A pink bicycle with flowers, stained glass, a wall
of jasmine. A flower connects to a mother, a pyramid to a grandmother, a
book to a son, a bike to a father.
We go deeper, taking a word, a single word and
peeling back its layers, exposing the psycho emotional connections each
person has with a particular word. Words lead to memories and memories
to words, thickening the web.
Awash in color and sound, our faces
mingling, our stories intersecting, it becomes clear that we are not as
unique as we think. We are one tangled web of humanity, dipping into the
well of the subconscious mind. Our parents, their grandparents, those from
whom we have inherited the words, these are the central figures in our
stories. And death, death waits at the end of a ball of yarn.
A seemingly benign word, yarn, or string, and yet
it makes its way into that moment with the dying cat held in your lap, and
under the cat’s paw the string leads on to the parents who neglected you.
Flow and risk, that is what it’s about.
You hit the nail on the head while
Keith wails on the clarinet,
Matt hammers on the piano,
Colin plucks at his strings.
His strings which at this moment are guitar
strings. Strings which lead back to a funeral and you wearing orange among
the legions of mourners and your grandmother throwing herself into the
grave, laying over your grandfathers coffin wailing while you laugh.
Another you comes in and looks
around, can’t understand the connection. Where is the music coming from?
From all of us, from you, I want you to get as relaxed as you can get in
this space at this time. I want you to think of a moment that you remember
Tell me the story of that moment. That moment when
you picked up the suitcase and walked away and no one knew where you were
going. All over Europe you wandered and when you finally picked up the
phone and called home Mother wept and begged to know why you left without
Without a word. We go deeper. You find your son
as a child on the beach and take his hand walking him into the pink
sunrise. Your hope, your dream, embedded in the words; that your son will
rise. A beautiful pink and gold sunrise. Wow, you laugh nervously, amazed.
Then you drift away and another yourself fills your
place. Stories mingle and melt in a wash of color that blazes over our
skins. Our words become music, leaving our bodies to fly far away.
A pink bicycle with flowers, stained
glass, a wall of jasmine. A flower connects to a mother, a pyramid to a
grandmother, a book to a son, a bike to a father.
We go deeper, taking a word, a
single word and peeling back its layers, exposing the myriad of
associations that blossom from a single solitary utterance, watching the
invisible connections rise glittering to the surface.
Hosted by Sara Powell at Kaleidoscope Free Speech Zonewww.kaleidoscopefreespeechzone.comKeith Yates - clarinet, saxaphoneColin Hamilton - electric guitarMax Abelev - video MixingMichael Fong - video footageRadio Free Clear Light - video editingFacilitators:Lydia HarariEtanna SackAlex ChinchillaJuan Carlos Mendizabal aka Kyron - laptop looping, mixing, deconstruction, installation designThanks to:Marc Gonazales, Jesse Mosher, and all the participants that lent your voice,attention and energy. We created this together. We hope we cross paths again.Loosely inspired by the magickal instructional manual "Web of Words."Available at www.maddogmagick.com