandinavian Hotel / Europleasure building on the corner of Duke and Great George Street.

Every time I invigilate at the Scandinavien Hotel / Europleasure Building, I feel very moved listening to the wonderful voice of the singer towards the end of the film from Alfredo Jaar. It is such a sad incident that happened  just in the nineties - it makes me cry, and sometimes I see people coming out wiping their tears away, deep in thoughts.  On the other hand you have circus music melting in – calling for a revolution.  Across the street from “The Whitehouse” where Banksy left a rat … I like this place.

Sean Robertson, a model for The Naked Corner, tells about his experience in Liverpool, the reactions, and his exploration of the Biennial.

Up to Liverpool for a 3 day Biennial blast, giving me plenty of time to take in the diverse nature of Britain’s biggest contemporary arts festival.  

Before my Thursday session in Daniel Knorr’s The Naked Corner, I went to the Europleasure building for Alfredo Jaar’s We wish to inform you that we didn’t know an emotional, thought provoking piece that left me not so much angry as disappointed at the ignorance of the “civilised” world.  Then next door for Cristina Lucas’ Touch and Go, which is supposed to convey messages of the fragility of the capitalist system which passes through and leaves decaying remnants – yes it did, but it was also the perfect fun antidote to the Jaar installation.

I was joined by my twitter friend Scott (@merseytart) and stripped to our pants we took up residence in the window.  Our corporate messages were “A diamond is forever” (Scott) and “Just do it” (me).  Performing with someone else was a very different experience to the other week, as the audience are not focusing solely on you and you can observe the interaction between viewer and model whilst occupying the same space.  The most surreal moment was a woman down on her luck, albeit numbed by the effects of the can of special brew, who crossed from the other side of the road and licked a smiley face onto the window in front of us…

Friday morning came and I was alone, the message I had chosen was “Join the debate” and this brought out another aspect of the viewing public, whereas the earlier messages had simply been read, the audience took this one as an instruction, and I had countless people knocking on the window asking “what debate?” or “what are we debating?”  Although the project is about the ownership of language, I put my own spin on this and invited the audience to debate about whatever they wanted, including two elderly ladies who starting a good natured argument about whether it was art, so I told them, there you go, you’re having your debate…

Friday afternoon I took in Laura Belém’s The Temple of a Thousand Bells a most beautiful piece and in a classically perfect setting, followed by Danica Dakic’s Grand Organ, another uplifting piece which brought together the amazing organ of St George’s Hall, with the building’s other role as court of justice.  The time period of the Hall’s conception was also inferred with the children looking like workhouse kids one minute and gentrified scholars the next.

On to Saturday and with no-one else taking part, I had a split shift from 11am to 1pm and then from 2pm to 4pm.  This gave me time for a quick look around the Biennial installations in the Bluecoat before heading to Renshaw Street.  My chosen message for Saturday was “Capitalist Tool” which I felt probably sums up the objectivity of standing in the window, those portals for the manufacturers and retailers to prise your hard earned, or ill gotten, gains out of your pockets.  Midday I met with my friend and fellow plinther (Gormley‘s One and Other) Jensen Wilder who bought me lunch, a delightful mug of “scousers’ breakfast” tea and brought me up to date with what was going on with his life.   Then it was a quick tour of the upper floor of the old Rapid building, before my second performance of the day, which meant I was there when the 3:30 tour came around, which was informative and gave me a deeper insight into what I was actually doing!

Once dressed, it was off to St Luke’s church where I met some Spanish tourists who recognised me from earlier and wanted a clothed picture of me too, then to FACT for a warming mug of chocolate, and there I meet some ladies who asked “did we see you naked earlier?”  Well at least people noticed what my face looked like!

A fast train to London, and onto the disorganised chaos that is public transport in the capital on a weekend.  London is fun, but my heart was lagging 200 miles behind me as I descended into the Nether World of Hades, or the Northern Line as London Underground prefer to call it..

Katie Grace McGowan is a model for Daniel Knorr’s The Naked Corner.  Below are her views on the piece.

Curator Lorenzo Fusi’s texts, “Speaking the Naked Truth” and his writing in the Touched exhibition catalogue succinctly address the themes of Daniel Knorr’s The Naked Corner: copyright and branding politics, the public forum as an arena for protest against the corporatization of language and the body, etc. It is, however, conspicuously missing from the installation. Both deliberate and inadvertent viewers are given similar entrée into the piece, which is simultaneously confounding and refreshing.

The choice not to include didactics is an assertive one. But it is too evasive?  Would the viewer be more likely to get beyond the nudity (sic) if he or she were given some sort of information about the slogans or the piece at large? Would a text help contextualize the work or take away the disorienting joy of happening upon a spectacle on the street? By bypassing wall text, the artist and curator are able to offer the piece to an unprimed audience. But would the audience take more away with some priming? The choice is certainly a fraught one.

