This recording marks our first time performing together, and also the meeting between Erin, Immy, and I in December, 2017. The improvised recording is awash with the weather conditions at the time, the strong morning rain drenched the garden at Magnet — the studio where this work was performed and recorded — eventually becoming the evening rain which had subdued to a gentle drip by the time we began recording.
We amplified this drip into the Spatial Studio using a wireless contact mic on the water tank in which it sounded. It is from this unlikely hollow that the introductory pulse felt in the opening ebb and flow of ‘Mould Me / Expiry Dates’ emerged.
We are awash in a sea of constant expiry and arising.
This sonification forms reflective drops of a practice which seeks to fully and deeply experience the whole and vast, ever changing and undulating, spectrum of human emotion that constantly bubbles up from the generative source within, then allowing this depth to dissolve back into the void of infinite possibility from which it arises. By not grasping to that which has pas(/t/)sed we enter the now, experiencing and moving with eternal cycles of creation and dissolution.
A vital member of The Convoy — two tape machines joined together in a single loop of 1/4" tape underpin and activate crucial aspects of our sounding: accumulation, time, infinity, accountability.
Two sister machines feed each other in a regenerative and eternal loop. One records an imprint of the present, overlaid with the echoes of the past, travels down a windy path to the other, who reads this imprint and sends forward to amplification, to be picked up by the one who records. On and on forever. To play with them is to play with active agents, they hold us accountable to past actions as impulses return for integration, smoothing into the whole.
— Erin K Taylor
Heat will absolve.
When Michael Adams describes the unmediated body free-diving as ‘mirroring our time in the tiny sea of the amniotic sac,’1 he was expressing the unique relationship between humans and oceans that has existed for all time. To physically and psychologically equalise, to float then breathe, hold, unravel, and unfear sinking is to enter the ‘very little space between living and not.’ This is the act of creation.
Still parts left on an operating table
You are writing about trauma in an experimental way — nonfiction memoir-style in poem text format & all the while fissures form around us & there is a severance of closeness / our relationship is kind of falling apart
With expiry dates.
‘It is distinctly different — thicker, darker, slower, heavier, more silent, and here I do not breathe.’2
The words in this work are an amalgamation of sexual trauma, the unravelling of threads, and cyclic forces. And while these words continue to modulate, shifting meaning through time and space, the work in totality remains grounded, amplifying that which is lost in the everyday mundane.
We hope you will hear echoes of this.
— Immy Chuah
The Convoy conjure illustrious soundscapes from the abyss of chaos, revealing hidden worlds of the imagination as the performance takes form and infuses with subjective experience. Using instruments of sound, light and smell, The Convoy enchant space with themes of tension, evolution, entropy and regeneration. Sensorial immersion transports audiences through highly dynamic environments that shift and blend into one single, breathing moment. As entity, rather than singular, Immy Chuah is a guest within The Convoy on unceded land.