SYNOPSIS BY KAZIMIERZ JANKOWSKI: ‘New Order or Status Quo’, one the many works that make up Justin Jaeckle’s solo ‘Film Show’ at 79A Brick Lane, strikes me as a pre-eminent work in the show, a work that reveals most clearly Jaeckle’s interpretation of a somewhat disorientating curatorial brief.
As an artist working within Katie Guggenheim’s curatorial project (“Seven Films: Seven Solo Shows: Seven Days”), I found the initial task set by Guggenheim of choosing a film to show in the space the hardest of the tasks set. For in the context of the exhibition I had been asked to author a film, which in itself made certain assumptions (about my relationship to appropriation for instance) that I would either have to simply ignore or take a critical position in relation to. In addition to this was Guggenheim’s other intervention, which was to operate on the chosen film itself. For the film was to be experienced in two separate rooms, cut in two so to speak, with the sound playing in one room and separated by a corridor, the visuals playing in another. From here on the artists had free reign of the space; they could paint, sculpt, perform e.t.c. Jaeckle selected the film Saturday Night Fever with the original soundtrack cleverly replaced by the soundtrack of Quadrophenia (which as well as creating many interesting connections between the two films, was effective because both films were exactly the same length which meant that either soundtrack would sit flush with either film).
Proposed as a sort introductory prism to Jaeckle’s show, the work ‘New Order or Status Quo’ made use of one of the permanent fittings in the flat-turned-gallery space; a rococo inspired mirror that bore the aforementioned text in black vinyl lettering.
Certain specific themes seem unavoidable within the context of the highly specific curatorial brief specifying that the film be split into two parts. “New Order or Status Quo” articulates this underlying theme as the theme of division, present here as the theme of rivalry in its evocation of sides. Initially this theme resonated with the warring Mods and Rockers in the film Quadrophenia though similar themes are engaged with in Saturday Night Fever such as the racial conflict between the Italian and African American communities. But with more than a touch or irreverence, the question “New Order or Status Quo” verges on showing contempt for the viewer through its frivolousnes. Wry, humorous and almost contemptuous, the question is a clever foil for the question of sides in Quadrophenia, a question which is of a decidedly more serious nature, provoking violence if answered incorrectly.
Although violent and heady, the film isn’t gratuitous or indulgent. It steers clear of any mawkishness while being quite affecting in its generous portrayal of youth. This careful depiction of rivalry between the Mods and the Rockers is really a portrayal of the adolescent’s search for identity and community by way of affirming to the death an ideal (the ideal of the ‘mod’ or that of the ‘rocker’; indeed any narrow category will do - ‘goth’, ‘punk’, ‘artist’, ‘curator’ e.t.c.). The volatile desires of the characters give the film a slightly apocalyptic feel, as the characters are often unstable and unpredictable, frequently lapsing into hedonistic outbursts. Instability becomes central to Jaeckle’s film show, with the soundtrack of Quadrophenia playing over Saturday Night Fever the effect is of moments of harmony underscored by stretches of chaos.
Both of the chosen films chronicle a sort of rite of passage into adulthood and this transformative period is echoed in the transforming-scenarios staged by Jaeckle between a variety of cultural relics that populate the exhibition. The many elements involved in the construction of the exhibition are well co-ordinated via various and unlikely connections, but the multiplicity of voices all speaking at the same time (Donna Summer, Piet Mondrian, Martin Creed, The Who, Nik Cohn amongst others) effect moments of almost total cacophony. This creatively-chaotic approach is evocative of certain high-modernist strategies of creation (William Burroughs’ ‘cut-up’ technique comes to mind) but the analogy of ‘youth’, evoked as a theme in the exhibition by both films, exerts a certain control over all the elements and orientates a reading in the otherwise chaotic setting. It is slightly ironic that the theme of youth (itself a site of change) actually stabilises the chaos as an organising principle that is powerful enough to lessen the noise. It is this conceptual element that distances Jaeckle from the youth movements that he references - the vicissitudes of conceptual art were never really the concerns of either group, or in my memory, any other youthful sub-cultures for that matter.
‘Youth’ or ‘youth culture’ is deployed conceptually as well as thematically in providing the actual material that we find in the show. As a concept it operates as a site of emergence, a site were these element can meet and transform each other. The staging of these transformative scenarios suggests a desire for change on behalf of Jaeckle, but the desire for change is not an innocent or neutral desire, and it is in the works awareness of this that we find its most intriguing feature.
