At first I was nervous. Nervous that things might spin out of control, that the difference between you and I, right and wrong, here and there might dissolve into a homogeneous sea of nothing-in-particular. Entropy. No rule. No differentiation. Nothing special and nothing not-special. No-one special and no-one not special… And yet a tendency towards entropy, blurring culture into a homogeneous, narcissistic, reality based milieu spreads a distinct averaging, muting and softening in all directions. Connection muted; as though abstraction itself could make reality stronger.

At first I was nervous.
Then I was fucking terrified.

Deciding not to resist a whole cultural epoch, the only alternative was, as with Zizekian spirit, take it to its extreme, namely to experience entropy in a tactile documentable experience: to spin and spin and become dizzy until all surroundings merged. Until the body itself crossed into the ground, the walls and the sky: chasing chaos via an excess of sameness to find the point of the fall.

The spin had its own structure: its own rule. Its cylindrical architecture involved a three-part chamber: a grey disk internal base, encircled by greens and spurts of human colour, then a secondary larger shell of sandstone articulations. The sky was the structure’s final permitted and was spherical and limitless in nature.

Thus, the spin formed its own urban fabric and spatial order. I found I could increase speed and, accepting the discovered architecture of the spin, maintain precarious stability. A difficult but harmonious blurring: the walls bled into the trees, bleeding into the ground and moving up through my legs. It was when I attempted to slow down that chaos reared its head. The ground came up unexpectedly against my foot, a nearby candy store and there, a watcher, failed to assimilate into the structure of the spin. The fragile links holding together this new reality snapped and the body faltered and stumbled: various anatomies moving at varying inertias and consciousness nauseating from the impossible coherence of emerging details with context. At this point I desired the fall. It promised to remove the revolting discord of incoherent spatial relationships between wall, sky, ground and flesh.

Photography below by Fiona Trick and Linda Ovelgonne


Dizzy in Martin Place 01 


Dizzy in Martin Place 02 


Dizzy in Martin Place 03 


Dizzy in Martin Place 04 


Dizzy in Martin Place 05