Whenever you look at light, basically it’s just air. It has no tactile-ness, it’s totally without density – Robert Irwin
For the last few years Brindley has been working almost exclusively with ‘architectural-glass’ (stained-glass). As a site specific intervention, his work attempts to re-address the role of ornamentation in architecture, and to give back specificity and value to spaces by the objects that inhabit them. Art to live with, rather than art to look at. Brindley’s stained glass work explores how we can be sensitive to the quality of light present and available in a space, and how we might enhance it with glass.
Sunlight can seem timeless, like a momentary glimpse of possibility. This exhibition; Slow Light (a Window for November), brings together works that explore our perceptions of light. How materials, surfaces and pigments can be drawn so thin that they become an optical sensation rather than a purely physical one. As windows are the means to bring light into spaces, Brindley would like to proposition these artworks as apertures of ‘opticality’, experiments that explore our relationship between light and physicality.
Often working under the alias ‘Pavilion Pavilion’, Brindley’s practice explores the relationship between art and architecture. A pavilion is often described as a temporary site, an architecture that gives shape to an idea. Pavilions have been used in world fairs and expos as a means to explore new advances in technology, art or science. Brindley is interested in how we can utilise architecture as a vessel to communicate hypothetical, utopian ideas. The experimentation of space through pavilions investigates the components of the language with which architecture defines itself; windows and glass are a core tenant of this, yet somehow over-looked by contemporary building practices.
Artworks to slow down an instant, Seeing is forgetting the name of the thing one sees – Robert Irwin
‘I Remember’ by Rick Holland
I remember the tone the sunlight made Reflecting as it did That first breath of late night morning air The feeling that here was anywhere And anywhere was kind Plumes of smoke funnel overland and meet us there As though, our late night tales joined to feed our breathing And each breath kept golden remnants of a fireside tale inside Safe but boundless To hang like bubbles over us with each completed breath
Not born or dying, but reassembling the very air A ceiling to our meaning, or spring for new sounds to bound from No essential measure of beginning or belief No escape and no relief, but safe Safe as shapeless Shapeless on a turning wheel of casting possibilities that change the wheel The tick becomes imagined and steel to silk I remember the tone the sunlight made And each time it comes to visit, I remember And taste and scent, and sense released from sense
The sense of everything as golden and remembered Even as it slips into the course of these events And this is my friend is home Right here and in this tone of sun and fire and form Where listening is a birth each time And feeling creeps to embers Notes suggest in emblems reminiscent of a nascent form of wealth From long before gold could be held When cold was felt and breath was celebrated for that very rearrangement Of the air which placed us here