ARTISTS TALKING

# 17 [12 January 2010]

Sea Observations Part 1

17^th December. Snow, hail and strong winds – the sea is wild and wavy, white spray against the boat, a dark aquamarine meeting the bruised brown sky at a black horizon.

18^th December. The sea is light grey-turquoise, lively and choppy, each wave capped with white

20^th December. It’s breathtakingly windy. The dark grey-blue sea looks sculpted – solid and fluid at once. As the boat ploughs through the unyielding waves, it shatters them – revealing glimpses of bright turquoise and sending huge sheets of white spray up onto the containers. The sky is cold blue grey today.

21^st December. The sea is breathing and we, travelling across her belly, feel every inhalation and exhalation. Sometimes she breathes deep and slow, sometimes she pants excitedly and our huge vessel feels like a toy, tossed from side to side, trembling.

(Later) the nose of the boat bounces slow motion up and down through the waves, huge crests of white spray bursting with every down-stroke. I see rainbows in the spray.

22^nd December. What a night. The sea has been unrelenting, tossing the boat violently all night. I didn’t get much sleep: it was an effort to stay in bed.

Skittish waves playing in the sun, spray whipped off them by the wind: a moment of gold, a handful of glitter in the sunlight.

23^rd December. Another rough night, lightening flashed on the horizon and rain lashed the boat and the sea flung us about.

(later) I just went up onto the bridge, looked out at the stormy seas. There was a small black bird following the boat, keeping up in the buffeting wind. Is it seeking shelter or looking for food in the turbulence caused by the boat? it is a small black bird with white spots on the top and a white underside to each wing. It’s the first animal I have seen on this journey, apart from seagulls.

25^th December. Christmas day and my first day of sunbathing. It’s windy but hot and the sea has calmed down – is even resembling blueness. I am sunburnt.

26^th December.  An amazing sunset and dolphins following the boat, jumping along beside it. We go to the front of the boat for the first time, scary and exhilarating – we stand on a precarious ledge, looking over a railing out to sea. Nothing but sea.

27^th December. It is hazy hot, the sea a silver mirror fading into the sky.

28^th December. Today the sea is light blue-grey, ruffled by the wind into a million tiny waves.

29^th December. The seascapes, the horizons, are a flow – a changing continuum. I have tried and failed to capture the horizon each day in a painted sketch, tried to capture a snapshot. But it doesn’t work, it doesn’t tell of the continual slipping by of the sea, of all the shades and shapes that run into one another. I try to stop time, to steal a moment. But my hand is not a camera and as soon as I start painting, that moment is gone. Or perhaps, as Bergson suggests, it exists along with all the other moments.

Katy was gazing out to sea, and asked – what if we haven’t been moving at all? Could it be a hoax – there’s nothing to tell us that we’ve covered any distance, apart from the changing stars, of which we are mostly ignorant. I think about the changing seascapes, and suddenly think of them as a blanket of scenes pulled past our static boat to create the illusion of movement.

31^st December. We induced the wrath of Neptune, by crossing the equator without seeking his permission. But after being put through an endurance test involving being dunked in beetroot soup and smeared with engine grease and mustard, we were brought before Neptune and forgiven, and christened with our new Seafarer’s names.

Rebecca Beinart

# 16 [20 December 2009]

Life on board ship

Early on Thursday morning, we finally embarked from Antwerp docks. It was snowing, and no horizon was visible as we stood on the bridge listening to the captain shouting readings – “20 starboard... 10 port”

We have been aboard for three days and are already getting accustomed to the different rhythms of life on board ship. Everything runs to a strict schedule: mealtimes are the same each day and the crew work in shifts. We have also been shifting through time zones, latitudes and longitudes, slowly making our way through the English Channel, across the Bay of Biscay, and along the Spanish and Portugese coasts. We are trying to get used to the rhythm of constant movement: the motion of the Sea has been rough most of the way, and our bodies are always attempting to balance.

The entire crew are Polish, apart from one South African who is training to be a sailor. The food is Polish too, which involves a lot of meat and potatoes, but we have managed to negotiate vegetarian options. Katy is braving the sailor's menu!

We go up onto the bridge everyday to look at the charts and navigational equipment. The crew are not hugely communicative, partly due to language, but they are happy to show us the readings and our position. We travel at 16 miles per hour, a great big vessel ploughing slowly through the waves – we've still got a long way to travel.

Last night, the Captain invited us to join him and the first mate and his wife (the only other female aboard) for a drink in his lounge. We had Polish vodka and the cabin was filled with cigarette smoke whilst we discussed the benefits of smoking, eating, drinking, early death and life at sea.

Activities:

Exercise - quite difficult. Due to rolling.

Daily horizon painting, photos.

Methodology seminar.

Sleeping a lot.

Reading Ricouer (also quite difficult)

# 15 [20 December 2009]

Journey to boat and arrival on board

We travelled by train to Antwerp, via Brussels. Katy read Maus on the train and was transported between times, other trains and travels across Europe, people fleeing for their lives or already captured and in transit to camps.