Jaeckle’s inclusion of a grainy black and white photograph documenting Disco Demolition Night plays within an ironical register similar to that of “New Order or Status Quo”, but manages to do so much more subtly. Disco Demolition Night was a promotional event, organised by a local DJ who had been recently fired from his job because he didn’t conform to the disco-playing trend at the time. In protest he staged the destruction of disco records, bizarrely, at a local baseball game which he publicised by offering cheap tickets to people who brought along disco records that they wouldn’t mind destroying. The unexpected success of the event saw the protest turn into a riot, with people flooding onto a baseball pitch from the stands. Aside from picking out themes such as violence from the show, the photograph is also in its factuality simply a document that verifies the event. Alongside the depiction of the event it brings with it the question of history and of how history is told. It is evidence, proof, that the event occurred–but what a minor and slightly silly event Jaeckle has chosen to draw our attention to. The placement of this photo-document on a shelf in the flat gives it a sort of innocuous quality. It has a mildness to its display, an off-handedness that for me at least raises the question as to its real significance (or lack of). It feels like a ‘red-herring’, a diversion of sorts. It’s positioning as such tempts one to read it merely as whimsy, or as a folly within the matrix of show. Could it be a joke at the audience’s expense? And similarly to ‘New Order or Status Quo’, does it really matter?
With fewer youth movements to identify with in the 1960’s (Quadrophenia’s historical setting) than today, youth culture and its revolutionary posturings would occasionally get out of hand, resulting in large concentrations of people effectively overwhelming local sites of power. Disco Demolition Derby would never happen today given the security at football matches and the endless protocol and safety measures on hand to stamp out the slightest hint of anarchic goings on, and as the pictures of carnage at the Hillsborough disaster remind us, we are really only ever at the whim and mercy of the state. In contrast today, we rarely see collective excitement posing this sort of threat to authority, perhaps the collective imagination is too thinly spread out over a much larger cultural terrain. In the rare instances that it does happen it is immediately marginalised. What was once a case of rivalry between the Mods and the Rockers is today bracketed as ‘gang violence’. Culturally mediated it then only serves to maintain and protect cultural norms through its representation as a social or economic problem. Jaeckle’s work reveals a keen interest in these questions. His interest in the emergence of pop, subculture, and more generally the genesis and preservation of cultural myth leads to a soft-critique of pop culture as a corporately mobilised product.
As an expanded conceptual practice his work is crucially removed from the libidinal arena which produces the pop and subcultural movements in the history that he refers to. Jaeckle’s cool working methodology might reflect a certain disenchantment with the potential power and range that pop and subculture currently wields as a subversive force. For although obviously fond of all the mythological relics that populate the exhibition his canny conceptual voice betrays a wary-ness and even perhaps a scepticism about the status and value of our pop cultural heritage.
As a work ‘New Order or Status Quo’ is a strong reference point for all the themes of separation in the show (starting with the curatorial brief that the sound be split off from the visuals and played in a separate room). This single work highlights this original narrative disjunction whilst making use of it as a working methodology. The splitting or fragmenting of the material continues in works like the early Mondrian, exiled from a white space and ending up as a dance floor. This gesture serves to alienate the canonical relic from its conservative habitat and supply it with alternative possibilities. These possibilities are wide and dispersive, and essentially suggest that this work could be put to use in a myriad of other instances – as a Rembrandt might be used as an ironing board. But these alternative possibilities are just that, possibilities. Possibilities that crucially have no teleological trajectory. This is the space of alternative endings, lost footage, stolen demo tapes and other cultural mythology that lend themselves to misdirecting larger, ‘grander’ narratives. Grander-narratives, as we know, tend to suppress inchoate and anarchic features of works of art, finally closing them off from further readings. Jaeckle’s discovery is that these suppressed, more chaotic features respond interestingly to rumour as a type of solicitation that bothers these special features back into the fields of debate and speculation. Jaeckle’s exhibition appropriates these empty representations of pop cultural history, and by placing an ambivalence in the form of myth and rumour at their source, suggests that they may be read in new and unfamiliar ways.
