An Evening in My Parent’s Bed

At an early stage of their life, some children may go through a phase where they feel they are unable to sleep in their own bed, and feel desire to sleep with their parent. This is frowned upon by society as it shows a lack of maturity and independence in the child. So, what happens when you walk in on your 21-year-old daughter laying in your bed?

One issues that arises as an adult spending the evening in their parent’s bed is the question of maturity. There is an unwritten rule between the time of childhood and adulthood where some of the strong elements of the relationship between parents and their child stop being cute and become awkward and questionable. Some examples of this may be dressing the same as your parent, holding their hand, kissing each other, and, of course, sleeping together.

What becomes prevalent when considering the bedroom is that it is strictly a private space. Therefore, being invited into anyone’s bedroom is a relatively intimate exchange or invitation. My parent’s reaction was more or less: “Why are you in my bed? Are you sick? Can you please leave?”. I think their reaction resembles what most parents would say: both concern for their child as well as the desire to go to sleep after an evening out, and, overall, confusion. Something I thought during my evening was the relationship parents have, and how children may forget that their parents have a relationship that is separate from the child, and even perhaps exclusionary to them. As I have grown older I have become more aware and even more respectful of this concept. My intervention breaks down this barrier and specifically intervenes on their private space.

One thing I considered while brainstorming my “proof” was having my parent’s in the photo as well. A nice shot would have been me sitting between my parents on their bed. I believe that this would have been better, more authentic proof. However, I was worried this would not accurately reflect my intervention, as I did not spend the evening with them, but rather relaxing in their bed. Overall, in my practise I have discussed and explored personal space and pushing boundaries. I look forward to expanding this into specific settings, such as the intimacy of the bedroom.

Letter to Yoko: Peace is Power

On Wednesday the class collaborated on a response to Yoko Ono’s full-page New York Times proposition – to colour a map of the world wherever peace is needed. Together, we punched out thousands of confetti discs from the map, and blended them with thousands more confetti discs in different colours.

The resulting pile, with descriptive instructions attached – were mailed to Yoko Ono c/o The New York Times and the Museum of Modern Art, New York.

 

Laurie Anderson

Laura Phillips “Laurie” Anderson (born June 5, 1947)[2] is an American avant-garde artist,[3][4] composer, musician and film director whose work spans performance artpop music, and multimedia projects.[4]Initially trained in violin and sculpting,[5] Anderson pursued a variety of performance art projects in New Yorkduring the 1970s, making particular use of language, technology, and visual imagery.[3] She became widely more known outside the art world in 1981 when her single “O Superman” reached number two on the UK pop charts. She also starred in and directed the 1986 concert film Home of the Brave.[6]

Anderson is a pioneer in electronic music and has invented several devices that she has used in her recordings and performance art shows.[7] In 1977, she created a tape-bow violin that uses recorded magnetic tape on the bow instead of horsehair and a magnetic tape head in the bridge. In the late 1990s, she developed a talking stick, a six-foot (1.8 m) long baton-like MIDI controller that can access and replicate sounds.[8]

Anderson started dating Lou Reed in 1992, and was married to him from 2008 until his death in 2013 (Source: Wikipedia)

Nature and Culture – Alex Simons

volcano book open 2

volcano book open

 

My book consists of photographs of lines made by people atop of every volcano mentioned in John Hamilton’s Volcano: Nature and Culture; a book about volcanos  represented in historical paintings and literature.

The hole in the book’s lower corner refers to the volcanos’ form, and is meant to contrast  geologic time against the pace of the social and economic changes that take place on their surface.