Author Archives: Geoffrey

Videos by Date

Part of a series of highly personal one-minute videos, each connected to a specific day of the year.

July 15 (Tennis) – Text by Tony Massett. Read by him and Grace Bridgman.

August 5 (Drink) – The pros and cons of intoxication.

January 4 (Princess Margarita) – The pizza is named after the Italian patron of the arts.

July 18 (Surveillance) – Creepy nighttime activities are caught on camera.

May 25 (Punk) – An improvised music session as refined as a board full of nails.

March 15 (Ides of March) – The middle of the month proved hazardous for Caesar.

August 31 (One Wedding and a Funeral) – The new stages of a life are contrasted with the old stages.

February 4 (Parliament Fire) – A postcard depicting the 1916 fire seems out of place.

September 20 (Birth and Death) – My son’s birthday is the occasion for spinning a mystery story.

December 5 (Slats) – Shadows on a louvred door, late in the year.

January 1 (Frost) – Patterns and noise flow together.

April 20 (Platform Change) – Announcements at the train station.

November 9 (Storm)

Gusts gash gorey gales
Wings whip where wind worries
Breezes bring back bitter boats
Storms string straight standing stories

November 9th needs no name
Clouds clamour clicking clucking
Days done dangling dimmly
Flicking flinging fasting fucking

 

Three Videos on Roads

Rural residents have a notable relationship with the roads we drive or, occasionally, walk. These video projects use repetition to make the point.

Sixteen Mile Lane

Marching Band (Triptych)

Grey Road 124 (Surveillance)

Correspondence

Correspondence is a 70-minute, live-video production, created in collaboration with Tony Massett and Grace Bridgman. It revolves around two stilted and strange romantic letters written a hundred years apart. We interact with pre-recorded and live streaming video to create an evolving understanding of the letter writers’ identities and motives.

“Some time ago, nearly two weeks, you sent me a postal card saying that you were going to write to me that night, but unfortunately, up to this date, no letter has come to hand. It seems to me that you are not at all careful in promises you make and break. If someone asked you to accompany them on a stroll or theatre engagement on a certain night and you promised you would and then didn’t, it would hardly be a very good recommendation for you, but what is the difference?”

The first of the letters was written to a young woman (my grandmother) by an older man in 1915 and reveals an unbalanced and inappropriate longing expressed as belligerent complaint. The sender’s identity remains a mystery. Exactly one hundred years later, another letter arrived:

“For a long time I like you, and every day I see how you get out of the house. Every day I look at you from the window of his house and cannot seem to have the courage to come to you. I badly want to meet you. I came up with the idea to record a video clip for you. I know that after watching the movie you immediately recognize me.”

This second letter, in contrast, flatters and entices the reader. Its origin is suspect but it promises online intimacy by leveraging voyeurism and fetishizing surveillance. Both letters use a formal and precise tone: one to suggest superiority through exaggerated language, the other to feign naïve innocence through broken English.

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Plastic Houses

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This 30-minute meditative film is a reflection on consciousness and community: the things that bind us to others and keep us apart. It was shot in Jungle Village, a training facility maintained by the New Tribes Mission for preparing missionaries for overseas work. The two characters, while clearly in some kind of relationship, exist as kinds of figments in each others imaginations.

The Jesuit missionaries in my own family struck me as exceedingly kind and conscientiousness individuals and it is very hard for me to reconcile that image with the culturally destructive role that missionaries have played in indigenous societies throughout the world. The chasm that separates religious and intellectual proponents at both ends of the spectrum in North America is one instance of the mystery surrounding the difference that our tenuous understanding of consciousness and community generates.

I am very grateful to Michael Tweed (camera) and Sonja Posod (my co-performer) for their commitment, trust and interpretive talents. PJ Dean-Thornton sang the song that I wrote and Tony Massett contributed his improvisations on the sax to the original music.

Trio

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A group of folk musicians strum and pluck and croon away to a familiar ditty while viewers using cell phone swap players and instruments to create their own arrangement. Premiered at Nuit Blanche in Toronto, where over 3,000 viewers called in to re-arrange the musicians and the song!