But ‘New Order or Status Quo’ is more than an innocent question that opens up new channels for debate and speculation. It is an openly hollow question that signals the death of sides and in its duplicitous tone, perhaps even of meaningful questioning altogether. Its explicit reference to the 1980’s carries with it the bloated spirit of nihilism that Brett Easton Ellis taps into in his novel American Psycho (perhaps the defining document of pop nihilism). A novel in which all meaningful questioning is reduced to a single level of questioning, where the apex of a question struggles to have more or less meaning than the question as to whether one is paying by American Express or Mastercard. Pointing then to the redundancy of sides, and ultimately of belief, what is left? Where do Jaeckle’s cultural disjunctions and conjunctions lead us?
The answer is perhaps suggested by what appears to be Jaeckle’s key mythological source (key in my view at least), the short story by Nik Cohn ‘Tribal Rites of the New Saturday Night’. The short story published in 1976 in the New York Magazine was the inspiration behind the film Saturday Night Fever. Nik Cohn, a London born music Journalist, was assigned to write an article about the 1970’s disco scene. Being unfamiliar with the working-class subculture he was to report on, Cohn based the story’s protagonist (later to be played by John Travolta) on a Shepherds Bush mod he had known back in London in the 60’s. Cohn simply replaced the scenic detail from the mod scene with that of the disco scene. The parallels between both scenes were particularly striking, what with their shared similarities of music and fashion, and that both groups were principally working class. This story wasn’t included in the exhibition but was added onto the website for the show as a sort of footnote. You can almost join up the dots of the thinking process that led to the two films being spliced together, for Cohn’s article neatly joins the two films in an unlikely way, and Jaeckle essentially does the same thing in the gallery space. The fact that Cohn’s article on being published was taken at face value and was widely read as a piece of reportage journalism and thus a true portrayal of the disco scene, rather than a simple conflation of the mod scene with disco detail, picks up the familiar interrogation of authenticity and sincerity that we find within the exhibition, and points perhaps to the meaning of the articles inclusion. From the disingenuous questioning of ‘New Order or Status Quo’, to the subtly ironic tone of the photo-document of ‘Disco Demolition Night’, we should be encouraged to treat the inclusion of Cohn’s article cautiously. For if we are looking for the origin of all that we see in show, and then we are presented with this article as a sort of privileged piece of source material, it is not fundamentally because it connects the two films but because it is a kind of structural model for the show as a whole. Like the other works Jaeckle appropriates and then sort of dislocates or re-contextualises away from their culturally sanctioned readings, ‘Tribal Rites of the New Saturday Night’ seems to have already dislocated itself from its supposed origin as a faked document who’s fundamental message in this context is a subtle warning against the claims made about its status. It is through the proffered root of the show, the article by Cohn that Jaeckle tacitly shows us, that everything is complicated again in a sudden tangle of roots that lead us inexorably back into the work. What we seem to be left with then are the connections in themselves. Disembodied connections staged on a single plane as a series of thrilling collisions between a collection of estranged cultural relics.
In 2000, a good 5 years after Britpop had subsided, leaving in its wake a glut of Oasis imitators, Pulp members Jarvis Cocker and Mark Webber ran a club night at the ICA called ‘Little Stabs of Happiness’. In contrast to the anarchic optimism of Pulps earlier records this club night seemed to take its cue from their later record ‘This is Hardcore’, a record that bleakly recounted the heady days of the early to mid nineties British new-wave music scene and it’s subsequent failure as a near-revolutionary force (see specifically the track ‘After the Revolution’) Jaeckle’s solo show reminds me of ‘Little Stabs of Happiness’ in the way the thrilling disjunctions and conjunctions take place within a prevailing mood of ennui. The little stabs of happiness echo the sharp synaptic connections (or collisions) between the elements in the show, these connections making for a sort of cognitive fireworks display. The crucial difference seems to be that the tone of Jaeckle’s work is not pathos laden like Pulp’s. He doesn’t lament the failure of the past. His little stabs of happiness are free from guilt and regret. This is an active and affirmative nihilism as opposed to a passive one, and only the intervention of time will reveal whether this feature of his work will persist.
In this exhibition:
The scent of burning automobile tires and tar; Groovy Painting 002 (The Greatest Hits of Donna Summer, side A); Untitled (New Order or Status Quo); First Prototype for a Mondrian Dancefloor (Fox Trot B version); An image from Disco Demolition Day; A blue light bulb which transformed Martin Creed's semi-permanent lights going on and off piece into a casual disco; a tinsel flag; a pink lighting gel; and the film Saturday Night Fever with its soundtrack replaced by that of Quadrophenia,
produced with the kind assistance of
Pierre-Alexandre Simoes.
