The Doctors Notes:
Performed in Manchester, Scotland, Russia and Germany.
Film Link to Performance
http://vimeo.com/61119600
The confidential medical notes of a person now dead.
I came across these notes whilst working in Moor Hospital, Lancaster.
I came across them in a derelict stone shed. A mountain of them discarded by the past administration of this site now under-going demolition in order to make room for new housing.
Just like Brockhall where I had just arrived from.
There was something criminal about discarding someones medical notes.
A medical and social autobiographical record of the body and health of another human being.
Riddled with objective language, actions of each days encounter with being hospitalised.
I took one of these notes and started working with them as a notational system for a sequence of actions that mattered.
The Notes i had gave 1,500 notes on a person final years plus the final half hour of their lives.
You are given half-an-hour before you are declared clinically dead.
Your final heart beat bound in a brown folder.
I wanted to explore the anti-narrative of performance.
I was not going to pretend to be this person / I am not acting out the life of a hospital patient, or exploring the destructive nature of alzheimer's or alcohol addiction or the inevitable addiction to drugs that fueled the body in order to silence the agitated.
The Doctors Notes underwent an exorcism of life and death.
The Doctors Notes what a channel for people to public reflect upon those that had died.
Working within a frame work of the live and living I wanted to take the body through an expressively real encounter with the destruction this person had under gone.
Arriving into Moor Hospital an alcoholic they died a drug addict with an intoxicating cocktail of uppers and downers fed to them as represents of care.
Rather than pill popping madness I ventured into alcohol employing 2 bottles of hard spirits.
I drank a shot for every audience member present and hoped I was still standing.
I wanted to step over that line of make believe and bring reality into the room.
I wanted to adventure into the unknown and hopefully land on my feet.
I wanted to live life to the max within a frame work of Live Art.
I should be dead but I seemed to be able to soak up the poison and get through to some end.
The attached film is from NRLA - All plans went out of the window and I have very little recollection of what happened.
The performance was planned to be 45-minutes long but extended its time by another 45 minutes.
The tape ran out and the performance was halted by Franko B, who took it upon himself to stop the orgy of voyeurism.
The Director of the greenroom, Garfield Allen threatened to throw me down some stairs and refused to take me to hospital.
I guess I must of pissed him off.
I didn't die but had lost myself in the high of oblivion.
I was throwing myself out into unknown terrains hoping I could sustain the moment.
It's not theatre, there is no technique to be taught, as artist i am hoping to open up a vein of human encounter, a vessel for other people to experience something of their own internal existence.
It is a praxis that celebrates life and living by encountering something of our inevitable death.
I came across these notes whilst working in Moor Hospital, Lancaster.
I came across them in a derelict stone shed. A mountain of them discarded by the past administration of this site now under-going demolition in order to make room for new housing.
Just like Brockhall where I had just arrived from.
There was something criminal about discarding someones medical notes.
A medical and social autobiographical record of the body and health of another human being.
Riddled with objective language, actions of each days encounter with being hospitalised.
I took one of these notes and started working with them as a notational system for a sequence of actions that mattered.
The Notes i had gave 1,500 notes on a person final years plus the final half hour of their lives.
You are given half-an-hour before you are declared clinically dead.
Your final heart beat bound in a brown folder.
I wanted to explore the anti-narrative of performance.
I was not going to pretend to be this person / I am not acting out the life of a hospital patient, or exploring the destructive nature of alzheimer's or alcohol addiction or the inevitable addiction to drugs that fueled the body in order to silence the agitated.
The Doctors Notes underwent an exorcism of life and death.
The Doctors Notes what a channel for people to public reflect upon those that had died.
Working within a frame work of the live and living I wanted to take the body through an expressively real encounter with the destruction this person had under gone.
Arriving into Moor Hospital an alcoholic they died a drug addict with an intoxicating cocktail of uppers and downers fed to them as represents of care.
Rather than pill popping madness I ventured into alcohol employing 2 bottles of hard spirits.
I drank a shot for every audience member present and hoped I was still standing.
I wanted to step over that line of make believe and bring reality into the room.
I wanted to adventure into the unknown and hopefully land on my feet.
I wanted to live life to the max within a frame work of Live Art.
I should be dead but I seemed to be able to soak up the poison and get through to some end.
The attached film is from NRLA - All plans went out of the window and I have very little recollection of what happened.
The performance was planned to be 45-minutes long but extended its time by another 45 minutes.
The tape ran out and the performance was halted by Franko B, who took it upon himself to stop the orgy of voyeurism.
The Director of the greenroom, Garfield Allen threatened to throw me down some stairs and refused to take me to hospital.
I guess I must of pissed him off.
I didn't die but had lost myself in the high of oblivion.
I was throwing myself out into unknown terrains hoping I could sustain the moment.
It's not theatre, there is no technique to be taught, as artist i am hoping to open up a vein of human encounter, a vessel for other people to experience something of their own internal existence.
It is a praxis that celebrates life and living by encountering something of our inevitable death.