taken_aback (loss six)
あっけにとら（損失6つ）
by dj ringu no yubi
DJリング指
Featuring her by Lynx and him by Kyle Van Son
HER: The second film was about me and you. I wish this man would get over his insecurities and fuck me. I wish that this man will end my charade of loneliness. I wish my mood would mask more than tape. I want to be fucked. I want to be fucked. Instead I will try to fall into a dark sleep and dream of loud and ecstatic sex. I want to be fucked. A dirty, grinding oblivion inducing fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh fuck!!
HIM: I don’t love her. I like her in a ‘she’s not bad to hang around with’ kind of way. I don’t want to lead her into something I cannot finish. I am a doll that she wants to play with day in and day out. Why does she hide everything except for her sex? It’s not that I want to settle down, have children and gaze longingly at a mortgage. I just want to have fun. What is her deal?
HER: My legs are burning, sending spider web streaks up my thighs. My skin is crackling hot, each hair alight, fanning out dark red flames. My brain fizzles with the need for hot dirty pain; shards of metal through my nipples and sparkling electricity across my clitoris, running blood, not red, but dark, shiny black. Is this what I am looking for tonight? I doubt it. Oh dear.
HIM: I am as adventurous as the next person. I like it, I really do. But she scares me in a way that makes me want to run far away. Her need for pain is a fetish; unique and terrifying. It’s one that I cannot share. She wants to be scarred for life and screaming for it as well. I met a girl in a bar. She seemed nice, if a little unhinged. We clicked; we shared sushi and perhaps a few too many beers and then, it was lights off, socks on, sleep for life after. That’s the way I roll.
HER I am clearly hunting the wrong guys. I am getting lost in my own words and buried in a fantasy dark enough to make the pain go away. I need to hurt myself in order to feel better. The short sharp shocks of a needle running through the red flesh of my nipple, over and over, are like the pinpricks of light that seep into a camera obscura, revealing a brighter, happier panorama. Oh God. I want to be fucked.
HIM: It was the crazy talk, of redemption and revenge. It was dark and fractured. She wanted a relationship, after like three pieces of tuna and a night of fucking. In the end, it was just a dream, a fleeting snapshot of someone or something cracking up. I was not the doll any more; she was a bodiless remnant that ended up under the bed, broken, forgotten and lonely. Too much, too little, too late.
HER: Hello? Hello!
Full Description
Using a variety of found objects as its base, Loss is a multimedia artefact with works in sound, video, writing and images. The notion of found is fundamental to the work, as something that is lost can eventually be found. Using a bricoleur’s sensibility and a DIY approach to construction and editing, Peter improvised sounds, images and video, remixed and repurposed them for this project. Both the videos and the sounds draw heavily on the abstract and concrete notions of found. Each soundtrack is a mix of new compositions mixed with found sounds from around the world, not recorded specifically for this project and found on stacks of old minidiscs, tapes, hard drives and videos.
The same methodology was applied to the video footage. The majority of the footage used in each video was not shot for the project. It was selected from hundreds of hours of footage shot as Peter travelled the world. Some of it was tourist footage; other pieces were simply something interesting or odd things that caught the eye at the time. The footage was shot on a range of digital cameras with a variety of qualities and compositions. Some of it is shaky, handheld and oddly composed.
The sounds were composed as the vehicle for the words. As the majority of characters are female, Peter experimented with a number of options including pitch shifting his own voice and use the increasingly sophisticated text to speech engines, but settled on human voices sourced through the fiverr website, a platform where people sell small size services for US$5. Intuitive and committed performances from AK, Lynx and Astrid provide a resonance to the emotional spirals each character has committed themselves to.
The gestation of the soundscape style of the sounds originated 7 years ago in the bedroom of Peter’s flat in Petersham, Australia, with bass guitar, an old casiotone keyboard and a borrowed delay unit as his only instruments. Once he started working with found sounds as part of his old radio show ‘fabrication de bruit’, linking and fracturing the op-shop and outsider music he was playing, he saw an application to the formative idea he had for linking a number of half sketched pieces of writing in his trusty Moleskine, and they became integral to the Loss project. Drum beats from clanking escalators, church bells ringing 360 degrees around a city, the click-clack of heels on a cobbled street, train announcements at Gare du Nord in Paris and Pachinko parlours in Ikebukuro. Now based in his flat in London, the sounds have grown more sonically complex, and drawn from a variety of digital and analogue instruments.
Work metadata
- Year Created: 2012
- Submitted to ArtBase: Friday Sep 28th, 2012
- Original Url: https://vimeo.com/47644122
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Work Credits:
- djringfinger, primary creator
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Artist Statement
Loss is a discontinuous story, told from a number of perspectives, over an inconsistent timeline. Loss is the story of ‘her’ and ‘him’ and how they chose to exist and act in worlds close to, but not the same as each other. Loss is set in Tokyo, Paris, New York and Sydney, but doesn’t really concern itself with these cities.
There are a number of recurring motifs in Loss. Black ribbons, dirty scars, sour umeboshi and bright flames. They represent hiding places, consequences, sensations and redemptions, and not in that order, and perhaps not what they seem. Each piece has its own momentum and sense of motion, a contrast between the reflective narration of the characters and the need to move on, forget and get on with life.