In the three weeks or so I’ve served daily shifts in the window on Renshaw Street, reactions have run the spectrum, often clustering on the extremes of said spectrum.  Typical reactions to me, a lone female; are smiles, waves, laughter as people realize I am not a mannequin, thumbs up, thorough examinations, and sexual commentary. There is lots of laughter, some friendly some not, most nervous. Less common, but more memorable, reactions include calling me a “fu*king whore/slut/bitch,” simulated masturbation, men exposing themselves (two incidents on my watch) and pubescent girls telling me I am fat and flat chested. These reactions indicate a surprising discomfort with something that seems so innocuous—a person wearing generic cotton underclothes in a public place–rather than a reaction to the truly offensive fact that corporations are able to co-opt and buy our language.

Here it may also be worthwhile to note the differences I’ve noticed when performing the role of an object, an inert canvas onto which often bewildering statements are painted, versus a subject, an interactive, usually friendly, human who engages passersby in some small way. In the case of the prior, the abuse can be harsh. The only time it has been harsher is when the performer has stood directly in the window meeting the eyes of each spectator. In these cases, there have been very angry reactions several times. When the gaze of the female object looks back upon the viewer, the act becomes too assertive.

Often while in the window I have thought of the momentous Marina Abramović performance, Rhythm 0 (1974). In this piece the artist availed herself to her audience to do as they please. The audience was sometimes very respectful and many times not. The piece took place in a gallery setting.  The audience was a self-selected art viewing audience, but the piece still ended with cruelty. As a performing object in a vulnerable state, in a public space, Naked Corner has taught me how truly afraid I would be to do something like Rhythm 0 in the actual public sphere. Lack off accountability allows some people an inflated sense of agency. Similar to the way people will comment viciously on anonymous blogs or websites, the veil of anonymity removes inhibition and in the extreme case, humanity.

As an object or performer–depending on the day–within the installation, the experience has been an informative one. Perception is changed, perhaps deepened, with each hour in the fishbowl. My senses drown.  Traces of eroticism, impressionistic thoughts, judgments, desire for connection, they come and go. The cold autumn light shines on my blue flesh as spectators peer into my tank, glad they are on the outside, able to return to the safe side of the everyday—where a corporate slogan is just that.

This guest blog is written by Doug Herbert, a Liverpool Biennial Volunteer Information Assistant as well as model for Daniel Knorr’s The Naked Corner.  These are his personal perspectives on his work with the Biennial so far.

Have you ever been told off by your housemates’ girlfriend or boyfriend, (although this is much less likely) for walking around the house in your underwear? Me too, it’s annoying isn’t it. Sometimes it’s all you want to do to wander around the house picking things up and putting them back down in a slightly different position all day wearing nothing but your pants.  It’s comforting. If it can be ruined by someone else’s lover then the world really has gone to pot. Forget the recession, the coalition government, the fact Wayne Rooney seems to have forgotten which feet to put his boots on and the way the new series of the Inbetweeners has been utterly disappointing, if a man cannot walk around his own home in his pants how can any of us have any hope? Amazingly, we can and here’s how;

On Saturday morning I spent three hours walking around in my underwear without hearing a single complaint. I got photographed, thumbs upped and altogether respected and congratulated for my behaviour, (and only slightly mocked) but no complaints, a refreshing change. Who’d have thought it? What is unacceptable in ones own home is wholly acceptable in a shop window on a busy street in Liverpool and it’s all thanks to Daniel Knorr and his Naked Corner, a new piece commissioned for the Liverpool Biennial.  If you too want the freedom to just wear underwear (and an advertising slogan) in a shop window just drop in to the old Rapid building and volunteer, it’s a great experience.

It’s worth noting there is more to volunteering than the chance to wear your pants in public without anyone telling you it’s bad etiquette at the dinner table mind you. If like me you find art exhibitions to inspire only the urge for a long sit down and some hard liquor (as opposed to the desire to go out and create something truly unique), it’s likely that, like me, you find art hard to understand. I’ve found however, that like most things art can be understood by taking a little time to consider it. Like how as a child you’d wonder why your elder brother Edward kept beating you up and after you sat down and thought about it you realised it was because he was a complete idiot. Art is similar.

As a volunteer you get the opportunity to really connect with the artwork, to let it sink in and really appreciate it. Take for instance Ryan Trecartins’ video installation Trill-ogy Comp, located in the basement of Rapid. On my first visit it made me want to run for the hills, or at least go back to bed and hold my pillow. Having spent a few mornings down there I now really like the work and kind of understand it….I think.

