We act as receivers, intercepting, by chance, the inherent poetics of the everyday. The impromptu meetings and conversations that infect the soul. I love the idea that one’s passing thought could become another’s life’s work.
It’s okay to require some ego, some of that crucial illusion needed, to not get distracted by all the madness and chatter of the crowd and this city’s disparity. How else does one walk down a street in Glasgow, or anywhere for that matter, and not get sucked into life’s entropic melody? A tapping foot won’t do away with it, punctuation won’t stop it, words fail to translate it. But we try...“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.”
The Piano acted as a locus, an axis in which to orbit. For me, it was an object of intrigue. Full of history, a piece of furniture whose form resembles that of a mantel where a family might gather, to tell stories of the day.
From static to kinetic - the piano is interrogated, for all its theatrical functions.
Jack Ire graduated with a Sculpture and Environmental Art BA Hons from the Glasgow School of Art.
