Writer and poet JL Williams led a writing workshop in response to Anne-Marie Copestake's exhibition Looking in either direction the whole street was filled with people, some singing, moving towards x... at Cooper Gallery 15 March – 13 April 2019. Below are some of the responses.
a set of five poems addressing the speaker on the back wall, left hand side
something about all the shades of white nearby
upset the perspective
the wire that connects you
to the rest of the room
appeared momentarily suspended in open space
I see now that the perpendicular line is held
not by gravity, but
by wall and pins
and somebody else’s
eye for detail
you are mostly quiet
and wait your turn
the others seem more
involved, project more
maybe if I sat closer to you
I would hear something else
you are part of a wider discourse
that spans at least the room
it goes on next door
and also downstairs
and hopefully outside
you don’t speak at all really
you hum and you click
some kind of mouth sound
similar to a pen sound
like the pop of the lid
when you are meant to be writing
but don’t know what comes next
you are a white cube
a grey circle
I have a sudden impulse to calculate the number of floor tiles
Everyone was so good looking and fresh in the 90’s
Turning on the spot like a merry go round
Church music starts again
Blue, purple, peach and white paper lies in front of me.
He asked the room awaited an answer to the unspeakable question
An octopus or a railing, a bag of nails…
How can one leg stretch so far?
Nine, five layers, 10 poets? 9 players.
Sat in a circle, paper in the middle, 9 people crumple while I’m thinking about the fiddle,
It would take a lot longer to find, and count, all of the shades of brown
I heard Mark Leckey called the Tate a shit factory whilst sitting on the toilet – it was cut
His service lasted 31 years and for that we’re very grateful
Singing fills the room.
The artwork is shining, blinding my eyes
Nothing lasted as long as it used to, she found peace with that
The way it began, the way it always ends
They are clicking, they are…
I forget what I just told you but know that I meant it
Some of the tiles must be siblings or cousins or themselves
Billy Childish is everything.
Falling… falling… falling in… falling in…
Can’t stop looking at the chipped mug with roses [/noses]
Strong and sweet liquorice is what I crave.
There was nothing left to do, everything had yet to begin.
A hopeful brightness… sensation…
In my mind the birds can’t stop flapping their wings….
Arr! That light is brightly burning in my eye!
Production lines are never straight lines, but they never seemed like circles.
Like the sausage rolls I imagined I was as a child
I loved the video with the ceiling and the soft flowers
When I hear things like those my heart swells and throat aches
I want to go home now.
A little unsure always.
Something that has yet to be spoken of, an elephant in want of a room.
Holy and shining, the water never stopped falling…
Hm, hmhm, hm, hum hum hum… [note symbol]
Lost in numbers, trying to share a letter, scribbles keep on while the sound gets better.
I am glad to have tempered my empathy
New erotics and corn fed egotism
And I’m never going back to that place
[indecipherable] Too many thoughts
This room is making me thirsty.
A breath hitched in their throat as the door revealed more than a cool breeze, he had arrived.
A sequence of pink bubbles and iridescent pillars…
One cool chair, the other is just a chair
The sound left but we’re all still here.
To the point that looking at the floor doesn’t fill me with tragedy
The air in here smells sweet
So don’t worry, because it happens to the best of us
The paper will be unfolded now.
The music sounds like we are in a church.
I keep seeing red today. It’s warning.
Sunflowers seemed to shrink that day, never had summer seemed so sombre
Only the millionaires will remember the time of the llamas…
I only know 2, now I know 1, soon I will leave.
Will there be enough for this.
And imagining their perspective can be a distanced task.
Hand delivered letters
And to all a good night!
Hard floors make your body against them flat
The room is filled with sound of letters being passed through
We are starting to write faster and faster.
Looking out the window, a calm epiphany came to her
In situ or out, we couldn’t bear to recede…
Is he gonna steal the art?
We’re just about a round, sat circular, shepherded by sound.
Though I sit very close, knees and elbows pressed into them
Nine people writing spherically
Humming and clicking – I will miss the sounds later when I can’t remember the rhythm
Like the feeling of wetness after rain’s fallen
A man with a bag just walked through the door
This ink smells against the rules but nice.
The sky was grey with worry.
Not because she could not love, but because the light was so perforating…
That wall is too white.
‘Exit’ says something to me…
I feel very little, but an impulse to count._____
Looking for you I walked through the gallery with a pen in my x…
I don’t wanna
What’s not write
The perforated shadow on the wall
The outline of her headphone-clasped head
Absorb contemporary drift
Three women writing with authority
On the gallery floor, rocking
Sat on a wooden bench
In a triangular shadow
Light split by a concrete
Beyond the headphones his voice beyond his voice her voice beyond her voice her voice beyond her voice…
Beauty Things | A workshop by JL Williams
22 March 2019
Beauty Things was organised by artist and DJCAD Professor Tracy Mackenna and took place within and in response to Anne-Marie Copestake's exhibition Looking in either direction the whole street was filled with people, some singing, moving towards x... at Cooper Gallery 15 March – 13 April 2019.