The time spent with the work helps, but also communicating with other volunteers and visitors helps. Hearing their ideas and interpretations is interesting and insightful, and if you all don’t understand it at least you have company for that drink you’ll be craving. Yeah, it’s safe to say volunteering is a great way to experience the Biennial, not just for people who know anything about art but for those of us who don’t have a clue and want to learn something. I used to resemble a ginger deer in the headlights when facing a contemporary art installation, but now? Well, I still look like a ginger deer in the headlights, but they gave me a little ticket to wear around my neck which reads “Volunteer” and a little badge telling people to “Ask me about the Biennial”. So with any luck by November 28^th this well accessorised deer will be able to provide some pretty useful comments on some very intriguing work.

Australian artist Anne Wilson is a resident at Liverpool Biennial 2010. In her first artist short blog she talks about the city and the public opening of her studio at Static Gallery this week…

“Liverpool feels like a place I know – the lyrical dialect and the way people move seems familiar. I know my ancestors came from Galway, Scotland and England where 1800’s architectural examples mirror those in Melbourne.

Many buildings from late 1800’s still exist in Melbourne, however there are few memorials to the events that occurred within our indigenous culture in the century prior, which creates a mental gap. Even though Liverpool is a city in a state of flux the history of buildings tell a story that helps to fill that space about an earlier history.

I have 6 weeks left of my residency and during this time I will be doing a project based on the Liverpool Philarmonic Orchestra performances and opening up my studio at Static Gallery with a site- specific silent video work.”

Studio opening times and dates:

Thursday 7, Friday 8 and Saturday 9 October
from 11am – 6pm
Static Gallery,
23 Roscoe Lane
Liverpool

Where to find Anne's studio at Static Gallery

Mist, 2010

Mist was shot from my apartment during the Matthew Street festival the blurred image is choreography of bodies in unified passion. Anne Wilson

Artist bio, from Anne’s website:

Anne studied painting as a mature-age student after a career in dance.  Her practice is informed by theatre, cinema and live performance and is realized between disciplines—photography, video, painting, sound installation and performance.

Her work has been shown at the Rotterdam International Film Festival, The Athens Film Festival, The Media Arts Asia Pacific Biennale in Singapore, Australian Centre for Photography, Centre for Photography in Melbourne, at the International Urban Screens Festival in Melbourne and is held in the Art Bank of Australia, Australian Video Art Archive, Australian Centre for the Moving Image and private collections.

She is represented by Arc1 Gallery in Melbourne. Her film ‘In Your Own Time’ was selected for Internet Movie Database (IMDb).  She has been awarded Australia Council for the Arts residencies at Banff, Canada and Liverpool, UK, Nuoro Film Festival Workshop Residency, Italy, and Can Serrat Artists and Writer’s residency in Barcelona. She holds a PhD from Monash University Faculty of Art and Design.

In May 2010 Anne received an Australia Council Grant to promote her practice while in the UK. In 2010 Anne will be undertaking an Australian Council for the Arts residency in Liverpool during the Biennial.

Touching from a Distance – Liverpool Biennial 2010

“That’s the problem with art, you can’t touch it.”

-overheard in 52 Renshaw Street.

Some part of the last three weekends I’ve spent taking in different sites across the Biennial. Certain sites have drawn me back, others left me satisfied with one visit. I still have so much to see and very glad I still have most of the next two months to take as much of it as I can.

Of all the Biennial works I’ve seen, the exhibition at Tate provoked the strongest reaction through a desire to interact with art in a physical way. The tactile qualities of so many pieces invited, even begged me, to reach out and touch them and feel their materials and construction. To test how soft or hard the objects in Magdalena Abakanowitz’s Embryology are; to let my hand hover over the flames of Jamie Isenstein’s Empire of Fire and feel their heat; to uncork the vessels of Nina Canell’s On Thirst and let the water stream to the floor.

The only piece which fulfilled this desire of interaction was Franz West’s Smears, which actively invited the viewer to sit and touch what looked like a giant strand of toothpaste squeezed out into a gallery and hardened.

I don’t know what exactly brought out this impulse to behave like a small child and step outside the boundaries laid down, visibly or not, around the works, but oberserving my reactions to this desire its denial was one of the more heightened engagements with art I’ve had in a long time.

And in every gallery is at least one parent saying to a child ‘no, you mustn’t touch’.

Potentially the greatest gift of the Biennial to Liverpool is the opening up of spaces not normally accessible to the public and the chance to interact both with the art and the locations themselves. There’s so much more to say about repurposed spaces like the Europleasure Interntational/Scandinavian Hotel and the former Rapid building on Renshaw Street. The acts of middle-aged vandalism set to a whimsical Beatles-inspired score in Cristina Lucas’ Touch and Go. The political impulses behind Alfredo Jaar’s The Marx Lounge installation-cum-reading room and his film collaboration We Wish to Inform You that We Didn’t Know, a powerful document about the Rwandan genocide and the West’s failure to respond. The forest of ribbons that makes up the labyrinthine Ndize by Nicholas Hlobo, inviting you to get lost in a tangle of colour, not knowing where any path will lead and happy to be embraced by this maze.

