late entry?

(fun one for safari times, even if its via the net right?)

so the TV version was giving me a bit of grief, think this might say it better anyway...

Woo Aaaa Hooo

We did some shooting today with the hired camera. I think Clare fell in love with the lens. Anyway, these are some of the images we took:

Can we join your safari Rachel?

Pretty please?

Heeeey, I can see my house from here

Along with the safari look, we also did some piles of abandoned clothes:


This our mock-up for a hyperbola of clothing, in a lightbox format (click to enlarge):

And a yummy version of the lesbian rule (which we do by the way):

For some mysterious reason, we have been given an extra day with the camera tomorrow. This is a super lucky situation, as we only have about four hours of decent natural light in Rotterdam at the mo. So, Clare is going to do some more images including:

• An image of a print-out of a copy of the "nipple painting"
• The stage sets
• torches
  

Feel free to send any requests, and let us know how you feel, don't feel, want to feel about the above images....

binoculars on girls on safari

rough and ready - the les of the future-past/ past-perfect?


And for consideration in our list of titles: breasts of the 70s, 80s, 90s and today

Action around the edges; repetition, distribution of energy and phrasing

Anecdotes

I threw down a small piece of my rib. It landed on the street below my bedroom window through which I could be seen effortlessly standing. The bone was fresh out of a box that I kept in a drawer in an everyday bit of furniture.

I lost track of the small bone by forgetting about it and I would recall it by dropping it from a high place from which I could look out at it discarded as a person or group of people arrived without notice.

Today, the women are on their way somewhere, I can’t know where, and one of the women stops and taps my rib with the soft toe of her shoe. She stoops quickly and unexpectedly as if aroused by sleep, and she points at a spider and says, ‘so rare I could fold it, I mean hold it,’ aligning it with other things from her past that she’s kept deliberately effaced.

The other woman notices me, the woman looking down at her and her companion as she stands attentively below my second floor window. I stand there really no more than a shadow in a space riddled with glass, unseen in just the way a shop window can be photographed behind someone smiling with unreadable assurance.

Though it’s likely that a person being photographed would not become aware of the bit of my rib fallen matter-of-fact on the street due to a unique confluence of angles, angles that tend to fold on the retina, just as a Venetian blind can be drawn and slung over the backseat of a car.

Louise Lawler

Louise Lawler, Birdcalls, 1972/1981
Audio recording 71’00”, text panel

Listen to 1971 audio recording here.