new territories, Scotland’s International Festival of Live Arts, presents a diverse and innovative programme of works by some of the most talented and influential artists from around the globe.
Produced by New Moves International (NMI), new territories launched on February 11th this year with the National Review of Live Art (NRLA) which ran for five days until February 15th. The success of the NRLA has grown year on year and it is now Europe’s longest running live art festival.
Past artists in residence have included Black Market International, Hancock and Kelly, and Anne Seagrave.
Other work at the festival included the world premiere of Franko B's new performance work, I'm Thinking of You, as well as a series of sonic artists which included contemporary Inuit throat singer, Tanya Tagaq, and the always surprising Alexis O'Hara.
Press reviews
For five days, every nook and cranny of Tramway will buzz with a programme of live performance, video, art installation and music that is still the envied leader in the international field of what is newest, bravest and best in hybrid art forms. And it’s all right here on our doorstep.
The Herald Arts, Books and Cinema Magazine, 3 February 2007.
New Territories is a platform to show the world how valuable art’s role can be in society.
Scotland on Sunday, 4 February 2007
We may think of live art as a weird and sometimes wonderful art form not really suited to straight-laced British tastes. In fact, New Territories is one of the world’s leading platforms for live art. Give it a go; you have nothing to lose but your inhibitions.
Sunday Herald, Seven Days, 4 February 2007-02-15
Choose from Contemporary - great for core strength, Street - good for upper body and abs or Tap - get amazing legs fast. All classes take place in Hyndland Primary, Partick and start next week.
Spring is in the air! Don't miss Scottish Ballet at Edinburgh Festival Theatre (April 18th - 21st) or His Majesty's Theatre, Aberdeen (April 26th - 28th).
The bridge has a gap in the middle. Within that gap I stood. The bridge began to collapse around me, landing around my feet but not on me.
The birds of the bridge were unsettled and flew upwards and away from the mess. The fear made them shit and this was the only thing that touched me as the bridge fell.
When the dust had settled I made my way over the rubble to where the road was clear.
I heard this weird groaning noise coming from the drain. I knelt at the drain. Placed my palms on the road and listened for a while.
It sounded like the singing of a sad man. Probably a mad man but definitely sad.
I stood and picked up a large stick. I vigorously stabbed down into the drain until the groaning stopped.
I wiped the dirt off my palms onto my dress and walked away.
A dance performance by Jack Webb and an exhibition of new paintings by Micheal Ball.
Jack Webb (DUNDEE)
Scottish dance artist
“The Colour Of Memory”
Statement:
The Colour Of Memory is a solo exploration of memories, nostalgia, loss,
suicide and intertwines the thoughts and experiences of one man in the space
of one day. Discover the goings on of a lone male in a one off performance
especially reworked for Flat01.
Set in a dark landscape, flowers grow and a television speaks, speaks of
memory..................the colour of memory.
Michael Ball (GLASGOW)
Glasgow based artists exhibits new paintings
“d=sxt”
Statement:
Michael’s work is a hands-on process of editing and altering the products of
the subconscious. Sketches, doodles, REM sleep images and accidents are
re-worked with a pop-product ambition. The work explores its meaning or
intent through the way it is made, and all the decisions taken therein.
Saturday 31st March Evening starts at 7pm - 11pm, Jack performs at 9pm
Flat01
52 Rose Street
Glasgow
Crawling on my elbows without moving anywhere. Just still, leant forward on my elbows and knees. There is a choice, I could hold a basketball with stars on it, or a red baseball cap. I would make this choice at the time. It’s a choice between emptiness or fulfilment, either way I’m into American sports. Heroes and young guns and a trashy machismo money culture.
Money, physicality, weight, emptiness or fulfilment.
You’re a lovely girl and this is my donation to the church. She felt like an angel you could tell. She glowed. I was surprised however that she thought I wanted to know about her donations.
And I was feeling a little peculiar and stumbling around in search of a bottle of gin. All the labels were written in Chinese. I had lost my way.
A clear one seemed a reasonable guess.
Returned to the attic. Approached a mirror and squeezed a painful spot just under my nose. A hole appeared to release a small hard piece of white rock. The rock fell to the floor and I crushed it under my boot. I was surprised at no blood. However there was an obvious slit left on my face from where it had fallen.
I stepped back and looked down at the golden floor. I’d left a little white stain of powder and I enjoyed looking at it for a while.
Save me the label of that perfume on the table so I can remember what made a wreck of me.
Marching around an unknown street sort of dancing to a song about Budapest. Noticing people stare and then become uninterested.
Tonight the music seemed so loud and without pauses.
Carrying on marching to the noise and then I was on the floor, my nose pouring with blood. Felt I’d make it a little more dramatic so sprawled myself across the cobbled surface and laid still.
I thought I heard someone shout ‘hope your enjoying red nose day’ followed by three blown kisses. Other than that there was no contact.
And so I fell asleep and dreamt about phoning home.
The room is all white and is lit up with scattered light bulbs. Some of which hang from the ceiling and some of which stand in table lamps without the shades.
I’m Sitting on a chair. Around the top half of my body is a strip of polythene that has been bound to fit my shape with white gaffa tape. My stomach is exposed and has been painted blue. I am also wearing smart black men’s trousers.
I have thought a lot about how I have nothing to do with explosions and how at the minute I have a lot of time on my hands. I remember how I wanted to be branded and then thought about how ugly burns can look.
Brand new tomorrow.
I walk around the space I am concealed in. I start to think about things like frying an egg on an oil burner. I walk for a little while longer and then stop at one of the walls and begin to paint it grey. It’s not a massive wall and so it doesn’t take too long. I sit back on my chair and look at the grey wall. While sitting there I place some white feathers in frames and cut my finger and toe nails.
The wall is dry and I hang the feathers up and place the clippings on a little shelf. “Discarded tat” I think to myself. And with that leave the space.
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