Through gleaning bones, a figure of contradictory and constantly shifting pluralities emerges. This figure constructs languid reflections of the natural through a detritus of celluloid reproduction. Cursed by ghosts of romanticism and nostalgia, Carrion is in the throes of forced evolutionary acceleration.
PHASMAHAMMER is the pseudonym of shape-shifting artist Justin Talplacido Shoulder. Working primarily in performance, sculpture, video and collective events Phasmahammer is an eco-cosmology of alter personas based on queered ancestral myth. Creatures birthed are embodied through hand crafted costumes and prosthesis and animated by their own gestural languages. The artist uses their body and craft as an instrument of metaphysics towards a queer Filipinx futurism. P.H. believes in performance and shared ceremony as communal medicine for difficult times.
Performer, Devisor and Costume Designer Justin Shoulder Co-directed by Amy Gebhardt & Paola Morabito Cinematography by Bonnie Elliot Sound Design by Nick Wales Set Design by Ian Shoulder
Missed a unique opportunity to see Marginal Consort in Melbourne last night (June 8th). Here is an ear twister for you, in case you missed them too.
Marginal Consort is a Japanese avant-garde improvisation collective composed of sound and visual artists who were all students of Takehisa Kosugi at the radical Bigaku school of aesthetics in Tokyo in the ’70s. Founded in 1997, the collective, which plays just one concert per year, is a reformation of the East Bionic Symphonia, a large improvisation ensemble in the spirit of Kosugi’s Group Ongaku and Taj Mahal Travellers projects.
Marginal Consort’s extended set explores forms of sound and ways of playing that never coalesce into music, but create a group dynamic of ebb and flow, exploration and fluidity. A Marginal Consort show has a fixed start and end time, but otherwise nothing else is predetermined. All is temporary, flexible. Accidental or deliberate unison. The musicians are physically separated in the performance space like individual actors. The audience is encouraged to move around to experience different aural perspectives of their dense, kaleidoscopic and immersive performance.
She asks what I’m crying for I tell her it’s the same thing dolphins are dying for, that in my last life I was ultramarineian and though now I am a land lover, I often re-swim the blue; These tears are re-washed waters of B.B. King’s daughters, plugged into the ocean’s floor, re-sorrowed and renewed, these tears are the Blues in Bloom. I ask her what she’s crying for. shoulders slump, head rises. Bloodshot are the whites of her eyes and her pupils sparkle bright black. Her legs begin to buckle, I catch her before she hits the café floor and in my arms she whispers between sobs it’s the same thing you’re crying for that in the last hour, her boyfriend was a boxer and her jaw will testify. As she says this, her whole body sighs as if to speak makes it a truth she can no longer deny and I half carry half drag her to the coffee table The café is littered with newspapers that tell bitter fables of war in the Middle East. Snatched snippets of its distant screams pierce this bubble of brown water and baked yeast she tells of her boyfriend of a beast, as she speaks blood drips from her broken lips, slips into her coffee cup before I can stop her, she takes a sip It’s a thing going where it should not be and I’m hoping she goes against her blood and let the beast be because no one has the right between sobs, she is holding to this broken love, like a war torn mother holding to a dying child, whose watery eyes won’t let her see it’s all in vain I squeeze her shoulders, hold her hand, tell her it’s okay, let it rain. We’ll be here when the smoke clears, we’ll still be two strangers wearing old school trainers swapping tears Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate, but that we are powerful beyond measure. This means we can reason faster than speeding fists, can whisper louder than atomic voices can dream bigger than nuclear slaps and the only excuse that could stand is not having enough pillows to go round But we are fearful. So in this new wasteland of coffee cups and couches I will be brave. I will dare to dream a candy coated unicorn in this bruised princess, mistake cold hot chocolates for Kenyan beer, crunch ice cubes like frozen river water. And when backpacks become brief cases and this table stables wars we will sit and converse like all stars.
For more information on Inua Ellams
Hosted by Sydney-based artists Justin Shoulder and Bhenji Ra, Club Ate is a hybrid party event featuring live performances, video art, music, food and drinks. As the founders of Club Ate, Justin and Bhenji’s art practices have been nurtured in the queer nightclub scene, where alter identities are explored through movement, languages, costume and spectacle. ACMI’s iteration of Club Ate features performances by Justin and Bhenji as their latest Ex Nilalang incarnations. The artists’ costumes, dance and movement seek to transform colonial mythologies and highlight the connections between queer migrant and intercultural identities. Come and join Island Sisters, Motherland Queens and Goddesses of the Mountains in an extraordinary evening not to be missed.
Club Ate is supported by the KMATS Endowment Fund and Arts Centre Melbourne for Asia TOPA.
Asia TOPA is a joint initiative of the Sidney Myer Fund and Arts Centre Melbourne and is supported by the Australian and Victorian Governments.
THU MAR 2