We arrived at Antwerp station with all our motley cases and bags, feeling a little worse for wear, and were totally bowled over by the station building. Later we read the description in Austerlitz (WG Sebald)..

“Delacenserie (the architect) borrowed the main elements of his monumental structure from the palaces of the Italian renaissance. But he also struck Byzantine and Moorish notes. And perhaps when I arrived, I myself had noticed the round grey and white granite turrets, the sole purpose of which was to arouse medieval associations in the minds of railway passengers..”

At the station we were met by a disgruntled taxi driver who proceeded to issue warnings about the crews desperation for female company, so that our arrival at port was tempered by a certain wariness.

We weren't on any lists and we weren't expected. A man casually looked at our passporits and waved us on to the Green Cape, which was loading cargo. We had to climb a rickety staircase leaving our luggage on the dock where it was unceremoniously hoisted up by crane and dumped on to deck.

The Steward, Niko, then welcomed us with a little too much enthusiasm and showed us our cabin, and we breathed a sigh of relief (collectively). It had a lockable door. We ate in the Officers Mess and were informed the boat would not depart for another 24 hours at least.

So, the next day we wandered off into Antwerp through the snow, to explore. We found the contemporary art museum, the MHKA, which had a show on textiles and social fabric. We tried on parangoles (capes), by Helio Oiticica, and were inspired by his instructions.

We talked about where you first go in city, what you first look for, and what our ancestors would have looked for.

Later we found ourselves in a mixed ethnic district and stumbled across a Russian shop where we purchased Lithuanian black bread!!!

We headed back to the ship for our second night, and watched The Fugitive as cargo was loaded outside our window.

# 14 [15 December 2009]

We depart...

Have spent days packing, trying to work out how to preserve and transport everything from starter culture to detail paper and ancient dresses. Resulting in a bizarre assortment of suitcases and luggage.

Tomorrow we set off for Antwerp to find the Green Cape (maybe its something we should wear?) and set sail for Southern Climes.

We have been given many tasks to do on board, as well as a jigsaw puzzle. We are ensuring a taste of home with earl grey tea and marmite.

We will be busy:

Learning to crochet

Fixing the world

Working out our Carbon Footprint (done it already, cheated)

Carrying out an action

Checking the charts

reading The Prophet

Writing a log book

Trying to discover what is in a container

Drawing the horizon

Meditating

Recreating family photos in costume

Being Victorian lady watercolourists

Sending messages in bottles

Playing chess

Inventing new constellations

Finding out the crews favourite recipes

and other things too...

# 13 [29 November 2009]

We set sail in 2 weeks...

Starting to pack and prepare for the voyage, it feels like there is so much to do. We are attempting to fold away our lives here, and chose the items to take with us on the journey.

We have booked a passage on a cargo ship that leaves from Antwerp and will take 19 days to sail to South Africa. The departure date has yet to be confirmed: the cargo, rather than the passengers are prioritised.

We each have our own fears and hopes for the journey, there are many unanswered questions. Will we get sick, or bored? Will we take the right things with us? Will the cooks allow us to use the oven to bake our bread? How many different skies will we see?

# 12 [21 November 2009]

Home Delivery: Borscht and Black Bread

A Performance

Images from the event at Barry and Edith s House, Saturday 7th November 2009.

# 11 [16 November 2009]

Home Delivery: a performance

On saturday 7th November, we carried out our performance "Borscht and Black Bread" for Artwash

The performance took place at the home of Barry Reeves, and we read extracts from our ongoing correspondance about the project, on identity, memory and objects. We then invited the guests to eat a meal of borscht and black bread, made from our starter culture.

After the meal we asked guests to tell a story about one of their ancestors, and we toasted each ancestor with a shot of vodka.

The images show the preparaiton of our performance.

# 10 [16 November 2009]

Bread from Starter Culture: Mark II

Katy's first attempt at making bread..it seemed to have a life of its own..

# 9 [4 November 2009]

Today I baked my fisrt loaves of bread from the culture Katy and I started together. I enjoyed the slow process: mixing the dough, leaving it overnight, adding more flour and mixing it again, then leaving it to prove for hours. My house is cold and the dough took it's time to expand. But the alchemy started to work it's magic and finally this evening I put two loaves into the oven.

They came out looking slightly peculiar - I think they got a little over excited in the heat of the oven and rose too fast. So each loaf has a crack down the side. They look like mouths that have just opened to laugh or to tell me something.

I ate a piece of the bread and it tasted great.

# 8 [3 November 2009]

Feeding Culture

My sour-dough culture is living in a bowl in the kitchen.  I have lived with it for two weeks now, feeding it daily, smelling it, and looking for signs of life. I worry that it is too cold, or that I have forgotten to feed it. It smells strange, a yeasty slightly acrid smell. Sometimes I feel fond of it, proud of the culture that is growing there, the potential it holds. At other times it is a surly child, sulking and demanding my attention when I am busy with other things.

The language of bread cultures and their care is strange - another name for the starter culture is the 'Mother'. But at the beginning, I am mothering my mother.

I am trying to judge whether my culture has reached maturity, and is ready for it's first batch of bread-making.