https://vimeo.com/1097115873?share=copy
swamp serenade is a video work about a body of water situated in between an abandoned power station and the sea, near the artist’s previous home.
Travelling to the swamp means walking along a high voltage fence, with plants encroaching upon it, so the pathway is narrow. There’s a humm of electricity that melts into the sound of crashing waves. No matter what time of year or day the sun is beating down on you. Insects are darting about in the dry grass, and litter has been blown in by the wind, lining the periphery. When rain leaks its way into the swamp, the soil softens, the bank breaks down, microbes babble and burst. The earth is swelling, the swamp is breathing, and the blowfish are cyclically swimming.
The mysticism of the swamp is that it never remains known, the murky water solicits slippages in and out of focus. It swirls with grit, slime, muck and goo, rhythm weaving its way between the reeds. Sometimes the swamp is clear, and you can see the intense vibrancy of life it holds, but sometimes it’s unclear, and the camera watches through lenses of broken glass and plastic, found laying waste around it. The swamp isn’t even a swamp at all— it’s an inlet for the dormant power station, reclaimed and transformed into an alternate ecosystem.
swamp serenade is a video work about a body of water situated in between an abandoned power station and the sea, near the artist’s previous home.
Travelling to the swamp means walking along a high voltage fence, with plants encroaching upon it, so the pathway is narrow. There’s a humm of electricity that melts into the sound of crashing waves. No matter what time of year or day the sun is beating down on you. Insects are darting about in the dry grass, and litter has been blown in by the wind, lining the periphery. When rain leaks its way into the swamp, the soil softens, the bank breaks down, microbes babble and burst. The earth is swelling, the swamp is breathing, and the blowfish are cyclically swimming.
The mysticism of the swamp is that it never remains known, the murky water solicits slippages in and out of focus. It swirls with grit, slime, muck and goo, rhythm weaving its way between the reeds. Sometimes the swamp is clear, and you can see the intense vibrancy of life it holds, but sometimes it’s unclear, and the camera watches through lenses of broken glass and plastic, found laying waste around it. The swamp isn’t even a swamp at all— it’s an inlet for the dormant power station, reclaimed and transformed into an alternate ecosystem.
