LE MICROCHATEAU

the critical hand | the drinking mouth
the drinking hand | the critical mouth

'CASUAL _____ ing IN THE DARK’ (2020)
(Research in flux:  Untreated 18mm hardwood platforms, 10mm White perspex highlights, 100gsm B&W Inkjet punchcut collage (2 x A6 Folded / 1 x A5 Folded / 1 x A4 Folded), 120ml Ballon wineglasses & Paper cones, R&W Wine & Watery punch (On site: Activated by artist / Off site:
CASUAL : drink / read ______ {ing}:  One might say that we drink our words.  The threat of the casual drives our cultural template of behaviours (the ‘casual drive’).  It is a self-fulfilling prophecy.  Once we begin to ponder the act of casual, it is no longer casual.  The casual realm cannot remain fixed because to think it is to destabilise it.  It exists on the edge of a field of thinking without knowing (or knowing without thinking).  Casual’s responsibility (forgetting vs. learning) is precarious.  It is always in flux (and it is always in the driving seat).  When we fall, we fall (down and up).

To Select Microquaintances ~

I am reaching out with a vague, hazy vision of a petite mind/body-altering space that resides underneath my vampiric bedroom (it sleeps underneath me, it prods me in my dreams, especially after wine).  Technically, one might call it a Garage (;Vin de) but it would be sad to hear it named such.  Indeed, it is currently an It, but one that wants to walk & talk (It just needs letting off its leash).

Suck my Blood {sorry, Wine} ~

I hate the word Collective, so what about Heap?  Do you fancy heaping together with me?  I would like to turn my It, Le Microchâteau Heap, into a cultural cavity.  A place for us to quietly gather en masse, with a view to drinking finely (de)constructed things & in turn spewing out finely (de)constructed things.  Let's link loose connections between our haircuts & our interests.  I like bobs... & weird bits of paper, words, images, art, art history (without the art history), lectures, sounds, wine &... boys.  What do you like?  Would you like a sweetie, jump in the front seat with me (I'm not a dirty old man)?




Feel like I’m at the precipice of WILL DOs.
Drink your leftovers.


{the old motto}

down it.