Slightly cracked asphalt texture seamless

#Slightly cracked asphalt texture seamless crack#

Folding forwards to future hardness when soft sands are ground down, becoming )))asphalt, concretes, epic sheets of glass(((ДЄ human spots me from the shore, wades in. The pleated surface of the sea ~r e f r a c t s~ me slightly - fluting my edges. We move together, affect together but shift too in our own dimensional textures. )))Wrestling softness((( flattening it, squishing its bulbous rounds into one another horizontally, like a balloon animal being run through a photocopier. The sky hangs low, inches from the surface of the sea, pressing down on a small waterspout with all its blue. Pushing through porous membranes - translucent, syrup-soaked papers - it skewers firmament then ocean on a length of newly-dawned sun. Below me, microscopic krill and algae simmer.ДЄ shaft of light rips through air and continues through water until it touches the sand. The repeat of the wave pattern )))l u l l s((( me. I am The Originary Coil in the early hours.

#Slightly cracked asphalt texture seamless crack#

But the marrow of it is there, sitting tight in beaded form, waiting for a crack of daylight behind the lips. The first thought distorted somewhat from the feeding forward, the rotations and the drying out. As it reaches the final throat it is lighter than it began, honeycombed and processed. With each rotation the bead travels on - gradually softening as it moves, absorbing moistures that soak the singular thought, and then drying, aerated by fresh gusts that enter through porous chambers. Tracing the trajectory of the radial bones - one way and then the other. The coil tips and turns like the bulb of a glass of dark liquid in your hand in the evening. The bead rocks in a planetary motion in the central chamber and, as the hours elapse, from this first hour of night to the last, it rolls along soft tunnels, lulled by the waves. Echoless and tightly packed with the resonances that come from the sightless deep, and from the first colours of time and from the singular pressing thought of the Ammonite. They are squeezed from the pressures of oceanic depth, hardened into beads of very pure, very clear speech. The first sounds are formed in the tight centre of the coil - held in its whorls like a waspвЂ™s nest - spongy to the touch, a woven, flaky kind of fabric. Gritty words from a small, dry mouth yawned out many moons ago. Or rubbed between fingers and somehow transcribed.

If they are not swept away by the tide they will be collected, millions of years later and trapped in amber spheres like ornaments to be arranged. First words crumble out and lie piecemeal on the sands. Salty crackle in the morningвЂ™s first yawn.

Voiced by Madeleine Stack, Amy Lay-Pettifer, Fer Boyd, Alice Channer and Leyla Pillai. Written, composed and produced by SHELL LIKE. Led by writers Amy Lay-Pettifer and Fer Boyd, SHELL LIKE has developed over three years to encompass deep listening events, commissioning and producing, experiments in exhibition and event formats, and co-authored experimental writing and sound works. SHELL LIKE creates a dedicated space for sound work and focuses on the importance of listening - particularly as a group - as a vital social and political act. Repeatedly scrunch and stretch it, attempting to pleat its skin. While listening, hold an item of clothing you regularly wear, preferably one that is patterned. Look to the sky, and make circles in a circular vessel containing oil or another thick substance. Note the time of day - be it dawn, high noon, low afternoon, dusk, or deep night.Physical Instruction For Remote Listening This audio work was designed to accompany Alice Channer's sculptures in the Lewis's building, part of Liverpool Biennial 2021: The Stomach & the Port. Beginning in lapping primordial excavations, zooming close-up to porous rock surfaces, tuning in to dialogues between whirlpools and following the libidos of a human-ish body as it traverses the city - the audio imagines different shapes for the body to rest in - new coils with a hole for your skeleton - that echo the sculpturesвЂ™ own capacity for horizontal expansion and s-t-r-e-t-c-h. FIRST BIRTH occupies warm shallow waters, expansive sands, rockpools and motorway sidings, voices passing between human, non-human and elemental bodies.