As an artist working within Katie Guggenheim’s curatorial project (“Seven Films: Seven Solo Shows: Seven Days”), I found the initial task set by Guggenheim of choosing a film to show in the space the hardest of the tasks set. For in the context of the exhibition I had been asked to author a film, which in itself made certain assumptions (about my relationship to appropriation for instance) that I would either have to simply ignore or take a critical position in relation to. In addition to this was Guggenheim’s other intervention, which was to operate on the chosen film itself. For the film was to be experienced in two separate rooms, cut in two so to speak, with the sound playing in one room and separated by a corridor, the visuals playing in another. From here on the artists had free reign of the space; they could paint, sculpt, perform e.t.c. Jaeckle selected the film Saturday Night Fever with the original soundtrack cleverly replaced by the soundtrack of Quadrophenia (which as well as creating many interesting connections between the two films, was effective because both films were exactly the same length which meant that either soundtrack would sit flush with either film).
Proposed as a sort introductory prism to Jaeckle’s show, the work ‘New Order or Status Quo’ made use of one of the permanent fittings in the flat-turned-gallery space; a rococo inspired mirror that bore the aforementioned text in black vinyl lettering.
Certain specific themes seem unavoidable within the context of the highly specific curatorial brief specifying that the film be split into two parts. “New Order or Status Quo” articulates this underlying theme as the theme of division, present here as the theme of rivalry in its evocation of sides. Initially this theme resonated with the warring Mods and Rockers in the film Quadrophenia though similar themes are engaged with in Saturday Night Fever such as the racial conflict between the Italian and African American communities. But with more than a touch or irreverence, the question “New Order or Status Quo” verges on showing contempt for the viewer through its frivolousnes. Wry, humorous and almost contemptuous, the question is a clever foil for the question of sides in Quadrophenia, a question which is of a decidedly more serious nature, provoking violence if answered incorrectly.
Although violent and heady, the film isn’t gratuitous or indulgent. It steers clear of any mawkishness while being quite affecting in its generous portrayal of youth. This careful depiction of rivalry between the Mods and the Rockers is really a portrayal of the adolescent’s search for identity and community by way of affirming to the death an ideal (the ideal of the ‘mod’ or that of the ‘rocker’; indeed any narrow category will do - ‘goth’, ‘punk’, ‘artist’, ‘curator’ e.t.c.). The volatile desires of the characters give the film a slightly apocalyptic feel, as the characters are often unstable and unpredictable, frequently lapsing into hedonistic outbursts. Instability becomes central to Jaeckle’s film show, with the soundtrack of Quadrophenia playing over Saturday Night Fever the effect is of moments of harmony underscored by stretches of chaos.
Both of the chosen films chronicle a sort of rite of passage into adulthood and this transformative period is echoed in the transforming-scenarios staged by Jaeckle between a variety of cultural relics that populate the exhibition. The many elements involved in the construction of the exhibition are well co-ordinated via various and unlikely connections, but the multiplicity of voices all speaking at the same time (Donna Summer, Piet Mondrian, Martin Creed, The Who, Nik Cohn amongst others) effect moments of almost total cacophony. This creatively-chaotic approach is evocative of certain high-modernist strategies of creation (William Burroughs’ ‘cut-up’ technique comes to mind) but the analogy of ‘youth’, evoked as a theme in the exhibition by both films, exerts a certain control over all the elements and orientates a reading in the otherwise chaotic setting. It is slightly ironic that the theme of youth (itself a site of change) actually stabilises the chaos as an organising principle that is powerful enough to lessen the noise. It is this conceptual element that distances Jaeckle from the youth movements that he references - the vicissitudes of conceptual art were never really the concerns of either group, or in my memory, any other youthful sub-cultures for that matter.
‘Youth’ or ‘youth culture’ is deployed conceptually as well as thematically in providing the actual material that we find in the show. As a concept it operates as a site of emergence, a site were these element can meet and transform each other. The staging of these transformative scenarios suggests a desire for change on behalf of Jaeckle, but the desire for change is not an innocent or neutral desire, and it is in the works awareness of this that we find its most intriguing feature.