“I chose to showcase folk music because of its politics of participation and inclusion. Folk was started by people who felt like they had something to say, who wanted to get involved. As a genre, it puts less emphasis on technique, and makes music more accessible.

“Everyone is getting creative with digital media these days, so I see media art as the new folk art.

“We’re increasingly surrounded by large public screens, and I’m hoping that not all of these will be advertising. People should have access to them, be able to play with them and inject their own content. I want people to leave feeling empowered, and that they might want to try something like this on their own.” (from interview with Jordan Bimm)

Drawing of a Man

drawing

Three drawings, each of which has a video image projected onto it.

The process of creating this work is revealed in its own presentation. I am recorded on video, working in the studio to create these images.

The gestures captured in the lines of the drawing, and the motivating characteristics in these figures, float loosely somewhere below the surface. Defiance, unity, stubbornness, and self-conscious fear put these characters into a situation: an ongoing narrative that might have happened just before or just after the one which was captured in this particular drawing.

Speech (I Want to Know)


After three years serving as an elected politician, I made Speech to reflect the strange role that language plays in the public arena. The on-screen character silently mouths a campaign speech, while an original sound track addresses the tension between being and appearance.The sound is played on headphones. The image is projected onto a raised circular screen, six feet is diameter.

Tentacles

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Tentacles is a collaboration between Geoffrey Shea, Rob King and Michael Longford. We set out to create an ambient play environment in this public space. It was intended to be always on – something to be discovered within the city. Without a beginning or an end, participants could join in or leave casually.

From within the crowd, viewers can step onto the stage of the projected environment – to display themselves in action, engaged with other virtual creatures. Movements and gestures become part of this spontaneous public performance. Like on a dance floor, where rules about decorum, engagement with strangers and physical contact are suspended.

Visit: Tentacles.ca

Man + Sin

Man and Sin - Geoffrey Shea

Launch Man + Sin

Sin or transgression is examined as a technology for shaping human action. On a certain level it is a useful tool for smoothing social interaction and guiding us towards improvement, but typically it requires a huge element of faith—faith that questions we cannot answer can be dealt with by other means, that ambiguous guideposts can point us towards a destination far over the horizon.

Man + Sin is a triptych of images that are much larger than the screen on which they are displayed. Users navigate the images, exploring beyond their edges and discovering sounds and motifs that parallel the act of structured discovery in life.

Play: The Hertzian Collective

Presented as part of CODE Live 1 and located in one of the creative exhibition spaces at the Centre for Digital Media, Great Northern Way Campus, PLAY: The Hertzian Collective is a musical sound sculpture created with projected video images and controlled collectively by viewers with their mobile phones. Viewers receive instructions on how to play by dialling a toll free phone number, and by pressing buttons on their keypads, which enable them to take control of different parts of the action.

In a phrase coined by the artist, The Hertzian Collective refers to the intersections that are possible when the musical tones and radio frequencies (both measured in hertz) that underpin this artwork are controlled or played by the ad hoc collective of individuals who happen to be standing in front of it at a given moment, cell phones in hand.

Inviting and participatory, the work encourages viewers to play with it. Visual and sound rhythms and sequences are created by the players and exploration quickly gives way to jamming and collaboration as each person realizes that they are sharing the creation of this interactive artwork with other viewers standing nearby. Structured like a primitive musical instrument or an elaborate clockwork toy.

Writing Machine

Writing Machine

“Tempestuous”

“Thursday is the middle of the week”

“You’re not the one I was talking about”

“Indolent”

“Interest is hard to feign”

“Other people have good ideas”

“Articles of clothing go missing”

“Direct access is not always possible”

“Sam Brown”

“Jam”

“Jury”

“Kindly remove your hat sir”

“Loathe”

“Blundering”

“Big toys for big boys”

“Meaningful”

Launch the work.

Writing Machine by Geoffrey Shea