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Lost in the Memory Palace | The Dark Pool
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everything in our society manipulates
us–sidewalks, road signs. To me it's a
non-issue; only in Canada is it ever
brought up.
GBM: To me it's like a magical mystery.
You're trying to discover something; it's
almost as if you're on a treasure hunt.
There's a very childlike aspect to it.
BC: Is that the reason the narratives are
fragmented? There seem to be, not
necessarily competing, narratives, but
different ones. So the listener has to figure
out what is the story being told. Is that a
deliberate strategy of incompletion and
fragment?
JC: In a simple way the narrative is a
strategy to get people to walk. Because
the subtext of the piece is really the text.
This idea that people are walking in my
footsteps, hearing what I heard, is
important to me. In ways they're
becoming cyborgs and there's this weird
intimacy that happens. The narrative
enables that because they can feel as if
they're going to unravel a story. I use the
conditioning of society to unravel the
story. But I'm not interested in a sense of
completion at the end. The type of short
stories, novels and films I've always
enjoyed are the ones that leave me
wondering. You want to get a certain
sense of completion and some of my
walks aren't successful because they leave
people too unconnected. It's a very fine
line between connection and abstraction.
GBM: That's what we're working
towards–to see how much information is
too much. We're always taking out lines
and putting in lines during the editing.
And we're always re-recording when
we're editing.
JC: Or if there's a way to say it with
sound, rather than going to a direct voice.
It's much better if you can tell someone
something in a peripheral way, or in
metaphors. In the art world you have the
freedom to do that sort of thing. In
making Hollywood films you have to fill
in all the blanks and that's mostly why I
can't stand them. They tell you
everything. I like coming in at the middle
of a film and then figuring out who the
characters are and what are their
relationships. It's the only way to watch a
Hollywood film.
GBM: That was what we were trying to do
with
Muriel Lake.
You're thrown into the
middle of this film and you have no idea
what the relationships are. Then it's over
before you ever figure them out.
BC: In
The Dark Pool,
there is an
entrancing narrative fragment about the
dangers of reaching into the oily pool. What
is its source?
JC: I think we got the idea from reading a
lot of Jorge Borges and the way he creates
mythological places and these
time-travelling environments. When we
were writing this stuff, I liked the idea
that there was a place that we called
The
Dark Pool
that could defy all the known
laws of science. George is always reading
me these articles on wacky science
concepts and stuff like that, so I think it
probably comes from him. He has a much
more scientific mind. I had the idea of a
story about a pool on which nothing
could float. You could stick your hand in
it and it would disappear. So there was
this alternative reality. But it's also a
metaphor for the brain. The whole
environment is a metaphor for how
artists work on things that don't seem to
make any sense. Artmaking is really an
inexplicable activity. The work used the
analogy of a scientific couple working in a
room researching, and they just leave all
this stuff and disappear. It's a portrait of
George and me working away on these
things.
BC: It's interesting you would say that
The
Dark Pool
is a portrait, because going
through it seems like being on a journey
inside the head of someone who makes art.
GBM: Yes. But we really wanted to create
a space as if you'd fallen outside the
gallery. You go through this door and
you're in somebody's attic or something.
It's dark and dimly lit and then these
sounds start triggering.
BC: There is a gothic sense mixed with a
certain kind of absurd humour, like when
you encounter a stand where you buy
knick-knacks. But what about the gothic?
Did you want that theatrical darkness, with
hanging heads and all the severed digits?
GBM: That was what we wanted at the
time. It's all coming back now. It was a
reaction, in a way, to the cleanliness of
the Canadian art world. We'd discussed
this piece for a long time and we wanted
to do something that was totally over the
top and layered and encrusted and really,
really hard to set up. We wanted to make
this environment where people would
feel they weren't anywhere near a gallery
or a museum. As if they've fallen outside
the whole art system.
JC: We did a hypertext thing on the
Internet when it was shown at the Walter
Phillips Gallery in Banff. It relates to the
way the Internet and hypertext works,
because the stories come off each other.
The main thing is an older woman talking
about her journey to
The Dark Pool.
She's
a really elderly lady with a British voice
whom we've used a couple of times.
There's also a love story between Allan
and Tara. It was actually based on a friend
called Allan (his picture is in there), and
about a relationship he had with a
beautiful, young, ideal woman, who didn't
really exist. So these narratives entwined.
She was this Ingmar Bergman character,
who would come down the stairs. He had
an incredibly messy house and she'd float
down the stairs in this beautiful spring
dress. Anyway, it's the personal stories
we see that come back into the piece.
GBM: Then we layered our own story on
top of all the fictional narratives. It's very
encrusted and we really wanted people to
trigger it as they moved around. The
music starts up over in this corner and
then you hear Judy Garland play over
here. And there was a cup with a string
attached to it, and someone's yelling
hello, hello.
JC: And the wish machine, which was
quite interesting because people would
write a lot of wishes. This wish machine
was built from an electronic circuit
diagram out of a book called
On The
Fringes of Science
that George had been
reading. It's a very wacky book written
by a physicist.
GBM: He had all these experiments that
he believed actually worked, so you could
build a cardboard pyramid to keep your
razor sharp 200 times longer than normal.
He was talking about all these things that
work and we don't know why they work,
and that this will be the science of the
next century. The wish machine was one
of these things that supposedly could kill
bugs in your garden. We wanted to take it
beyond bugs in the garden, so we just told
people to put their wishes in and we got
amazing results.
JC: Especially in New York. Kids saying, I
wish mommy's boyfriend would stop
hitting her.
BC: So all that psychodrama was going on
inside the piece as well?
GBM: Yes, and we were building our own
perfect space in a way too, because we
had all these popular mechanical
magazines and books everywhere and an
encyclopedia from 1910. So basically it
was a resource room that had stopped
gathering resources. But you could go in
there and sit down and read the various
encyclopedias.
JC: It was interesting how the idea of
knowledge in 1910 was so ridiculous and
in another 100 years people are going to
look at our idea of knowledge and say, oh,
how ridiculous, they didn't know why
32
33
Robert Enright, "Pleasure Principals: The Art of Janet Cardiff and George Bures Miller,"
Border Crossings
(78) 2001.