Analogue Loop

Analogue Loop

 

Analogue loop:
Access to tools (with apologies to The Last Whole Earth Catalogue)

It always starts like this, with questions:

Can I move this? 
Can I turn that upside down? 
Can I run a cable? 
Can we stay the night? 
Can I dig a hole? 
Do you have a power board?
Can I cast these cracks? 
Can I borrow a hammer?
Can I smelt this aluminium can?
Can I project my film on that wall?
Can I borrow a hammer?
What is this place?
How do I get to the Arts Centre?
How do I get to the NGV?
Is this City Road?
Do you have a darkroom?
Do you have an extension lead?
Where can I wash my paint brushes?
Can I use your fridge?
Can I make a cup of tea?
Do you have a toaster?
Do you have a shower?
Can I make a shower?
Can I borrow a hammer?
Do you have a power board?
Can I borrow a hammer?
Can I borrow a hammer? 
Can I borrow a hammer?

Can I borrow a hammer, a spanner, a clamp, pliers, tweezers, screw driver, axe, a rake, eyewash, a shovel, a socket set, a torch, a grinder, a hammer drill, a rivet gun, a crowbar, a chisel, a usb drive, a set square, ruler, tape measure, a clamp, a paint brush, laptop, can opener, a knife, a wire brush, a camera, paint scraper, a hacksaw, a hand saw, a ladder, a scaffold, allan key, centre punch, mitre saw, drill press, laser level, frame clamp, glue gun, wood plane, hole cutter, needle-nose pliers, band aid, putty knife, pipe clamp, side cutters, staple gun?

Can I dance, sing, run, paint, jump, hang, sleep, walk, cover, record, move, draw? Can I let off this fire cracker?

What is this place?

Can I borrow a hammer?
Can I borrow a hammer?
Can I borrow a hammer?
Can I borrow a hammer?

Can we light a fire, paint that wall, bury a talisman?
Can I get access to the balcony? Can we attach mirrors to that wall? 

We propose to dig for 72 hours, to make a pirate radio station, to record the traffic noise, to make the world’s biggest human puppet, to put a life-size cow here made of lace and facing the road in solidarity with the cows in those trucks that go past every day, to run for peace, to cast our bodies in plaster and drop them from the top of the stairs, to sleep the night, to perform for 24 hours without a break, to find love, to tell my story, to record strangers’ heartbeats, to show my paintings, to show my photos, to show my pots, my sculptures, my art, my art, my art, my work, my work, my work.

What is this place? We’re not sure.
How long are you here for? We’re not sure.
Who owns the land? You do.

What used to be here? A swamp, hunting grounds, water slide, Hoyts cinema,  YMCA, rubble, rubble, plants, ants, birds, foxes, rabbits, junkies, us, you.
Who pays you? You do.

Cable tie, eye hook, string.

What is the architecture of this place? Is it a radio, a cow, a window, a wall? What is it without the constant activity and the continual adaptation of the baseline?

 

What is the baseline? 

32 columns
12 PFCs
12 H beams
64 RHS beams
64 C sections
5 concrete pads
A cup of coffee with a loved one early in the morning
120 square meters of roof sheeting
120 linear meters of top hat sections
12 barn door hinges
A note left behind by a thoughtful stranger
A chance encounter
Would you like these olive trees?
Can I make a film here? Can we perform our show?

6 tonne of gravel
2 cubic meters of mulch
360 linear meters of cable tray
Have you got a power board?
Can I hang from that?

Infrastructure + activity
Infrastructure + decoration
Infrastructure + love
Infrastructure + time
Infrastructure + questions
Infrastructure + feedback

How does something take form and shape like this?
There is no single image of this building. Really, there is no building.

This structure is baseline infrastructure. That’s it.
Its character and form and personality come after and through use and occupation and the build-up of projects and ideas.

And it will all be wiped clean soon enough. 
The bits will be pulled apart, and around this, the moments and residual build-up of time and activity will crumble. The ground will be scraped back and plans for a new building will start to rise out of the ground. All will be forgotten. 

But we were never a building. We never aspired to build legacy. We understood that for this moment, while we were here, this was all that mattered for now. The lessons learned, the space shared, the time given. This is what matters. 

You can have your legacy-building project now. We will leave no trace. 

 

What is the feedback?

Can I move this over there? Yes.
Can I turn that upside down? Yes.
Can I run a cable? Yes.
Have you got a power board? Yes.
Can we stay the night. Can I dig a hole. Can I cast these cracks in the concrete?
Yes.

Can we light a fire, cook some food, paint that wall, bury a talisman in the garden for good luck? Yes.

Can I get access to the balcony? Yes.

Can we attach the mirrors to that thrust? Yes.

We propose to dig for 72 hours, to make a pirate radio station, to record the traffic noise, to make the world’s biggest human puppet, to put a life-size cow here facing the road in solidarity with the cows in those trucks. Yes.

Can I make a film here? Can we perform our show? Yes.

Humble beginnings. Nothing more than some shipping containers and steel, propped here temporarily. A neat weave through the building code and this temporary occupation of 1 City Road began. And then we added a little bit more. And a little bit more…

We made it so it could do all these things, and we changed it so it could do more things. Everything this place is, is because of the questions we were asked as we made it (and re-made it). So we could say ‘yes’. The place is feedback.

Can we plant this rose? Yes. would you like these olive trees? Yes.

What is this place? 
Who owns the land?
What used to be here?
Who pays you?
How long are you here for?

Cable tie, eye hook, string.

 

Counter Culture Camp Ground

Counter Culture Camp Ground

Sheds, Bleachers, Platforms

Sheds, Bleachers, Platforms