I've been back in the US for about 7 months now. And I've been trying to stay busy.
The biggest news, I think, is that I've launched my game/experience design company and website. Since I'm not posting on this blog any longer, please do take a look at the website for new information (there's even a big of a blog over there too!) www.caseworkproductions.com
Casework is launching its first big, American based game on June 9th and 10th at Figment, an interactive arts festival in NYC. The festival is a free, family friendly festival that has invited over 200 artists to create and bring something to the festival. Tapestry, the game I've designed, is prepared to have 2,000 players. (The festival is expecting over 30,000 people this year.)
The game is a community oriented, story collecting project. It involves arts and crafts, talking to new people, and grateful sharing.
When I was 16 I volunteered at Teen-Link, a crisis line for teenagers to call into and get a listening ear or helpful resources. We dealt with calls about sexual assault, homelessness, and familial abuse. You know, light and airy topics. It was tough and draining work, but also incredibly satisfying. I bring this up because when I was applying for the position and going through the extensive interview process I remember answering the question, "Why do you want to work here?" I thought for a moment and then said, "Well. I just really like hearing people's stories."
The stories that come out of Tapestry are nowhere near as heavy as some of the stories that I heard while volunteering at Teen Link. But some of them have a similar quality to them, "here- I don't know you, but you've just asked me for a story about love (or adventure or food or whatever), let me give you this honest little bit of myself."
The privilege and honor that I felt when entrusted with people's stories at Teen-Link is the same thing I feel when a profound story shows up in Tapestry. Sure, a lot of the stories are silly or throwaway, but some are heart breaking, and some make you light up, and some can only be responded to with a belly deep, "awwww"
So. That's Tapestry. And I'm raising money to fund the project (materials, transportation, snacks and water for my volunteer crew) through Kickstarter. If you'd like to be involved (and I'd love it if you were!) please follow the link and pledge whatever you feel willing and able to. Even $5 helps! Thank you so much.
If you're in the Seattle area this Sunday (the 3rd) please stop by and play! At 1:30, I'll be running Tapestry in the field next to Wedgwood Presbyterian Church at 35th and 80th NE
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Friday, June 1, 2012
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Barbican Curve Gallery
There is an oddly shaped corridor in the Barbican Centre that they have turned into a free art gallery called the The Curve. It is meant to be an opportunity for artists to use the uniqueness of the shape as a catalyst for very site specific work. Sometimes that works and sometimes it doesn't. There have been plenty of exhibitions where yeah, sure, it is technically in a curve- but if that exhibition had been hung on a flat wall in a rectangular space it would have been done in exactly the same way. (Though you would be able to see all of it at once. Or, more of it at least.)
Not so for the current exhibition which is easily my favorite of the two years plus that I have been in London for. http://www.barbican.org.uk/thecurve/blog/index.html
The piece is by Robert Kusmirowski and is called "bunker" The photographs on the link above don't do it justice- but do give a bit of an idea of what it is like . It combines real WWII artifacts with some impressively detailed set design and very low lighting with no sound and uses that to create one of the spookiest, most oppressive, and poignant pieces of work I've seen in a long time.
The space is divided up into little rooms and hallways with a train track curving around the outside of the space. You can enter into a bunk room, see the rusty toilets and then wander through a dark passageway and up a short flight of stairs to an office with radio equipment that has fallen to the ground and pinned one old leather shoe to the floor. Everything- down to the dust on the floor and the heaped tools against the wall- was convincing and evocative. Haphazard and yet clearly meticulously placed.
When I entered the gallery I was the only person in the space and my feet scuffing against the floor emphasized how still the space was. Extraordinary.
I had quite a long chat with the docent as I was leaving- having been told as I entered the gallery to please try not to touch anything- I felt honor bound to let him know that, in fact, I had- but only the walls! They looked so convincingly made of cement that I needed to find out what they actually were made from (I figured they hadn't built an entire cinder block structure in the curve only to need to break it down again three months from now). He told me about a family with three children who had come in half an hour before me and had made it only about 15 feet into the exhibition before coming back out again because the children were too frightened. Frightened of war, time, or the stillness I'm not sure- but it seemed like an appropriate response.
Not so for the current exhibition which is easily my favorite of the two years plus that I have been in London for. http://www.barbican.org.uk/thecurve/blog/index.html
The piece is by Robert Kusmirowski and is called "bunker" The photographs on the link above don't do it justice- but do give a bit of an idea of what it is like . It combines real WWII artifacts with some impressively detailed set design and very low lighting with no sound and uses that to create one of the spookiest, most oppressive, and poignant pieces of work I've seen in a long time.
The space is divided up into little rooms and hallways with a train track curving around the outside of the space. You can enter into a bunk room, see the rusty toilets and then wander through a dark passageway and up a short flight of stairs to an office with radio equipment that has fallen to the ground and pinned one old leather shoe to the floor. Everything- down to the dust on the floor and the heaped tools against the wall- was convincing and evocative. Haphazard and yet clearly meticulously placed.
When I entered the gallery I was the only person in the space and my feet scuffing against the floor emphasized how still the space was. Extraordinary.
I had quite a long chat with the docent as I was leaving- having been told as I entered the gallery to please try not to touch anything- I felt honor bound to let him know that, in fact, I had- but only the walls! They looked so convincingly made of cement that I needed to find out what they actually were made from (I figured they hadn't built an entire cinder block structure in the curve only to need to break it down again three months from now). He told me about a family with three children who had come in half an hour before me and had made it only about 15 feet into the exhibition before coming back out again because the children were too frightened. Frightened of war, time, or the stillness I'm not sure- but it seemed like an appropriate response.
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