Jaeckle’s inclusion of a grainy black and white photograph documenting Disco Demolition Night plays within an ironical register similar to that of “New Order or Status Quo”, but manages to do so much more subtly. Disco Demolition Night was a promotional event, organised by a local DJ who had been recently fired from his job because he didn’t conform to the disco-playing trend at the time. In protest he staged the destruction of disco records, bizarrely, at a local baseball game which he publicised by offering cheap tickets to people who brought along disco records that they wouldn’t mind destroying. The unexpected success of the event saw the protest turn into a riot, with people flooding onto a baseball pitch from the stands. Aside from picking out themes such as violence from the show, the photograph is also in its factuality simply a document that verifies the event. Alongside the depiction of the event it brings with it the question of history and of how history is told. It is evidence, proof, that the event occurred–but what a minor and slightly silly event Jaeckle has chosen to draw our attention to. The placement of this photo-document on a shelf in the flat gives it a sort of innocuous quality. It has a mildness to its display, an off-handedness that for me at least raises the question as to its real significance (or lack of). It feels like a ‘red-herring’, a diversion of sorts. It’s positioning as such tempts one to read it merely as whimsy, or as a folly within the matrix of show. Could it be a joke at the audience’s expense? And similarly to ‘New Order or Status Quo’, does it really matter?
With fewer youth movements to identify with in the 1960’s (Quadrophenia’s historical setting) than today, youth culture and its revolutionary posturings would occasionally get out of hand, resulting in large concentrations of people effectively overwhelming local sites of power. Disco Demolition Derby would never happen today given the security at football matches and the endless protocol and safety measures on hand to stamp out the slightest hint of anarchic goings on, and as the pictures of carnage at the Hillsborough disaster remind us, we are really only ever at the whim and mercy of the state. In contrast today, we rarely see collective excitement posing this sort of threat to authority, perhaps the collective imagination is too thinly spread out over a much larger cultural terrain. In the rare instances that it does happen it is immediately marginalised. What was once a case of rivalry between the Mods and the Rockers is today bracketed as ‘gang violence’. Culturally mediated it then only serves to maintain and protect cultural norms through its representation as a social or economic problem. Jaeckle’s work reveals a keen interest in these questions. His interest in the emergence of pop, subculture, and more generally the genesis and preservation of cultural myth leads to a soft-critique of pop culture as a corporately mobilised product.
As an expanded conceptual practice his work is crucially removed from the libidinal arena which produces the pop and subcultural movements in the history that he refers to. Jaeckle’s cool working methodology might reflect a certain disenchantment with the potential power and range that pop and subculture currently wields as a subversive force. For although obviously fond of all the mythological relics that populate the exhibition his canny conceptual voice betrays a wary-ness and even perhaps a scepticism about the status and value of our pop cultural heritage.
As a work ‘New Order or Status Quo’ is a strong reference point for all the themes of separation in the show (starting with the curatorial brief that the sound be split off from the visuals and played in a separate room). This single work highlights this original narrative disjunction whilst making use of it as a working methodology. The splitting or fragmenting of the material continues in works like the early Mondrian, exiled from a white space and ending up as a dance floor. This gesture serves to alienate the canonical relic from its conservative habitat and supply it with alternative possibilities. These possibilities are wide and dispersive, and essentially suggest that this work could be put to use in a myriad of other instances – as a Rembrandt might be used as an ironing board. But these alternative possibilities are just that, possibilities. Possibilities that crucially have no teleological trajectory. This is the space of alternative endings, lost footage, stolen demo tapes and other cultural mythology that lend themselves to misdirecting larger, ‘grander’ narratives. Grander-narratives, as we know, tend to suppress inchoate and anarchic features of works of art, finally closing them off from further readings. Jaeckle’s discovery is that these suppressed, more chaotic features respond interestingly to rumour as a type of solicitation that bothers these special features back into the fields of debate and speculation. Jaeckle’s exhibition appropriates these empty representations of pop cultural history, and by placing an ambivalence in the form of myth and rumour at their source, suggests that they may be read in new and unfamiliar ways.
But ‘New Order or Status Quo’ is more than an innocent question that opens up new channels for debate and speculation. It is an openly hollow question that signals the death of sides and in its duplicitous tone, perhaps even of meaningful questioning altogether. Its explicit reference to the 1980’s carries with it the bloated spirit of nihilism that Brett Easton Ellis taps into in his novel American Psycho (perhaps the defining document of pop nihilism). A novel in which all meaningful questioning is reduced to a single level of questioning, where the apex of a question struggles to have more or less meaning than the question as to whether one is paying by American Express or Mastercard. Pointing then to the redundancy of sides, and ultimately of belief, what is left? Where do Jaeckle’s cultural disjunctions and conjunctions lead us?