You might not always be able to touch art, but without a doubt art can touch you.

Rachel has won a tour with Touched in the Public Realm curator Lorenzo Fusi.  For more information about Liverpool Biennial’s Competitions, please email competitions@biennial.com

Journalist Mike Pinnington looks forward to the grand opening of The Cooperative, a collective of collectives, spearheaded by seven of the foremost art organisations in Liverpool…

The project, coordinated by Liverpool’s very own live literature specialists Mercy, strives to provide a “high-impact, high-visibility platform for creative and discursive activity” during this year’s Biennial.

Based at The Old Paint Shop on Renshaw Street (28-32, L1 4EF) The Cooperative will serve as a cultural hub for the duration of the internationally renowned festival, boasting weekly podcasts and workshops, a library/archive and rolling exhibitions and performances.

Cooperative logo

Acting as a beacon for one of the best regarded art scenes in the UK, the initiative aims to bring new audiences and international attention to the likes of anarchic public artists Jump Ship Rat, the experimental music collective Sound Network, and the studios and galleries in Liverpool’s vanguard: The Royal Standard, Red Wire, Lost Soul and Stranger Service Station, and Arena Gallery and Studios.

Expect to be treated to a stellar series of Saturday night openings, showcasing a diverse array of talent, beginning with the challenging and provocative performance artist Michael Mayhew.

Opening Wednesday to Sunday between 1 and 5pm, the space also serves as a place to drop in for coffee, free Wi-Fi, and a chance to mingle with a fluid mix of Cooperative members.

Download a PDF Guide and Map detailing The Cooperative‘s events here.

Follow The Cooperative on Twitter and stay tuned to this blog for news and pictures over the opening weekend of Liverpoool Biennial 2010.

As we approach our launch weekend, Biennial publicist and PR Catharine Braithwaite gives an insight into her very busy week…

I love it when I’m on the home straight toward the launch of another Liverpool Biennial.  Having lunch with a journalist last week, he remarked that it seemed like only yesterday that the last Biennial was on.  Two years do seem to pass quickly but the great thing is that every Biennial is different and I can never predict what the media reaction is going to be like.

This year we have over 100 press accredited to attend the launch days on Thursday and Friday with a great mix from international, national and regional media outlets.  A big group of critics and feature writers from Vogue, Monocle, Time Out, The Independent, The Guardian, art Review, Art Monthly, Frieze and the FT will be visiting from Thursday giving their verdict on the new commissions, the prize-winners and even the city.

View outside St George's Hall on 13th September

So what is my week looking like?

Monday: I’m helping a producer from Front Row, BBC Radio 4’s flagship arts programme plan how she’s going to get presenter (and reviewer of past Biennials) Mark Lawson round most of the Festival on Thursday, taking in interviews with Laura Belem, Rosa Barba, Daniel Boshkov, Teching Hsieh and Gary Hume along the way. And get back in time to edit it do into a whole programme to be broadcast that night!  I don’t envy her.

Tuesday: I’m meeting with Tania Bruguera about all her media requests – she’s very much in demand so I need to make sure that we can schedule her interviews alongside the performances she’s planning.   Laura Johnson from NML has volunteered to meet the press group and bring them up from London.  I’m meeting with her to let her know who’s coming up and what they’ll need from her on the trip up: whether they want to be left alone or if they need lots of information about Liverpool and the Biennial.

Wednesday: the chief art critic for The Times is coming up a day early to review as she needs to file early for the weekend paper.  As she only has a day I need to plan how she’s going to cram in a whole festival across multiple sites in 8 hours without exhausting her and making sure she has a fair idea of the depth and diversity of it.

Thursday: the day we’ve all been building towards is the day we reveal Liverpool Biennial to the press.  Front Row are in town from 9am so it all has to be ready for their recording. We’ll have a team of interns, some of whom worked on the press desk in 2008, waiting for the first press to pick up their passes from 9am too.  It’s the day I really look forward to, seeing the city awash with critics and feature writers.

Follow Catharine on Twitter for updates on the media preparation of Liverpool Biennial 2010.

More Biennial Team blog insights coming soon…

My name is Zainab Djavanroodi, and I am the new Curatorial Intern with the International 10 exhibition team.  I’m just finishing off my MA at the University of Liverpool on a course about philosophy, art and contemporary curatorial practices, and I did my undergraduate degree at the University of St Andrews in Art History.

