Immediately after exiting mother’s tankstation gallery, Dublin, on January 27th 2013, following the screening of Aurélien Froment’s two-screen projection, 9 Intervals, our three-strong conversation inexplicably turned to the subject of psychopaths, their victims, and college: covering Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974); reality TV programme-cum-victim confessional, I Survived...; and the arduous torture of writing an essay on ‘emotion’. These subjects were a far cry from the sensational detachment performed in Froment’s film, that somehow did not warrant a mention, not even a postmortem analysis. In retrospect, I see our shared detachment as either a compliment, or serious critique, of the French artist’s film, especially considering the subjects of detached psychopathology (serial killer) and heightened emotion (victim) that replaced any talk on the artwork we had just experienced in the gallery. This unusual non-response also brought into focus the different ways in which we, as viewers, can potentially experience of the artwork itself, which is especially pertinent with regard to Froment’s art practice in general, and in particular, 9 Intervals.

The experience of the artwork on that particular day was conducted by chance happenings in the gallery: once the film had finished its loop, the gallery invigilator had to drag out a stepladder and fidget with the DVD player to properly sync the two projections, due to some unforeseen technical error. But, before Froment’s film even registered, the first thing one noticed was, the gallery is furnished with five or six odd chairs, already taken by a father and child, a woman taking handwritten notes, and another with a mobile phone in hand; who all fidget as we try to position ourselves in the optimum location to hear the audio, which jumps from speaker to speaker. Perpendicular to each other, two large projections enclose the audience in an L-shape. What is awkwardly playing out in the gallery mimics what is happening in one scene in the film that portrays a sparse audience in an auditorium, coughing, yawning, taking phone calls, changing seats, in a symphony of distraction. The chance, but real scene in the gallery, pushes the fictional nature of the choreographed scene in the film, toward farce.




Magician_or Mime?


mother's tankstation_Dublin_

6 January – 16 February 2013_


9 Intervals

Image here

    We’ve all been here before ... The only place in our culture left for the exercise of one, or at most two of our senses ...

    we may remove our shoes if that helps us remove our bodies.[1]

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