Collaborative project with Brandtkalk, 2009
Text/poem/puddle o' drool available HERE (it even opens in a new window/tab so you won't lose your Discharge)
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Is discharge Dada? No, it is not. Influenced by and with a similar attitude to, but not Dada..
Is discharge Fluxus?
No, it is not.
Influenced by and with a similar attitude to, but not Fluxus.
Is discharge art for intellectuals? No, discharge is for anyone and everyone who appreciates creativity in all its myriad forms. Be it static visual, audio or moving image; the written word or the deconstructed, non-linear form. The spoken word and noise.
All creativity is the springboard for discharge. It highjack’s a multitude of genres and disciplines and transposes them onto the internet. discharge is electronically transmitted art, be it via blog, myspace or whatever format possible, it can also be produced and seen in classic formats.
The discharge Chapbook. The discharge Building by Parts book. discharge has no rules. All contributors to discharge are responsible adults. discharge has no leaders although it has an elected body of rotating editors who oversee rather than dictate the flow of the group.
The aim of discharge is to profile creative people and to do away with the pretension of the art world.
Everyday people creating art everyday to an exceptional quality.
Art by barrow boys and girls.
discharge is international.
12 comments:
YEAHHHHHHHHH!
Fantastic stuff, love it!
Love your voice!
Noice...
Obrigado Ruela!... but I can't express how much I HATE the sound of my own voice...
Cheers, Mr Decker... Perhaps 'Noize' would have been more appropriate.
PS I may hate the sound of my voice but it doesn't stop me from adoring expressing my opinions loudly in public.
We work with whatever tools we have. My greatest tool is being a tool.
We need more stuff like this!!!
I hate my own voice because have some changes in the past (bad surgery)... so I have 3 different voices...I can't identify myself with my actual voice...
this ol thing f* my brain ;)
My voice it's too strong...
Be careful of what you wish for, CJ! In fact, I have to record another collaborative effort (Dedalé/[Dædalus]) between Brandtkalk and myself ASAP. There's also another for Abdul 'Ben' Camel and Mathis 2 (Saturn's Day Becomes Red) awaiting my 'dulcet' tones.
Brandtkalk (Pierrot - but NOT le fou - from Brux Hell) has just sent on his 'musical' interpretation of fire (greenhouse effect and more universal concepts of) - another project that's been on the backburner - and I'm in the midst of writing text/spoken word at this point in time.
I'll post these once they're completed. Mind you, I'm just waiting for someone to plead for mercy. The old Harpy sounds a lot like a really bad tempered crow with sinusitis.
Ah, Ruela, I feel for you deeply. I can only begin to understand the disparity between the self-perception and the voice that has carried it for so many years.
I had a breakdown a few years ago (work and other stresses) and have, since then, taken to talking in my sleep. Well, I wake myself up yelling in some strange, weak voice.
In my nightmares, my voice keeps breaking and I can't wield the authority I should because I have no control over it. I wake myself up trying to assert myself and my point of view.
The strange thing is that it only happens when I speak English. I've woken myself up speaking my native tongue (Ukrainian) and even Russian (which was my second language), but I seem to have greater control over voice modulation in those languages.
English has become a language I can only yell in!
Incidentally, Ruela, I don't know what the other two voices are like but it is good that one of your voices is 'strong'. I've always hated softly spoken people. If you have an opinion, I want to HEAR it!
Another thing that starts to go as one gets older is our hearing... and it is usually human voice tones that can't be picked up on. Better to shout than to remain unheard. I wrote a poem for a Greek neighbour who'd lost her voice after going in for an operation regarded as standard procedure. She was accidentally injected with something which causes paralysis instead of morphine before her op. As a result, she couldn't walk properly. Worse than that, her vocal chords were paralysed and she could only whisper. I wrote a poem for her because, in observing her over a couple of years I realised how great the impact of literally losing ones voice is:
In Silence.
So much of our identity is defined, in our own perception of self, by our physical appearance and our voice. Never stop being loud, R!
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