My interest in public art, or art in the public realm, is relatively new.  I like spaces that have meaning and significance other than those given to them by works of art, and I like works of art that enhance, compete with, and capture these spaces.  The combination of interesting spaces and even more interesting artworks is what draws me to public art, and what makes my internship at the Liverpool Biennial ideal.

These first two weeks have been a case of getting up to date on everything; learning who all the artists are and what they are doing, getting to know different projects and where they will be, and generally trying to support the team in anyway possible.  There are a lot of artists and just as many projects going on so it has been quite a steep learning curve, but I think I’ve (finally) managed to get a handle on most things.

The only thing that saddens about interning at the Biennial is that I have ruined the element of surprise for myself regarding all the work that will be displayed. I was getting so excited about the coming festival I wish I could erase my memory the night before opening and see everything anew.  On the other hand, getting sneak-peaks of what the artists are planning to do and seeing how the sites are changing and how projects are gradually being realised is equally as exciting! 

Writer Freire Barnes is inspired and engaged on a recent trip to survey the art scene in Liverpool…

Full of anticipation for a weekend of exhibition openings and talks, I arrived in sunny Liverpool. Home to the Beatles, The Grand National, an ever-growing arts scene and more shopping centres than you can shake a stick at, cranes penetrate the skyline of this once prosperous port as redevelopment is rife. Between the Albert Dock where the Tate resides and the Edwardian Three Graces, the Mann Island development is in mid-construction, reminiscent of the Death Star with a sheer black glass façade; it will house the Open Eye gallery come 2011. The neighbouring Museum of Liverpool is due to open in the same year.

Yet the majority of development has been in retail in a bid to boost consumerism most notably with the £1 Billion, Liverpool One complex. So what of the boost in art consumerism? As a UNESCO World Heritage City with a 450,000 populace, Liverpool can boast unique urban interventions by leading artists and a rather impressive mix of traditional and contemporary art spaces – apparently the largest collection of national museums and galleries outside of London – from The Walker Art Gallery (1887) to the South Bank equivalent, FACT (2003). Liverpool is a wash with artistic talent and possibility yet there is an air of discontent. It almost feels as if it needs to be an outsider, dare I say a Southerner, someone from the big smoke to make a proclamation of the true potential of this city.

Having visited Liverpool on numerous occasions albeit mainly on press trips, meaning apart from a brief glimpse out of the coach window that would collect you at Lime Street station and deliver you to your destination, my sense and knowledge of this North West city was somewhat limited. Yet there in the derelict buildings of majestic-port-city-yester-year lay a beckoning wake up call for artistic growth and enlightenment. Crowned most successful European Capital of Culture in 2008 – generating £880 million in economic revenue – Liverpool is no shrinking violet when it comes to the arts. The renowned Liverpool Biennial has certainly cemented the foundation of this city’s artistic capability. Originally set up to create a significant international contemporary art event, partnering with as many of the existing arts organisations in Liverpool to celebrate its thriving artistic scene, it has gone on to become the largest and most successful arts event in the UK. It has attracted and commissioned numerous international artists such as Pavel Büchler, Dominique Gonzalez-Foerster, Ai Weiwei, Yoko Ono, Roman Ondak, Annette Messager, Tomas Saraceno, Doris Salcedo, and Phillipe Parreno (the list of artstars is endless), in 2008 Art for Places was launched, it actively engages the local community, continues to push the boundaries of artistic development, focuses on economic regeneration, has initiated an on-going significant International dialogue, realised the most unbelievably awe-inspiring piece of public art by Richard Wilson and with the launch of an iPhone App this year to aid visitors to the 6^th festival, the skies really have been the limit.

So it’s no surprise in the run up to such a prestigious event that exhibitions should be looking at the diversity of collaboration and international exchange that the Biennial so successfully endorses. To kick-start my Liverpool art marathon weekend was Global Studio at The Bluecoat. Aiming to bridge the gap between the distance of geography, the exhibition facilitated the experimentation of many artists either hailing from and living in Liverpool with other artists from international cities. Broken down into five interconnected displays, artists were invited to ‘develop exhibition proposals’. POST a Liverpool artists’ collective formed during the European Capital of Culture invited 7 female artists from Linz, the 2009 European Capital of Culture to create riPOSTe, an exploration into the common and differing themes of artists from two diverse cultures. Haruko Maeda’s (Linz) memento mori themed portrait with skull face, dead hares and birds harked back to allegorical concerns in the 16^th and 17^th centuries creating a narrative based on reality and myth. Robyn Woolston’s (Liverpool) haunting video although similar in theme to Maeda’s work highlighted eternal presence and loss using the framework of abandoned architecture. More concerned with the locality and heritage of an artist were the offerings from Liverpool’s very own artist-run initiative, The Royal Standard. Their first presentation of a changing gallery installation included Nathalie Hughes’ comical animation, Turning Scouse that illustrated how a common Liverpudlian colloquialism ‘Boss’ had infiltrated her Lancashire vocabulary. Extending on the theme of Liverpudlian patriotism was a room filled with can’s of 100% Scouse, which you could take away once branded by the artist with an ink stamp. Now residing proudly on my bookcase, this ‘Authentic can of culture’, which is of course filled with the famous local stew, scouse watch over me as I type and contemplate what being an artist in Liverpool really means. In its entirety Global Studio allowed Liverpudlian puns to shine and illustrated the energy of contemporary art practice rather than successfully illustrate the ‘workings of a studio’. However it was refreshing to see a younger generation of artists dominate an established arts institution even if the displays were tenuously linked to the exhibitions premise.

