Kilometre
I walked a kilometer in Guelph to collect trash to make a kilometer. My goal was to measure one kilometer of trash from the area.
Every litter fragment narrates a portion of a tale. A cooking pan that may have fed a suburban family, some cigarette butts that might have been exchanged in lighthearted conversation, and a dime bag that might have held party drugs for the town’s twenty-year-old partygoers are just a few of the intriguing items I discovered. These kinds of objects symbolize human presence and neglect across a quantifiable distance.
I chose a grocery shop as my target, walked till it indicated I had one kilometer remaining, and then started picking up trash. This is how I measured one kilometer. I made the abstract idea of a kilometer physical and representative of our daily activities by gathering rubbish. The project measures the effect, in addition to distance, or how much litter accumulates in such a small area.’
Pipilotti Rist
Ever Is Over All (1997) is one of Pipilotti Rist’s outstanding videos, and I’m fully immersed in it. Consider this: Rist walks along a city sidewalk in all her self-assured, smiling splendor, but she’s not just walking—oh no. As she walks by, she nonchalantly smashes car windows with this enormous, mystical, flower-like object she’s carrying. Yes, simply slamming windows while grinning! It’s like seeing someone break all the laws in the most calm, “la-di-da” way imaginable—the ideal combination of beautiful ruin. Aggression and beauty? Check. Absolutely.
The video has a dreamlike, cold tone, with gentle greens and blues, as if you were watching it through a weird, peaceful filter. An occasional golden ray of sunlight adds to the strange atmosphere. The camera work itself is a dance: you’re up close, taking in Rist’s happy, naughty looks, and then you’re pulled back to see her casually destroying the streets. Even worse, there’s a slow-motion effect that gives the impression that breaking objects is a commonplace feature of the action. Like an anti-glossy magazine, the entire thing was filmed with this low-tech, grainy look that I adore; it’s unpolished, raw, and flawed.
Then there’s the motion. She strolls confidently and leisurely as if she owns the pavement, which she does, and then there’s a glass explosion and mayhem. However, it’s somehow serene rather than startling, as if smashing glass is a natural part of her soft stroll. Her city promenade is intercut with this dreamlike footage of red flowers swinging in a field, brilliantly fusing nature and urban devastation.
The sound is another layer of wonder. It’s hilarious because, well, there’s glass flying everywhere, yet it’s all serene. The brilliant thing about it, though, is that the serene music nearly muffles the brutality, adding to its surreal quality.
This video is huge when it is displayed in galleries. Imagine massive, immersive projections on dark walls with several screens. You are somewhat involved, not merely observing. Despite the chaos, the scale heightens the effect and gives the whole thing a meditative air. This odd, lovely universe, where shattering things is part of the beauty, engrosses you.
For me, this piece is wild in the best sense—poetic, subversive, and rebellious. It questions all of our preconceived notions about control, power, and femininity. It’s disturbing, but in a seductively captivating way, forcing you to reconsider how to strike a balance between violence and beauty, peace and destruction. Rist challenges our perceptions of what is “proper” for women by upending conventional norms.
Rist inspires me to let go and pursue my own goals. She demonstrates to me how meaningful even the most basic, daily activities, such as walking or smashing objects, can be. It inspires me to embrace the oddball and the disorganized in my endeavors. Perhaps my garbage sculpture is a message about waste, consumption, and the histories of the things we discard, rather than merely being rubbish transformed into art. I might be motivated to delve further into the symbolic and emotional significance of the materials I employ by Rist’s fusion of agony and beauty.
Her approach to painting is both universal and incredibly personal. I am reminded of the strength of vulnerability and rebellion when I watch her smash objects on the street or put her face against glass. Perhaps I should accept flaws more and allow them to be a part of the narrative rather than something that needs to be fixed.
Experiment
At school, wearing my sweatshirt inside out feels like a small, private act of rebellion—as if I’m subtly interfering with the “rules” of what’s deemed appropriate. I feel like I’ve turned the world upside down, even though it’s such a foolish small thing. I keep asking myself, will anyone notice? Will they observe me passively or give me that perplexed, “Should I tell them?” look?
It seems a little unsettling, but somehow liberating, like I’m walking around with a secret that only I know. Does this minor error in my presentation affect how people see me? I feel as though I’m doing a real-time social experiment just by altering my wardrobe. Furthermore, I adore that it’s subtly enough to get folks to pause without my having to say anything. Without ever going on stage, it seems like I’m performing.
Field Trip
Alex Da Corte’s Ear Worm was hands down my favorite installation of the trip. This colorful, dizzying mix of films, characters, brands, and toys screams pop culture, but not in the way you may think. All of these classic figures associated with a joyful, nostalgic vibe—such as Mr. Rogers or the Statue of Liberty—are turned on their heads. Da Corte transforms these familiar, reassuring faces into something more complex, even unsettling. He combines pop culture with the dirt of everyday life, incorporating aspects of violence, sexuality, and outright craziness. What’s most striking is how the visual shifts, becoming twisted and frightening, as if he’s holding up a funhouse mirror to things we thought we knew so well.
Watching Da Corte play all these different characters—Mr. Rogers, Duchamp, Eminem, and a slew of icons—it feels like he’s pulling them apart, revealing something darker and more chaotic beneath their bright facades. He demonstrates how these cherished figures may embody both innocence and corruption, playfulness and discomfort, all at once. It’s the contrast that lingers with you, making you reconsider the things you grew up enjoying.
In contrast, Naomi Rincón-Gallardo’s Sonnet of Vermin had a very different impact on me. It wasn’t simply something to look at; it was something you could literally feel. She employed lighting, sculptures, and furniture to create an immersive atmosphere that seemed alive around you. I understood that art does not have to be limited to a canvas or a screen; it can occupy space, influence your movement through it, and change your mood simply by being present. It felt more like entering someone’s head than seeing an installation.
Da Corte and Rincón-Gallardo both challenged my assumptions about what art can accomplish. Da Corte transforms the familiar into the uncomfortable, whilst Rincón-Gallardo builds complete worlds that play with your senses and emotions. Their works taught me that art can provoke, challenge, and fully immerse you.
Video Art
For our assignment we decided to do karaoke. The concept was to do one video that is raw karaoke, one when you don’t bother trying and one with the feelings of karaoke– being a pop star.
Audio
Ah, love these videos so so much! Please post some description/references/reflections so I can give you an ultra A+! DB