I’m writing to you well in advance to let you know that I will be coming for you like a stormy front.
I say writing, I’m actually shouting this. I’M SHOUTING NOW! I’m closing in on you like an aggressive fungus that will stop at nothing to get to you. I will rush through your brushed steel letterbox, and belch bad news all around your hallway. I will wolf down your stair carpet rods and all. This is just the pre-amble. I’m going to frighten you into hiding in your built-in wardrobe amongst the linen bags and hats in boxes. But I will open the door and find you. I shall loom above you pelting you with your own shoes. The Lucky shoes, the jejune red shoes, the court shoes. Sandal after mule, boot after loafer. There will be barely any time for you to yelp or shriek between the gatling of my footwear throwing!
The thing is, I want to frighten you, but this is frightening with a beat. I will have a rhythm so that as you cower you’ll be tapping your feet despite yourself. You will somehow feel that it’s cool that I’m strafing your pad and that the groove of my rampage is even catchy.
I want to frighten you in your own frames, both of you. I want to take your frames apart, to kick the staples out of your coy mouldings and snap your rebates.
After I con and coax you out of the wardrobe I’m going to eat your wedding presents in front of you one after another. I’m going to make you both row your rowing machines until you puke. I’m going to summon the wallpaper in your flat! It will un-gum itself and lap itself around you like a nasty wonton. It will parcel you up and send you rolling daft fringe over tit down the landing into the spare room that smells of both your possessions and some of your mothers. There I will rain down on you a constant punching of catalogues spine first cracking you on your temples. Working up to the heavier book that will pile-drive you into your own pelvis.
I’m going to smash your knick knacks and keepsakes until they are like muesli with a giant pestle and mortar that I shall bring with me in the back of my pick-up. And when I’ve cabered your effects into 1/2 inch of dust I’m going to pour them in a bath and make a ‘you & you’ concrete.
You will strip off and coat yourself in it like porridge people. With only eyes nose and mouth visible your own personal pebble dash dries and tugs at your body hair. And I don’t want to hear a peep from you.
If you happen to have friends round I shall tie them up on the bed in the spare room/office and scare them with the hover mower from your little shed. In fact I shall move the shed into the house and that’s going to be my HQ jammed halfway up the stairway. I’m going to do what it says on the tin. I’m going to court marshall you, I’m going to scream and shout your shirt into the skin of your chest.
Catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as I frog march you into the bathroom and feed you all of your ointments, tinctures and bath potions through a funnel I’ve designed myself with a picture of me shouting through a funnel on it. I’m going to make you eat all of your bloody dental floss from the bin.
I’m going to jam you down botty first into your lozenge shaped bidet so the taps draw a short bruise seam up your back.
I will bop you on your bonce with your shower head until a cartoon lump forms. I’m going to lash you with the rough floor towel. I’m going to make a cat o’ nine tiles!
Downstairs next into your clever kitchen, the kitchen where you are clever in. I’m going to use this kitchen. I’m going to put an apron on. I’m going to put two aprons on, one at the back. As I feed your hair into the extractor fan, your world-weary legs will thrash on the counter sending oils and herbs spinning. I’m going to kettle you with a kettle. I’m going to re-cycle you. I’m going to freeze you and then steam you. I’m going to let you go off under the table. I’m going to make you drink a compost espresso. And then thwack those daft little Italian doll cups down the hallway with a rolling pin like some kind of depraved Babe Ruth.
I’m going to dovetail your toes together and weave your fingers into joints and make wheels out of you. And then I’m going to roll you into the garden and hang you on your own back fence like a Yule wreath.
Then I’ll leave through the side gate.
NOTES TO EDITORS
Post preview party Friday 12 October 9pm-late, with performances by Kim Noble, Johnny Sorrow, Mel Brimfield and Joanna Neary, Bedwyr Williams and contenders for The Bedwyr Award for Humorous Performance: Matthew de Kersaint Giraudeau, Elena Colman, Stephen Whiting and Julia Hayes
The Phoenix Artist Club, 1 Phoenix Street, London, WC2H 8BU
9pm Kim Noble
Sadly, Kim Noble will be delivering a video presentation, but apparently it’s only 10 minutes, so please bear with us
9.15pm Johnny Sorrow
Frank Spencer on acid old school collides with the new in this character based car crash comedy
9.30pm Mel Brimfield with Joanna Neary
9.45pm Bedwyr Williams
Worst, worst case scenarios
The Bedwyr Award for Humorous Performance
10pm Matthew de Kersaint Giraudeau
Matthew de Kersaint Giraudeau has been prohibited from returning to the Ceri Hand Gallery by an ASBO issued in July 2012, but that doesn't mean he shouldn't win this performance thing
10.10pm Elena Colman
An oblique critique of the preposterous obsession with practicality held by the adults of our species as demonstrated through their hatred of garden molluscs; will not involve the use of live snails as nipple tassels, although it would probably be funnier if it did
10.20pm Stephen Whiting
"Listing Badly" with J. Hackson (the chronic lister of forgotten information, reading from his regular feature in Clod Magazine)
10.30pm Julia Hayes
The Honourable Gentleman, The Fat Man, Member for Parliament for the constituency of Blubberhouses and Felliscliffe, delivers his address to the House. His statement comes at a time when the media and his fellow parliamentarians are digesting a series of recently published photographs showing ‘The Fat Man’ baked into a golden brown, glistening Crème Brûlèe
10.40pm+ Music courtesy of Depressed Comics
The exhibition Dear Both
by Williams will include new sculpture, film, drawings and photographs by the artist.
Bedwyr Williams, in a project jointly curated by Mostyn and Oriel Davies and supported by the Arts Council of Wales, will be the artist to represent Wales at the 55th Venice Biennale 2013 International Art Exhibition.
Download Dear Both Exhibition Catalogue
For images or more information on the artist, the exhibition or the gallery, please contact Ceri Hand on 0207 240 5482 firstname.lastname@example.org or visit www.cerihand.co.uk
For further press information about Bedwyr Williams and Wales in Venice / Cymru yn Fenis 2013, please contact Emma Pettit or Stephanie Knox at Margaret on +44(0)20 7923 2861 / email@example.com firstname.lastname@example.org