Over on Greenland Street, flying the flag for a younger crop of artists was A Foundation’s, A Curriculum. An expansion as it were on Global Studio’s concerns, the artists’ residency programme provides selected artists the space and opportunity to pursue a new body of work. Still painted gold from the previous exhibition, here was a true working studio with scatterings of work by eight artists picked from over 300 applicants lay strewn across the Upper Blade Factory space. Half way through the 2-month long residency, I met Hannah Perry who after finishing her BA at Goldsmiths had moved to Liverpool. She welcomed and realised the importance of being able to make work in such an environment. So A Foundation certainly was honouring it’s mantra to support development, production and exhibition of contemporary visual work.

Downstairs in the Coach Shed, offering an insight into the other end of the Contemporary Art World, that of selling, was The Economy of the Gift a new annual exhibition. Wanting to re-contextualise the art fair and ultimately create a ‘boutique scaled’ event curator Ticiana Correa invited four UK galleries, hailing most notably from the northern counties to choose four international counterparts who in turn would each select one artist from their partners stable to exhibit. Why? Well to generate international exchange and to breathe some life into the regions art market, creating a discourse between each gallery and their respective artist and allowing gallery visitors to experience the work of international artists in a fair format. But how can a show of this remit work outside of the ‘art fair’ environment without its temporary exhibiting structures, the black clad-radio-mic’d door men, miles of corridor, Haute-Couture-clad gallerists and no VIP area to sup champagne?

Well, the ‘gift’ for me lay in the fact these elements weren’t present to infringe on the artwork. Albeit a slightly disjointed show that hovers between experimentation and curatorial playground, there was a huge array on offer from video installation and graph paper scribbles to performance and earth sculptures. The recently graduated Rebecca Lennon’s Which Part of the Agreement Have I Broken, references main components of the exhibition: money and that of a mutual contract but also adds a humorous juxtaposition to the other works. Jacob Dahlgren’s Colour Reading Context ingeniously collated piles of everyday objects in varying hues and tones. Spread across the gallery floor like a mutating organism, morphing from one banal object to the next, felt tiles, old pink sponges, red napkins, panes of glass, bits of carpet, word chip, and even the Ballet Annual saved from the local library who were going to burn it were transformed to an abstract motif of the ordinary. Looking at the ultimate aim of the show allows for a microscopic understanding of Liverpool’s commercial market and the evident unfortunate lack of one.

Remarkably there is only one commercial gallery to exist in Liverpool, Ceri Hand Gallery. Run by the eponymous Ceri who is single-handedly attempting to rejuvenate the commercial scene, is the perfect masthead with her impressive 17-years background in the arts from Director of Exhibitions at FACT, Contributing Curator to Liverpool Biennial to Deputy Director of Grizedale Arts. It must be said I was rather taken aback by the enormity of her first floor space on Cotton Street. Obviously so akin to hearing about recently opened gallery spaces in London that are often no larger than a shoebox, I was pleasantly surprised to set foot in what can be called a cathedral to art – maybe I slightly exaggerate – but certainly a temple for the artistic cause with its high ceiling and perfect dimension. Eleanor Moreton: Im Wartezimmer (In the Waiting Room) was on show. Her expressively loose paintings of patriarchs, tyrants and lovers are like washes of memories from a previous life. Subconsciously – which is very apt considering the psychoanalytical aspect to the show – Moreton drew on her childhood memories for her parents fondness of the Austro Hungarian Empire; post 2^nd World War they would make regular trips to Germany and Austria, no doubt to satisfy her father’s penchant for Schubert.

