Lizz Brady is an artist based in the UK who manages to obsessively work with whatever materials come her way. Recently she has been developing a stockpile of drawings and text with perhaps the intention that eventually she will begin to be displaced and live within her flat with every surface covered in the taped-up scrawls from drawings, photos, and journals. Themes Brady explores are materiality, perception, mental health, fractured narratives, and obsession.
The Map.
I’m standing on a life-sized map, the road was soft, torn slightly at the edges, the trees are triangular and the route through the street was painted red. I bent over and smoothed the creases to see where I was, ‘Ambleside.’ I took a photo of myself next to the light blue pond, my face had traces of Africa, sitting comfortably below Europe and if I screwed up my face, America was much closer to the UK. I looked back to the floor and noticed that a thick yellow marker had been drawn in front of me, leading into the woodland. I was quite wary of following it, but the trees seemed encouraging, the branches twisting into hands, knobbly knuckles and wrinkled fingers, beckoning me to join them. The rustle of the leaves whispered, reassuring me. I glanced over my shoulder and started to walk towards the forest, the trees still whispering and signalling to me. I reached the edge of the woodland and looked within; I could hardly see anything due to how dark it was. The only thing visible was the branches of the closest trees and further than that was just a black mass. There was no footpath anymore so I looked for a way to enter, with no avail, I moved some of the lower braches and crawled through but stopped suddenly when I heard a loud crack. I stood and craned my neck to see over the leaves which blocked my view. The sounds were getting louder and more vicious; I could hear screams now, the cracking becoming faster and more brutal. The forest was being crumpled, trees were being snapped like lollypop sticks, they were crying out as they fell and broke into pieces. The map, it was being folded in half, back to its original state, and the world was being destroyed. I ran as fast as I could away from the folding landscape, I ran and I ran but of course, I couldn’t get away. I stopped and looked at the sky as it darkened and I saw the edge of the map as it crushed down on me.
Bridge (excerpt).
He grimaced as he thought about the people who have come and gone from his life, the ones who wanted to help but obviously couldn’t, the ones who didn’t give a shit and just wanted the sex or the drugs that he happily gave away for free. The ones who wanted to change him, make him see the world the way they did, ‘the better way,’ as he had so often been told. The ones he had loved, with all his soul, heart and body, the one who had poured water on everything he believed, that tiny spark that was once there, it once burned bright, apprehensively waiting for more logs to be added, to turn it all into a roaring fire, intense heat, and extreme light. No one could have looked away, not one person, they would all stare as he walked down the street, a fiery mass of excitement, belief, determination and courage. But she put it out as quickly as she discovered it was there.
Deer.
He stood in front of the light bulb and gazed at his shadow that lay flat on the wall in front of him. He tilted his head to the right, and then to the left, keeping his eyes on the shadow which followed his movements. He put his finger to the wall, and traced the contours of his body, turning slightly to deform the shapes. He slowly raised one arm above his head and made the shadow imitate a deer’s antler; he brought his other arm up and made another antler appear on the wall. He smiled; keeping his arms raised and used his eyes to trace an imaginary line over the silhouettes. He closed his eyes and dreamt that he was galloping through the woodland, breathing in the evening air heavily through his nostrils, chasing the other deer, throwing his glorious head back and demanding the attention he deserved. He opened his eyes and let his arms fall back to his sides, looking back at his shadow, which was now just another faceless form.
20:40 Me: This is good, keep with it.
20:49 Lizz: Cheers I hope you mean it and not just being nice!!!
20:59 Me: haha no, although i feel a bit like ass. please tell me I'm not getting sick again!
21:36 Lizz: Oh god. You need a new immune system!!! X
21:38 Lizz: You get it alright? Xxx
18:35 Me: No let me look at my computer cuz my phone is being weird today
18:40 Me: Yeah very cool, sorry wouldn't display on my phone for some reason! keep with it!
18:44 Lizz: It's ok you need a new phone!! Thanks I will do, guna fill the wall!!
18:45 Me: good plan!
