As Far As I Can See

Beforehand

In 2024 I was gifted a sculpture by artist Christian Skagen for potential use in my performance. Every week at the Bbdb performances I observed, played with, balanced, tugged at and imitated the sculpture to understand it and know it better.

In October I was invited to Yinchuan, China by Bbeyond as part of the Common Ground project supported by the British Council and Culture Ireland. I took Christians sculpture with me.

In October, on a bridge over the Yellow River, in a public park in Yinchuan, we gathered to make a group performance. Bronagh Lawson, Zara Lyness, Emma Brennan, Paul Moore, and I.

During

A tall woman, pale skinned, of western European heritage is dressed in a dark grey thick cotton dress, red shoes and a wristband with the words ‘no to apartheid’ and the Palestinian flag, stands on a bridge in northern China. She sets out some items in-front of her. An aluminium bottle, a bag of sugar, a plastic cup, a wooden stirrer, and an object made of two carved sticks bound together tangentially with sisal.

She kneels and mixes the sugar and water from the bottle together in the cup to make a sticky substance. She stirs and stirs but the sugar doesn’t quite dissolve. Tipping her head to one side she begins to add the substance to her long hair. The sides of her head have been shaved several weeks ago. She draws the hair from her head with both hands, coating it it the sugar-water. She holds is out away from her head and pauses.

She continues to scoop up the sugar-water and coat her hair with it, drawing it out and up. Head lowered she waits, head bowed and coated in sugar crystals.

She takes out her phone and opens a compass app. She orientates the wooden sculpture so that it points to the four directions. She rises slowly and points with authority, North, using a distant landmark, a peak in the overstory of the park. She stares to the north. She cannot tell what is happening there even though she can see it because she only sees that peak and as she shares it goes in an out of focus. What is north of here? The Helan Mountains, Mongolia, Russia, the Arctic Circle? What is happening north of here? She cannot know.

Using the directions of the crossed sticks next she points to the West. Here she finds an architectural landmark, a feature of a distant bridge. What is west of here? The Middle East? How can the east be west? Conflict is west of here, cultures colliding, power struggles, her home is west of here, what are they doing at home? She wonders.

Turning she points South. In this direction there are people in the foreground but she looks beyond them to find a southern landmark. A skyscraper. She points and observes. Her body becomes a signpost. Neutral. Factual. This is South. South of here is warmer, she believes, south of here is huge cities, Hong Kong, Indonesia, a collection of many cultures and then eventually the ocean. She doesn’t really know. She sees the skyscraper. Who’s in that building right now? She cannot know.

East. Turning she finds a landmark to orientate her signal east. Here again there are many bridges but off in the distance there is a tree. She raises her arm, extends her finger and sets her gaze East. A tree. A leafy green tree it seems from here. What species, what birds and insects are at home there, is it painted at the bottom as many of the trees she has seen in this area are? She points and stares. By now others are looking and wondering what is so important that you would stop on a bridge and point in silence. She cannot know.

The sticks lay at her feet. They still tell those directions.

She lowers to the binding and spins the sticks around. It comes to life, twirls and dancing across the bridge, she chases and twirls the sticks. There is life and energy and movement and joy. Twirling and chasing the sticks is the game. Until the binding begins to wear away. The friction of spinning erodes the sisal and it begin to break. But she cannot stop.

The game travels to the other side of the bridge. She begins to feel afraid that the sticks will fall apart. She is exhausted. Using the sticks as a pillow she curls up on the ground out of energy. People decorate her still body with colourful balloons and strings. She hears the calming sound of a person making drawing in ink on paper. She stops.

photography by Bronagh Lawson and Emma Brennan

Afterwards

I read in Wild Swans by Jung Chang that shaving one side of the head was a form of punishment in China. I don’t really know why I did this ‘hair’ activity to prepare for this performance. I suppose I wanted to do something private in public to express my vulnerability. To be bold.

I was a young child in the 80’s in Ireland. We regularly traveled from rural Donegal to Dublin city where my mothers family lived. As a young child I was mesmerised by the punks and goths with their boomboxes and style but especially I was drawn to their impressive vertical mo-hawks. Part of me always aspired to cultivate my very own hair sculpture and eventually in 2022 this process began with a buzz cut.

In the summer of 2024 I met an artist and his husband who was a successful hairdresser throughout the 80’s and 90’s in Ireland. He advised that I make a sugar syrup to craft my head sculpture.

The truth is I don’t know why I do anything. My art practice involves creating space for me to be open to ‘inspiration’ and I don’t always know where it comes from but when it comes it arrives in my body, and I allow it to lead me wherever it goes.

Accidentally I left my phone on the kitchen table before I traveled to Yinchuan. This was a blessing in a way as it allowed me easier access to this ‘space’ where I can be open to ‘inspiration’. I observed, and pondered and wrote and dreamt and the night before the performance I knew that I would begin with an attempt at my aspiration to sport a punk hairdo. I also knew how much I didn’t know about where I was and what was happening outside and inside The Great Firewall. I didn’t know much more than this. I had known the stick sculpture for almost a year, and that that familiarity would ground me.

As far as I can see is a phrase that people use frequently to put forward their perspective. But even if you can see it, do you know anything about it? How can we know the things we don’t see? I don’t know, maybe you do.