The answer is perhaps suggested by what appears to be Jaeckle’s key mythological source (key in my view at least), the short story by Nik Cohn ‘Tribal Rites of the New Saturday Night’. The short story published in 1976 in the New York Magazine was the inspiration behind the film Saturday Night Fever. Nik Cohn, a London born music Journalist, was assigned to write an article about the 1970’s disco scene. Being unfamiliar with the working-class subculture he was to report on, Cohn based the story’s protagonist (later to be played by John Travolta) on a Shepherds Bush mod he had known back in London in the 60’s. Cohn simply replaced the scenic detail from the mod scene with that of the disco scene. The parallels between both scenes were particularly striking, what with their shared similarities of music and fashion, and that both groups were principally working class. This story wasn’t included in the exhibition but was added onto the website for the show as a sort of footnote. You can almost join up the dots of the thinking process that led to the two films being spliced together, for Cohn’s article neatly joins the two films in an unlikely way, and Jaeckle essentially does the same thing in the gallery space. The fact that Cohn’s article on being published was taken at face value and was widely read as a piece of reportage journalism and thus a true portrayal of the disco scene, rather than a simple conflation of the mod scene with disco detail, picks up the familiar interrogation of authenticity and sincerity that we find within the exhibition, and points perhaps to the meaning of the articles inclusion. From the disingenuous questioning of ‘New Order or Status Quo’, to the subtly ironic tone of the photo-document of ‘Disco Demolition Night’, we should be encouraged to treat the inclusion of Cohn’s article cautiously. For if we are looking for the origin of all that we see in show, and then we are presented with this article as a sort of privileged piece of source material, it is not fundamentally because it connects the two films but because it is a kind of structural model for the show as a whole. Like the other works Jaeckle appropriates and then sort of dislocates or re-contextualises away from their culturally sanctioned readings, ‘Tribal Rites of the New Saturday Night’ seems to have already dislocated itself from its supposed origin as a faked document who’s fundamental message in this context is a subtle warning against the claims made about its status. It is through the proffered root of the show, the article by Cohn that Jaeckle tacitly shows us, that everything is complicated again in a sudden tangle of roots that lead us inexorably back into the work. What we seem to be left with then are the connections in themselves. Disembodied connections staged on a single plane as a series of thrilling collisions between a collection of estranged cultural relics.
In 2000, a good 5 years after Britpop had subsided, leaving in its wake a glut of Oasis imitators, Pulp members Jarvis Cocker and Mark Webber ran a club night at the ICA called ‘Little Stabs of Happiness’. In contrast to the anarchic optimism of Pulps earlier records this club night seemed to take its cue from their later record ‘This is Hardcore’, a record that bleakly recounted the heady days of the early to mid nineties British new-wave music scene and it’s subsequent failure as a near-revolutionary force (see specifically the track ‘After the Revolution’) Jaeckle’s solo show reminds me of ‘Little Stabs of Happiness’ in the way the thrilling disjunctions and conjunctions take place within a prevailing mood of ennui. The little stabs of happiness echo the sharp synaptic connections (or collisions) between the elements in the show, these connections making for a sort of cognitive fireworks display. The crucial difference seems to be that the tone of Jaeckle’s work is not pathos laden like Pulp’s. He doesn’t lament the failure of the past. His little stabs of happiness are free from guilt and regret. This is an active and affirmative nihilism as opposed to a passive one, and only the intervention of time will reveal whether this feature of his work will persist.
In this exhibition:
The scent of burning automobile tires and tar; Groovy Painting 002 (The Greatest Hits of Donna Summer, side A); Untitled (New Order or Status Quo); First Prototype for a Mondrian Dancefloor (Fox Trot B version); An image from Disco Demolition Day; A blue light bulb which transformed Martin Creed's semi-permanent lights going on and off piece into a casual disco; a tinsel flag; a pink lighting gel; and the film Saturday Night Fever with its soundtrack replaced by that of Quadrophenia,
produced with the kind assistance of
Pierre-Alexandre Simoes.
PRESS RELEASE / NEXT SHOW / BACK TO PROGRAMME / for more information please contact Katie Guggenheim katieguggenheim@gmail.com