18:53 Lizz: As I'm going along with it, I'm starting to think its like my life, using my drawing and photographs from life etc. and writing from my journals...
http://itslizz88.tumblr.com
Brady and Coleman:
Me: For the last couple of years Lizz Brady was one half of artist team Brady and Coleman (roughly until late 2012). Over several months last year I watched as the collaborative duo divided a historic medieval warehouse into a warren of interconnecting passageways, uneven flooring, and doors leading into themselves, whilst filming each viewer as they attempted to progress through the tangle of structures. Over the course of the installation they managed to evoke a sort of a Winchester Mystery House approach, perhaps Big Edie and Little Edie at Grey Gardens indulging in a bit of DIY, with even a hint of Saw.
The collaborative practice of Brady and Coleman explores how individuals react differently to the same situation.
By combining psychological and architectural structures, Brady and Coleman specifically design separate installations to challenge the individual’s own perception and reaction to a superficial experience.
http://www.bradyandcoleman.com
'Identity Unknown' 2012
Video and Digital Projector.
'Threes a Crowd' 2011. Creating a fictional world within a realistic environment.
The differing thought processes of both artists are emphasised by the contrasting views of reality and the ability to distinguish between the real and a fictional world. These opposing views create a tension within the artist collaboration which ultimately has an effect upon both the success and the destructive nature of the developing partnership as it unfolds.
http://www.lizzbrady.com/
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p.s. Hey. Visual/multimedia artist and d.l. Scunnard has an artist whom he would like to introduce you to today. Having already spent time with Lizz Brady's work while assembling this post, I'm already sold, and I hope/suspect you might be too. Please find out if you are at as much length as you have to spare today, thank you, and my sincerest props and gratitude to Scunnard for making my blog the launching pad. ** Misanthrope, I will and do hope for the most reasonable heads amongst your job's higher ups, whatever happens. If you're sufficiently knuckled down, the months will be like rabbits, and your novel will behave like a magician's hat. ** James, Thanks, man, and ha ha. Monday was a few degrees less than awesome, but today might make up for it, we'll see. May your Tuesday eschew disappointment. ** David Ehrenstein, I didn't even bother watching online clips from this year's Oscars. That might be a first. Your French embassy-laden shebang sounds like it was a bunch of fun. I found that Voice review of the last RP film very unconvincing, but we will see. ** Grant maierhofer, Hi, Grant! I read your Mishima piece yesterday, and it's really, really excellent. Everyone, you owe it to yourself to go over to HTMLGIANT and read Grant's very smart, interesting review/think piece on the just-published bio of Yukio Mishima. Seriously, click this. Thank you kindly about my envelope stack, sir. And for the chapbook(s) that are winging their way to me. I'm heady with excitement to read it. As must be others around here, so let me redouble your generous offer. Everyone, before the p.s. leaves the writer and d.l. Grant for the day, his newly published and hotly anticipated chapbook could be yours for the non-price of a simple email. Here he is, and I urge you to accept his no-brainer offer: 'i've just printed the last 100 issues of POOR ME I HATE ME PUNISH ME COME TO MY FUNERAL. anybody on here who'd like one -- basically a collaborative chapbook between myself and the artist KIL; experimental poetry, imagery, etc. (i will mail you them for free) -- email me at maierhofer dot grant at gmail dot com for copies.' Do it, dudes! I hope your Monday was really, really not terrible. ** Rewritedept, Hi, Chris. Oh, man, I don't even know what to say. I guess try to see it as a cathartic thing, a forced but somehow meaningful de-cluttering of your path ahead, or something like that. I don't know. You know it'll be okay in the long run, and try to remember that, and hugs from here, and, yeah, fuck, hang in there. ** Ken Baumann, Ken! Right, action-specific pride. Localized and then supercharged pride. I can't see a downside to that. The problem with Parisian Mexican food, in my experience to date is that, one, while it looks and feels right or almost right, and while it fills the hole of Mexican food-related need, it's a bit too bland, and even the hot sauces