(The Introduction)
At some point of our lives we all seek to connect with the past, with stories so seductive, it pains us to hear that they are but mere fiction, projections of some story teller’s imagination. But what if we could make them real, not necessarily understand them, but experience them?
The scope of the project lies in a dangerous investigation, seeking to create a highly experiential space that uses myth as a starting point and driving force, blurring the border between fiction and reality. How do you speculate or create a physical space rooted in narrative, and by that I do mean “story-telling”? How do you articulate base architectural elements, and charge them with anthropomorphic qualities? The exploration will occur at three different stages, scales and realms…
The Myth as Characters
The Myth as a Collection
The Myth as a Space
(The Manifesto)
The ineffable.
The ephemeral
The impermanent.
The myth is all of these things
And yet it is also
The universal
The everlasting
The truth.
I welcome you to a space
A cabinet filled with curiosities
That will take you away
To somewhere long forgotten.
A place for meditation,
With no preconceived purpose,
No manual,
No rules.
Synaesthesia.
The dimension of the unknown.
It is the physical and the real
But at the same time
the fantastical and the surreal
there is no logic
for there is only the empirical
when the winds whisper
stories of a time untold.
There was once a land
Roamed by the old Gods and the new
Some have called it Olympus
Others, the realm of the mighty
I do not know where it is
Or who lives there now,
For all I remember are the stories
Of what once was
Of the creatures and their myths
The living
And the dead.
Oh Hyacinth,
How beautiful you once were,
But your beauty was the death of you
Poisoning Apollo’s heart with jealousy,
All you got in return was one blow
And that was that.
And it is a funny thing
That while some lie on their deathbeds
Others dance on their grave.
Oh beautiful Muses,
Those that you inspired
Will forever be grateful
And your legacy shall never die.
But what of those that are lost
And that we shall never see again?
The myths that are forgotten
Or just buried away…
For this is why we must treasure
What is left, and let it live on
Long after we are gone.
Oh Theseus,
There you are,
Do not hide my dear friend,
There is nothing to run from anymore
But the ghost of your own shadow
Oh, how amusing this all is,
Don’t you find?
To delve into a realm
So different yet
So akin to our own.
With but one gateway,
To separate us from them
Me from you.
The realm of the Gods
The stage for the Gods
A stage set for characters
A cabinet that houses the characters
A cabinet of curiosities…
What remains
Are but remnants of the past
Artefacts and ruins
Charged with stories to be told
Vessels
Waiting to be unlocked
Yet Time can be so cruel
And appearances only fool
For Theseus
While I can barely see the pathways
You once traversed
I can still feel the golden lace
You left behind
(laugh)
And what a funny toy
You have become Bifröst,
Yes.. I still recognise you,
For your engravings
Are unmistakable.
And though submerged deep within
I can still see your face Calliope
As those of your other eight sisters,
You still have not lost your wit
or dance.
And of course I haven’t forgotten you,
Hyacinth.
Nor have I forgotten the disc
That put an end to your life.
Rest in peace dear friend.
I see the winds still whisper
Stories of a time untold
Of forms that were never meant
To be understood
But experienced
Poet, my dear friend
Whilst you sulk in the death
Of my human lives
Do not despair for
My realm is still very much alive
Though the walls of my forrtess
Are but the ground you now walk on
And the messengers of the air
Mere canopies above your head
There is still a land
Call it a folly, a playhouse, or a fantasy
It is a space
And I give you this space
To dance on.
