Ferens Art Gallery, Hull / Arnolfini Bristol/ Dartington Arts. 1996 -7
Lines of a Desire is a series of works that emerged from Dyson’s research while artist in residency for the Arts Council of England’s Live Art in Education programme, Hull.
Retracing her memory map of her home town Dyson constructed a number of texts, images and actions that culminated in a performance at Ferens Art Gallery, but went on to inform the later video work with Dean Branagan.
Actions included the licking of a wall to leave a trace of saliva and blood, an action which then translated to video for ‘Sine’.
I sit and pull off the coat so that it falls across the back of the chair.
My bare arms prickle in the cold, there is a draught from somewhere.
I hear children screaming and laughing on the playing fields.
I take the pen uncomfortably in my right hand and raise it to my fore arm.
The muscle is fleshy.
Pressing the nib against the skin I mark a single vertical line down the shoulder.
Swapping hands I repeat the action on the other arm.
I now carry parallel lines.
They are the width of my body.
They are the bench marks.
They are the goal posts.
They are the measures of occupied space.
I lift my foot by raising the hip and tipping the pelvis so that the weight is thrown forward and right, the thigh riding with a pull at the knee.
In turn, the right leg gives a little, stretching the tendons at the back of the calf enabling the left to pull from the waist down.
My foot is suspended for a second with a drooping ankle as all my body weight shifts across the centre of the torso down to the right leg.
It takes it with unconscious tensing of unnamed muscles in the arch of the foot, and a gripping of the toes which is hindered by the wearing of shoes.
At the same time my shoulders fall forward and a slight curvature of the spine allows for the falling sensation to occur within an internally understood control.
The pelvis adjusts for a moment and the left knee reaches it’s peak and without pausing falls from the hiatus of it’s ark in unison with the responsive stressing of the right.
And now the muscles in my right buttock tense a little to begin a mirrored action that runs down the thigh and into the knee of the right as the left leg rests for a second, allowing gravity to create a swinging motion of the body, falling over the left as my balance crosses for an instant and slopes from right to left.
Lying in my bed I listen to the night sounds, beyond the bedroom wall.
My Father’s breathing, not snoring really but breathing loudly into the contrasting cold air from the body warm bed sheet. Or is it the low moan of the fog horn pushing cast waves across the fields behind the house from the river.
I know that the air between the window and the curtain is cold.
I know that if I reach out of bed across the tiny room and push my face between the curtains and push my cheek against the glass that it will be cold and moist and that it will feel like tears as the condensation gathers on my skin and numbs it for a few minutes until the body heat travels in a reverse direction and begins to warm the glass, as it slowly and idescernably slips from the window frame.