Not waiting for the commercial galleries to come to them, artists are quite literally doing it for themselves, take The Royal Standard as prime example. Located on the outskirts of the city they’ve taken the non-profit space model to develop a studio complex not just for the creation of art but more for interchange amongst artists to be occurring. After a scrupulous application process and assessment, artists are selected not only on artistic talent but also in relation to other residents and their subsequent input to the greater cause of The Royal Standard. This is an exceptionally noble principal but I wonder if these artists who are desperate for space and opportunity have got caught up in the application process so professed by bureaucratic arts agencies. This said they curate an exciting roster of exhibitions in the downstairs space that enables the vision of these young fledgling artists to be seen by a wider audience.

During the weekend there had been a variety of organised events, Collecting, a passionate commitment seemed to hit a raw nerve with some of the younger attendees. I wondered in the talk where the Frank Cohen’s and John Madjeski’s of Liverpool were, surely a city of such prospering opportunity could muster a mere art collector. One disgruntled artist piped up at the end wanting to know where the support for her to pursue her artistic career in Liverpool was without moving to a big art metropolis such as Berlin and London, a valid question I thought until it transpired, as enthusiastic as she was to stay in Liverpool, she was starting her Masters at Goldsmiths come Autumn. And it made me wonder maybe if more artists stayed in Liverpool, didn’t wait to be given funding or expect support but sought it out as many artists have done before them and took advantage of the possibilities that lay in the multitude of derelict buildings and a growing market, well then Liverpool would become its own metropolis, one not to leave and most certainly to be reckoned with.

Alphonso Lingis will be talking at The Bluecoat from 7 to 9:30 pm on Tuesday, 23 March as part of the Touched Talks. For information about what Alphonso will be talking about, please click here. The free tickets have all been booked, so you can’t register anymore. However, Mike and I will be liveblogging again. For our other Liveblogs, please check out last September’s Liveblog from Urbanism 2009 or the one from Steven Connor’s Touched Talk in February.

If the whole Liveblog concept is new to you, why not give it a try? All you have to do is come back here at 7 pm on Tuesday, 13 March, click on the blog to load it and read what we have to report. You are very welcome to participate by commenting or using the hashtags #alphonsolingis or #touchedtalk on Twitter! Also feel free to ask questions, we will try our best to get your questions answered by Alphonso.

Steven Connor will be talking from 4 to 6 pm on Wednesday, 16 February as part of the Touched Talks. For information about what Steven will be talking about and how to attend the event in person, please click here.

If you can’t make it to the event however, don’t worry, as here comes the Liveblog! You might remember last September’s Liveblog from Urbanism 2009. If you liked that one, you will like this one as well as again your highly motivated Livebloggers will be Mike and myself. If the whole Liveblog concept is new to you, why not give it a try? All you have to do is come back here at 4 pm on Wednesday, 16 February, click on the blog to load it and read what we have to report. You are very welcome to participate by commenting or using the hashtags #stevenconnor or #touchedtalk on Twitter! Also feel free to ask questions, we will try our best to get your questions answered by Steven.

Ed Purver

This is a Guest Blog by artist and designer Ed Purver who came to Liverpool for his project ‘On the Street’. He’s writing about his perception of Liverpool and the inspiration for his project:

It’s been over a decade since I last visited Liverpool, twelve years to be exact. I never got to know the city during my time in England (I left the country nearly nine years ago), and although I remember one brief visit in pursuit of some ill-fated romance, unsurprisingly it didn’t include a city tour.

So here I was again, but feeling like it was for the first time…

There’s something really enjoyable for me about visiting England now, after so many years of living abroad. It’s like I feel somewhere between being a stranger and being a native. It’s familiar, so it’s easy to navigate, but at the same time it’s all new. It’s like I get to see everything again afresh, all over again, and from a slightly different angle…  which feels like an amazing gift.

And this time, I had a brilliant introduction to the city of Liverpool, courtesy of a most inspiring man, called Kenny Thomas. I’d asked if there was anyone willing to show me around some neighborhoods, because I’d heard that there are a lot of empty buildings in Liverpool. The art I’ve been making in New York (where I currently live) has tended to involve architecture and urban development, so I was very curious to take a look, and Kenny was generous enough to share some time with me.

If you ever get a chance to take a walk with Kenny Thomas, do it. He’s not only one of the friendliest men you’ll ever meet, but he’s a born Scouser and a mine of information about the city, which he framed for me with stories and

Abandoned Houses in Liverpool

memories from his own (fascinating) life.  It was a great way to get an introduction to the town, because at the same time at getting a rapid education in the bleakness of some of those empty streets, I was also getting a reminder of the amazing warmth and humour of the people who live in this city.  These were the two opposite forces that continually defined my time in Liverpool – the irrepressible life force of its people contrasting with the desolate architectural stasis of some of its streets.  I was immediately interested in the relationship between these two apparent opposites, and started to wonder what kind of alchemical reaction would manifest if they were re-combined in some way.

