temporary and transitional

August 16, 2011

‘Hive’ is a temporary installation at The Stade Hall in Hastings. Folks were drifting in through the open doors and wandering around amongst the network of garden canes and, yes, potatoes. Ingenious and a delightful experience.

And in the lobby, one of the prize winning deck chairs. Damnation, I had a great idea but didn’t get round to entering!

Wandered out into the new public space created alongside the Jerwood Gallery – a little behind due finishing date and still in building mode. The hoarding had just been painted. Ouch! Bright enough to make a point . . .

. . this however, is the designer’s visual of the space – more muted and fitting in quite well with the existing net huts.

And the rear view. Has a presence but respects the context.

Some of the façade is patched with gaffer tape – the tiles break easily if you care to lob a beach pebble at them. The gulls make their mark too . . . but seem to enjoy perching along the roofline.

There’s a large vociferous group who remain against the whole project.

The hoarding around the building has created this twitten. Hope the old bench either stays here if the view is reasonable – right now it’s difficult to envisage – or, that it gets re located . . .

and this what we are waiting to enjoy. A permanent home for the collection but with temporary exhibitions too.

A transitional installation greeted me at home . . .

. . and reminded me of ‘Hive’ but nature did the whole thing itself. Aaaahhhh!

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can’t breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.  Margaret Atwood  The Moment

2 Responses to “temporary and transitional”

  1. Cloudier Says:

    Galactic spuds! They look like it, anyway…

    I very much like that poem too. Thanks for posting it.

  2. julia fogg Says:

    It is good isn’t it? Margaret Atwood is a poet as well as a novelist – good for her. Don’t know how long those spuds will last without being refreshed anyway a fun installation.


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