Having decided to do another apartment projection, while I still have the energy and the found objects, I decided that I needed a bouquet of flowers. I took some money along, in case I couldn’t find any suitable wildflowers, but, remembering the profusion of flowers growing wild in and around the cemetery, I made my way there and collected two big bunches of daisies, tiny yellow and purple bearded irises, and a couple of other varieties of wild pink and purple flowers. Too bad that the irises there are mostly all finished – it must have been beautiful at the height of their season. I arranged the flowers in two glass containers and positioned them on the two small tables and, as my friend Cec says, “Bob’s your uncle!” (What does that mean, anyway?)
This piece is called Ruination and consists of 24 images, to represent a human and cosmic lifetime, projected in sequence on the wall in front of a still life consisting of over-lifesize plastic female mannequin (with a necklace of tiny red peppers from the Dalyan market), wooden mortar and pestle, wine glass half full, candles (2 burning, 2 extinguished), crepe paper ribbons, moderately wrinkled, a glass bowl of pine cones picked from the Dalyan cemetery and Iztuzu Beach, and two petrified pomegranates from a field near Ortaca.
See pictures here.
The objects in this piece take part of their inspiration from Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, a play I love and that we teach often in Liberal Studies. Lucky has the central speech of the play, several hundred words shouted out in response to Pozzo’s command “Think!” It is too long to quote in full, but here is a representative sample:
“Given the existence as uttered forth in the public works of Puncher and Wattman of a personal God quaquaquaqua with white beard quaquaquaqua outside time without extension who from the heights of divine apathia divine athambia divine aphasia loves us dearly with some exceptions for reasons unknown but time will tell . . . one day I went blind, one day we’ll go deaf, one day we were born, one day we shall die … they give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant and then it’s night once more.”