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Sunday, February 27, 2011

Suppose

Destinati a perdersi
In spazi troppo piccoli
In pezzi che non puoi riappiccicare
Suppose none of it is real. Robin Moore's new build Playground of Love, which opens at Arte Libera on March 3rd, shows romance as a fun fair, yet wonders about both - the fun, and the fairness. Hearts don't do virtual, they just are, and this thoughtful install, built in collaboration with Prajna Seetan, runs rings around ideas of commitment, seduction, trust, and change.
Love as a merry-go-round; a Heath-Robinson build - Storm P machines, to Danes like Robin - it is full of poses and moving parts, none of which take you anywhere except back to yourself again; even the stairs, with their embossed promise of  'Love, Live, Learn', lead into a sky from which the birds have flown, leaving only their shadows, and an empty moon. This is no fairy-tale romance, but a reminder that, unlike our intentions, all we have done is a memory somewhere, and actions have a way of running full circle.
Meanwhile, at Maya Paris' Veparella, fairy tales have been stitched together seamlessly, from Rapunzel to Red Riding Hood.
Surrender to the Veparella kit; it is as essential to the story as Once Upon a Time. Turn up the mischievous music by March Macbain
Like Playground of Love, this is a joyful build, with jolly music and a sense of fun, full of poses. Here, choosing has consequences, mostly of a particulate kind, but beware, every click counts. Your head in calipers, and wearing your mother's stilettos, you get to be the heroine - not just Veparella herself, running with scissors, choosing, spiralling upward; suppose you can be all the Princesses of the story books. Find them for yourself.
If Playground of Love explodes the myth of real commitment in virtual relationships, it does so with bland serenity. It's all a game, where you come to please yourself, living the moment, confident that nothing and no-one around you has more substance than their pixels, so no harm done. Snapped memories float down gently, cushioning even the heavy hammer in one corner. Nothing matters, it's all happened before, and will again.
 Veparella suggests consequences somewhat spikier than that, one would suppose.
A classic tale.

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