they provide to increase the food's taste ante are way too unhot. Basically, you need to get yourself a decent bottle of hot sauce and bring it along in your pocket. The other thing that I personally am not so into is that they seem to think cactus isa standard ingredient of Mexican food, and they automatically include it in most of the dishes, and that gets a little old. Other than that, they're slowly figuring it out. Yours, me. ** Bill, How did it go? Did you mesh your sniffling into the spectacle in an intriguing way? Hope. ** Billy Lloyd, Pictionary with Lego, okay, yes, I want said game. They must sell it here. Will look. Pizza Hut in Paris, ha ha, oh, man, next time you come I will lead you not only to the two Moaz joints but also to at least a handful of good, inexpensive eateries, including pizza places with actually edible-plus-pleasureable pizza, if you like. Ooh, new song snippet, hold on. Wow, that's really beautiful, Mr. Lloyd. In fact, I'm going to imbed that thing down below to give everyone here an easy way to find that out for themselves. Everyone, do you see that imbedded Soundcloud widget thing down at the bottom of the p.s.? It contains a 1:47 snippet of a new song-in-progress by the brilliant music artist and d.l. Billy Lloyd, and it's very beautiful, and please go hear it for the benefit of your day if not much, much more. Whoa, about the BBC thing. That's, like, big, isn't it? Congrats! Sweet! ** Pilgarlic, Hi, man. My issue with Bercy is that it's too gigantic. It's an indoor sports stadium where they hold the biggest, most popular concerts. A la, say, The Staples Center in LA. The size and acoustics are the problem, but I'm probably going to hit that concert anyway. ** _Black_Acrylic, Soon envelopes will be as much of a specialty item as LP covers, I guess. Sad. Much more romantic than an email, yeah, I agree. You get something from the beloved that has his/her DNA, fingerprints, handwriting, and usually even saliva on it. Emails can't compete with that no matter how stuffed they are with attachments. ** Cobaltfram, Cool, very, very cool, re: the success and possible boding well, man. Quiet birthdays are okay and sane or something. My novel is at war with me, or I'm at war with it. It's going to need radical work if it's going to be close to what I had wanted it to be and/or if it's going to become what it would need to be to warrant existence. I'm mostly trying to be a lot less protective of it and weighing possible radical moves, including one that would change it into a very different thing. So, I'm fiddling, chopping, and letting my ambitions run wild re: it as best I can. Thank you for asking. ** 5STRINGS, Wild life there, dude. Maybe some caution is in order. I don't know. Elton John makes my skin crawl, not to mention my ears. Growing up with his product everywhere on the radio was hell. Oh, personal, emotional fears. I've got a lot of those. They would require many long, complicated sentences to characterize, so I think I'll save that for my inner voice or whatever. ** Steevee, Sounds like a smart plan to me. ** Sypha, I thought you might dig the 'Death Note' bit, cool. And I wish for you to feel better with all the wishing power within me, my friend. ** Postitbreakup, Hm, interesting, about the new job. That indoctrination technique sounds kind of ingenious in a way. I don't know. So far so, good, basically, and here's hoping the grind works for you. It can, I think. ** Paradigm, Hi, Scott. I've moved from dust relocating to wondering if I should get rid of most of the furnishings. Progress, maybe. Figuring out whether something you've written is poignant is really tough. You have to maintain some kind of faith in your impulse or something. I hope you suss out the imagery construction. For me, that would be the hardest part, I think, but my instincts re: devising visuals are pretty limited. Curious to hear how the Cat Power show is. I haven't seen her live since her shows were minor nervous breakdowns with musical soundtracks, which were fascinating. But now I think she's all pro and showman-like on stage, isn't she? The new Nick Cave didn't do much for me, but, like I said, I'm only a sporadic, non-diehard fan. Thank re: the post, and the best of the best with your images. ** Bollo, Hi, J. The snow was cool. It has vamoosed now, which is strangely okay too. Those books do look very intriguing, yes. Hm, bookmarked. Thanks about my stack, buddy. Have a day full of mastery. ** Done. Please see what Lizz Brady is all about, thank you, and maybe tell Scunnard what you think, if you don't mind. Would be cool. See you tomorrow.