Spinning

"Spinning" 2017. Installation view at BAK Utrecht. Group Show "ABiotic Factors"

"Spinning" 2017. Installation view at BAK Utrecht. Group Show "ABiotic Factors"

Instructions for "Spinning"
This installation is called "Spinning". It is an interactive work--you, the visitor, animate the work and its environment by gently moving one of the handles, then letting go. Try different ways of moving and watching it, or observing what happens while a friend plays. You could also turn yourself around a few times. “Spinning” works nicely for 2 people as well.

(Wall text)

Video documentation of "Spinning" BAK/Basis voor Actuele Kunst, Utrecht

Detail, "Spinning"

Detail, "Spinning"

"Spinning" installation view, BAK Utrecht. (Group show, other works visible in background.)

"Spinning" installation view, BAK Utrecht. (Group show, other works visible in background.)

Spin the Bottle

Spinning a Yarn

‘Sit and Spin’

Spinning Wheels

 Spinning a Web

Spin Cycle

Spinning Records

Spinning Thread

TailSpin

Head is Spinning

Whirlpool

Hurricane

Tornado

Universe

 

The sequoia grows fast.  For every meter it grows in a year, it sheds countless branches. Its home is normally a forest, on the Northwest coast of America, but here on a tiny Utrecht canal island it rains tawny extremities on the deck, grass and garden.  We endure six months of raking and sweeping. The tree marks the time lived in the house that it now dwarfs. The tree drops memories and we sweep them up, gather them up—long, short, lush, scraggly—and move them out of the way. We use our bodies nonchalantly to collect and disperse these small archives, these fragments of change--embedding the place in ourselves with every sweep. We are connected to place by our actions.

Yet my
sense of place arises from my mind – a process of these minute experiences and reactions to my senses becoming relationships, story, history.  But place is continually transforming - it is as solid as the wind. Only the mind holds it, or lets it go. Nonetheless, these connections seem necessary. They weave around me as a cocoon, but there is always a thread to unwind into light.

(adapted from catalogue essay, "ABiotic Factors")