I was blown away by how easy it was to talk to people in Liverpool.  Whether I was taking a taxi or buying a pie, people wanted to talk. Alongside this fundamental willingness to relate (not a common urban trait), I was struck by the dark humour that a lot of people had in common, which seemed to be driven by an uncompromising honesty.  New Yorkers, in general, are pretty open and direct (once you manage to get them to pause), but Liverpudlians are in a league of their own.

I took walks around Everton and Kirkdale, Anfield and Kensington…  Bootle, Jamaica St and the city centre.  I could see that there’s been a lot of recent development down in the centre, and the general prevailing feeling seemed to be that of a city that was once again on the rise.

But it’s an experience to walk around parts of Kensington and Anfield, and I

Empty Street in Liverpool

was shocked at how many houses there are standing empty in these areas.  I’ve never been to another city that has so many adjacent streets that, despite the occasional resident still hanging on, have basically been abandoned. I’m told that, in the US, Detroit has a large amount of disused housing, but I haven’t had the chance to go there yet.

Walking around these streets made me think about what a city is without its people, what a building becomes without its inhabitants.  The purpose of a house is to provide people with a home, and these houses have had their people removed (in fact security companies are employed (presumably at great expense) to ensure that people do not return), and just like a person who’s lost their purpose, these houses seemed to me to be shadows of their former selves.  It’s like they were only half there.

I often wonder if our dreams, thoughts and expectations are unconsciously shaped by the structures that we live in (something written about by many, from J.G. Ballard, to Gaston Bachelard), and seeing these houses stand empty made me think about how this happens in reverse – about how architecture is shaped by our dreams.  Not just by the architects who design them, nor by the collective economic and social drives that demand them, but by the families and individuals that inhabit them and complete them with the sounds and movements of daily life.

A house and its humans live symbiotically.  Looking at abandoned houses makes me think of a dead body.  It still looks structurally sound, but it’s empty of life; it has no soul.

I think a lot about bodies and buildings, streets and psychology. I often think of cities as organic, living systems, and in that context, these evacuated streets felt like an amputation. It made me think of the phenomenon of a ‘phantom limb’, where an amputee still feels the sensations of the limb that has been removed. In that moment, when the phantom sensation is felt, the limb is both there and yet not there.  Likewise, these streets are both present and non-present.  Although structurally still existing, whatever internal life there was left a long time ago.  It brings to mind what Gertrude Stein said about Oakland, in California: “there isn’t any there, there”.

Whatever evolution was planned for these neighborhoods has been frozen. And in any energetic system, stagnant energy is not a good thing.  When blood stops flowing to a part of the body for too long, it dies.

Houses and humans are both constantly decaying.  We’re just dying at different speeds.  But houses die much quicker when no-one looks after them.  Just like people.

So it’s a strange thing to experience this in Liverpool, of all places, which is home to some of the warmest, most expressive people in the whole country.  It is a city that is overflowing with personality, and so it is even more of a disturbing experience to visit these places where personality has been removed.

In Anfield, around the ‘V streets’, I sometimes felt like I was walking through a micro ghost town. It made me think again about ghosts, phantoms and phantom limbs, about who were both here and not here.  Who used to be here?  Who would still be living here in these houses if they hadn’t been slated for demolition?  What would it look like to ‘repopulate’ these houses with these ‘ghosts’?

On the Streets

And again, I wanted to see what happens if you put the energy of the people into the shell of these houses.  Not to create any kind of memorial, but rather some sort of celebration, perhaps even some sort of resuscitation, breathing light into these structures.  My work often uses video projection, because I’m fascinated by how light can temporarily transform a space utterly, can fill it with alternative life, and then, in an instant, disappear without trace.

It’s important to me that I work in collaboration with members of the local community for this project.  My work is usually participatory in some way, and in this project, I want local youth to take ‘center stage’, and through the ‘On The Street’ program of the Biennial, I’ve got the chance to work with some amazing young people from Anfield, and together we’ve started to shoot some videos, starring themselves.  Together, we’re going to use these videos to temporarily ‘repopulate’ some of these stagnant houses, and to show that even if the houses are dying, that the people are still here, that they are still very much alive.

Click here to see a ‘On the Street’-Video

And finally, I just want to say a big thanks to Polly for starting the ball rolling, to Laurie, Franny, Jenna and everyone at the Biennial for believing in this project, and to Connor, Danny, Fran, Jessica and Rea for being willing to participate!

To learn more about Ed Purver, visit his website.

To learn more about his project ‘On the Streets’, check out his blog.

To learn more about Liverpool Biennial, please visit our website.

Thanks a lot, Ed, for the interesting read and the pictures!

As our Art for Places: Sefton project gathers pace, we’re hosting more events over the coming weeks at St Winnie’s school in Bootle, including the results from Mark Bennett’s Orgonite trial.