Bright & Matt
Matthew Solle: design and writing

The man who lived in a grid

He was always uncomfortable in someone else’s landscape…

I created mess around myself, the kind of chaos that would be very dangerous in an operating theatre but which is synonymous with artists’ studios, and in that mess I edited the accidents. There is no Such Thing as Invention

As though pulling his head down into shadows long, the sense of elongation and sensation stretched across time slowed to longer seconds than he’d ever known.

The sensation that his head had spread out across time slowed to a barely perceptible timbre. It was constant but barely moving and spread out before him as if across an elongated map. Time writing a barely perceptible signature all the way down.

It was re-ordering.

The re-ordering of objects around us in a bid to solve chaos within, trouble within, turmoil within, disjointed within, distraction within.

The man in the grid.

The control of things.

By controlling a small subset of things we control our own version of the world. We manage our way through our view on the world. By physically moving objects within our sphere of influence we try to determine the outcomes of other actions.

We live as though in a loosely defined grid, the pattern only understood by ourselves, to others seemingly ridiculous and disordered.

To others we seem distracted and patternless, controlling, impossible, caught up in a world away picking out and on random tasks and actions, attempting to mould a view of the world best described to the lives of others as though seen through a broken kaleidoscope.

We submit control over our lives, where our worlds depend on us for the order and categorisation of objects. Things are generally in the places that make most practical sense and already fit to clear patterns.

Battling with self image self loathing the reflection of imperfection interpretation of how the human face reflects communicates everything if you look for it. When searching for ugliness when hating when angry the framed face stares back undone at the edges hopeless entangled web of doubts played back through a tightly sewn grid of emotional ignorance. Falling into imperfections, mess and disruption.

–This is running–

Normalisation

How do we care through the prism of the constant (rampant) normalisation of things?

We have normalised being outraged. We have normalised the expectation of everyone’s consultancy. Being outraged is part of a normalisation programme of weekly participation. It is controlled and relatively clean and is most often kept to activity channeled through technology where it is safe to show horror <> disgust <> anger <> anguish <> virtual hand wringing without getting either one’s feet wet or one’s hands (too) dirty.

Always a good view but never too close that it prevents us pulling the plug and ensuring that yes, for us, everything is ok.

We are not particularly fearful, we have just developed platforms to keep us a safe distance from harm.

We are far more prone to criticise others, become impatient, ridicule, laugh, cut down, scathe in this near > past future > present of connectedness and interruption/ON and shallow attention. With such a view in on the lives of others we know so much more about our friends, neighbours, enemies where ridicule, impatience and spite knows no bounds.

(And if we aren’t being horrible we are likely to be heaping unbridled glory and sycophancy upon anything we reckon on and want an association with.)

We need to work harder. We need to be stronger. Show more leniency, fortitude, patience and understanding and remember the reflection the reflections cast across us.

–This is running–

Amberley Telephone Exchange

Where infrastructure meets the everyday mundane outside world. Where the infrastructure hits the poorly connected, the outer reaches of the network. Where the network connects for all to see. The shabby exchanges, leaning and broken green boxes, overheating fans, inactive. Stillness. No visitors.

To capture the essence of place, weather and time. Not just remote but rather day-to-day. Close to people but where there is still an untangling of nature. The edges of the domesticity of our surrounds but not garden. Signs of management, of upkeep but still the flourish of an unkempt natural world. Variation but at the same time repetition within that variation. Subtle, small, ground level.

–This is running–

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