I had the pleasure recently to present some work as part of an exhibition with Rec[ount] in Barcelona. This is a really interesting project looking at how numbers, numbering and accountability influences our lives. Here is a quote from their web-site and a link to read more:

“We are a small group of individuals who came together to expand the horizon of artistic and scientific debates around quantification and accountability in society. Through this project we aim to engage artists and academics in an exchange and co-creation around numbers. The project involves a photography prize which aims to guide the lens of photographs around the world towards quantification, its aesthetics, and its effects/affects on humans, their bodies, their relations/lives, but also nature and human’s relations to it. The submissions would then be used as the basis for academic reflections/developments. Following two academic workshops involving a selected group of scholars working at the crossroads of art and accounting/quantification we aim to publish an edited volume which would include prints of selected photographic submissions and academic contributions/reflections.

This is an invitation to think about how our lives are changing due to the rising capacity and urge to quantify. Below are some of the questions for which we search “fresh” answers. What accounts do we create (or forget to create) as we quantify? What practices have emerged or vanished as a result of quantification? What intended and not intended consequences it brings about? What controversies and difficulties lie under the apparent rationality of this process?”

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I made a collaborative performance with the fabulous violinist Olvido Lanza, along with three of the Rec[ount] team. Thanks so much to Wafa and Afshin for looking after me and offering this inspiring opportunity.

The poems here were written before, during and after my visit to El Clot district of Barcelona, also known as Clot De La Mel - Hole Of Honey. It was a district of vegetable growing and beehives before it became absorbed into the city of Barcelona.

Here are my words for the recording on this podcast:

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Re-Counting

(some words for Spring)

Line of SightAt the greyhound track verdantParakeets turn over leaves with hookedbeaks beside an ocean of concretesmoothed, cast in sweeping contoursthat seal in the tracks, holding fasta history of sleek beasts in line of sight,coursing in sinuous ripples of drivenjaws. Short lives of obedience andspeed. Named and valued, brushed,dieted and measured. Each racea gauge of days remaining. Nowthe race itself has been retired,its bounding oval put down in asphaltfor joggers, bladers and youths totest their metal, recreate anepic battle for validation.

A Day With Helmut

Woke to a day from adream of relationships,humans in bonds ambiguouswith intentions unclear.Moved from that into calmamid measured conversations,thoughts of future journeys,biscuits and coffee.This followed by lion’s legson a table round,sheep’s fleece nurseryrhymes, red squirrelacrobatical astonishmentsand then an adder atthe door in a compressedess, zigzagged and warmingin the sun of Spring’stime - finding the rightbody heat for hunting mice.

Stained

Her face of stainedglass hungimperiouslylike achandelier,bodyshining with thelight of self,illuminating heracolytes withpearls andinsights,daughter fromdynasticfragility,clothed in crystalsheavy,opaque andbeautiful.Hung,an atmosphericstirring -lostto a room of fear.All venturesshrivel and slipbehind and within,stains spreading outwardsfrom vacuous innardsthe lady of the limpshines darkly herglass greasy fingersheard and not seenturning the latch,letting herself outback wards offa spell of joining.Enchanté Mademoiselle,and adieu.

Growing Into The Day

Sunlight through new beech leavesChiff Chaff fresh in fromthe South alreadywith eggs to hatch howthe search accelerates fromdormant to decorouspendulant flowers filledwith insects vibrate incolours, flood my thoughtsand sleeping passions hearthe fall of rain upon foliageand its consumptionby thirsty earth busyfeeding trees thatopen their fingers andstretch their armscaught I am inwondermentfeel my own walkingroots luxuriate infecundity.

Plummet

Gannets diving intotranslucent green wavesoff the shore on Salt Pans Roadmob and cut the air foldshut, dropping scissor-formpierce the sea paff paffpaffpaff paffpaffSwim unseen through glassywater snaps shuttheir beak blades caughtthe silvering scaly dartspulled up beyond the sea’s skininto roistering May airshard-back gulletted passout of ken, from all knowledgeflown to Ailsa Craig,rock of ages, giant’s head,gone to feed the fledgelingfishers.

Palmic

There’s a hole in my heart line,a palmic interventionordemonster able fissurepinned perhapspierced possiblyrecounting a puncture,the bursting of a balloonI popped sometime past a bangingof the door toa room withinwithin whichI fear to enter andon enteringI fear to seethe head upon whichmy hair is growingand the column of lightthat fills me,shining through a windowin my sole.

Hands

Holding the hand of hope,walking beneath the sameumber el a,saying out loudsaying out loudfor hope to hear,speaking of,allowing,conceiving andin such conceptionlook outwards, away fromdeceiving ordeception imaginethe shape of today inthe clothes of celebration.Having two hands,who holds the other?

Chancy

The thing waited formakes no promises.The thing unlooked formakes no apology.The thing expectedcan still surprise.Pick a card and wonderwas it waiting there for you?Carefully considerits placement as a veto,slipped amongst the mundanewhen you looked the other way;palmed and flippedto play the trick;cut played and dealtto buy or stick,the meaning lostin cards counting.I’ll flush and fold,my hearts pounding.

Fording

Eating out with friends in the crashingrain of a street, red canopy runningwith water, waiters crossing through a streamof cars to carry our dishes, their voyagesupon turbulent seas most noble inpursuit of satiation.Swifts ride upon upper airs withsqueals of delight, pigeons fluff andburble around roof tops andbaker’s shops. Dog s**t fresh along an alleyreeks of wildness and darker nature,smells of verdure creeping at pavementlevel, the hills surrounding wait forthis city to return to earth. Childrenin an unseen yard are tumultuous,growing visible after rain, shapes arisingin materiality conjoined through soundto fill the air.

Knees

Bought some bees boxedin a yellow plastic crate,fore-legs extended out -insectivorous inmates -begging water, nectar ora hollowed place safefrom clawed paws androdent dentures.The queen rode pillionwith six maids attendant;her fertile abdomen filledwith generational ganymetes.

Long Live The Queen!

Tipped them in furredcascade into a hive kneltto receive a single sting uponthe larynxblesséd voice box, from whoseinhibitious utterancesI would be free.

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