Tag: Cica Ghost

Burning is the title of Cica Ghost’s latest region-wide build, which opened on Sunday, January 15th. It is a piece which stands in contrast to several of her recent builds in that it is of a darker tone and style. Under a lowering, cloud-heavy sky, lit by a distant sunset, a town burns. The land around it is scorched and aflame, ashen tree trunks, bereft of branches and leaves, point to the heavy sky like gnarled, accusative fingers.

Within the town, the tall buildings are charred, their pain blistered and blackened as flames lick doorways and windows. Some walls carry some of Cica’s usually light and happy stick figures, which here are cast in a new role as poignant reminders that this was once a happier place. A single bridge spans what might be the parched bed of a vanished body of water, offering a way into – or perhaps an escape route out of – the conflagration.

The who, what, how and why of the fire’s origin are not revealed. The burning landscape and buildings are an open page on which we can write our own view of what has occurred. However, with all that is going on in the physical world, coupled with the general presentation of Burning, it tends to cause the name Aleppo to spring to mind. So is Burning perhaps a political commentary?

Possibly. But before we decide or judge, Cica provides a possible clue to interpreting the work. It comes in the form of a quote: time is the fire in which we burn. It’s part of a line from  a 1938 poem by Delmore Schwartz entitled, Calmly We Walk Through This April’s Day (also sometimes called For Rhoda), which is by coincidence, a poem I know quite well. In it, Schwartz records how we go about our daily lives largely unaware of the uncontrollable passage of time and the fact that, with every moment, we are closer to our own deaths and the deaths of those we love. From childhood through adulthood, we are so often caught within the minutiae of our lives that we lose track of all that is really important – or should be; only in our closing years do we realise what has happened – by which time all may lie burnt by time.

So is Cica presenting us with a philosophical piece with Burning? “I didn’t know about the poem,” she told me, “But I came across the line while searching for quotes about fire, and it fitted what I wanted to say.”

The quote in question attributed the line as coming from a character in the movie Star Trek Generations, hence why Cica didn’t make the connection. However, she has perfectly captured the tone and meaning of Schwartz’s poem as a whole, from the melancholy through to the way in which we do hurry through our lives – as exemplified by the visitors Caitlyn and I sat and watched from one of several perches in the installation (hover your mouse around to find them) as they hurried back and forth through the buildings and trees before vanishing.

That Cica has captured all of the nuance within Calmly We Walk…. may have been serendipitous, spinning outward from that one line from the poem, but that doesn’t matter. Serendipity is often the cousin to artistic expression, and the pairing of the installation with the entire poem broadens our understanding and appreciation of Burning. It also perhaps sits with that image of Aleppo which pops into the mind when first arriving. Schwartz wrote his poem shortly before the outbreak of World War 2, a time when towns and cities burned and lives  – and generations – were shattered; thus another layer of poignancy is added to the installation.

SLurl Details

• Burning (Aggramar, rated:  Moderate)

And if you’re ever feeling lonely just look at the moon,
Someone, somewhere is looking right at it too.

So goes the little verse which has found its way into all corners of the Internet over the last few years, and now frames Cica Ghost’s latest full region installation, Moonlight, which opened on Thursday, April 14th, replacing Strawberryland (which you can read about here).

This is another wonderfully evocative piece guaranteed to delight the eye and tickle the imagination. Sandwiched between teal sea and sky upon a rocky island thatched with tall stalks of wind-blown grass, sits a quintet of Cica’s quirky narrow houses. Immediately recognisable, they give an instant feeling of familiarity to admirers of Cica’s work, together with a suggestion of continuity with some of her earlier pieces.

This is a place wrapped in magic: a crescent Moon reclines overhead, eyes closed as if asleep, kept company by a little gathering of pulsating stars which add their light to the landscape below.

Nor is the Moon the only one caught in slumber: across the rooftops of the houses stand night-gowned figures, eyes closed, their presence apparently the result of sleepwalking. Below them, stardust drifts over the surrounding grass and between the houses, perhaps the cause of all this slumber.

While the little verse tells us that when lonely, we need only look at the Moon and know we’re sharing the view with another, somewhere, one little girl has taken things a step further. She has managed to cross the gap between her rooftop and the Moon, and now sits upon his chin as he sleeps, her head bowed even as her faithful cat attempts to gain her attention.

The cat appears to be one of only two inhabitants of the island to be awake; the other being a gangly giraffe ambling incongruously allow the shoreline, somnambulant residents oblivious to its presence.

Should you find the stardust drifting through the region causes a little drowsiness, or if exploring the hamlet and the surrounding landscape leaves you a little tired, you can always hop onto one of the beds which drift through the air, some perhaps escaped from the houses after their erstwhile occupants found their way to the rooftops. With both sitting and reclined poses, the beds offer a relaxing way to drift across the landscape and enjoy all it has to offer.

I’ve always enjoyed filming Cica’s work, and while time doesn’t always permit me the luxury of doing so, Moonlight brought to mind the lyrics of Rogers and Hart’s 1934 song Blue Moon, together with Cybill Shepherd’s rendition of the song from 1985. So once that was in my head, I had to put a little film together. I hope you enjoy it :).

SLurl Details

• Moonlight (Rated: Moderate)

Living In A Bowl is the title of Cica Ghost’s latest installation, which opened on May 10th. It presents the visitor with a tropical island where almost everything is on a gigantic scale: flowers stand taller than an avatar, their delicate heads large enough to offer shade from the sun; coconuts the size of a man hang from palms and gigantic wooden-framed tanks and enormous fish bowls tower over the landscape, holding huge fish and seahorses within their watery confines.

At first, this might seem some giant’s idea of cruelty to fish; the tanks are all placed within view of the oceans from whence these curious fish may have come, almost as though to taunt them. Indeed, the huge glass bowl with its seahorses appears to have been intentionally placed on a rise in one corner of the island, as if daring its captives to perhaps try and unseat it and so gain their freedom in the open waters below.

But are these fish even aware of their circumstance? They drift in their tanks and bowls, in ones and twos, seemingly completely unperturbed by their situation, their movements languid and almost hypnotic as they float over and between the ornaments placed in their tanks – some of which would pass for a modest house for you and I.

Are they the observed, or the observers? There is a serenity about them which suggests that perhaps they know more than we might imagine – or equally, that they are content in their ignorance. And what of their fossilised brethren scattered across the sandy landscape?  What do they say to us – or to the fish drifting in their tanks?

If all this sounds disturbing – it’s not. Quite the reverse in fact; the sound of the waves lapping on the shore, the gentle song of birds in their air together with the odd plaintive call of a gull, all combine with the gentle undulations of the glass-encased fish and soft swaying of the palms in the wind, to created a soothing feeling. The entire effect is, frankly, tranquil and further enhanced by the audio stream, a beautiful selection of music that had me exploring the island to a gentle, lyrical piano and then to soft a cappela Georgian chanting. Little wonder that those on the region with me all appeared to be rooted in contemplation and lost in the music and the motion of the fish.

Such is the peace offered in this strange, other-worldly environment, that I found myself drawn to the watchtower sitting on a little hill in the north-east corner of the island, and there sit down and watch the fish, the music washing over me.

Living In A Bowl will be open for the next few weeks, and is well worth a visit.

Related Links

• Living in a Bowl (Rated: Moderate)

 

 

 

Balloons is Cica Ghost’s latest installation at Wondering Dew, where it replaces her wonderfully atmospheric Ruins, which I wrote about here. Having officially opened on Sunday, April 12th, Balloons is a similarly atmospheric piece, although in a somewhat different manner.

From the landing point, you look out over a low-lying landscape which undulates gently. Flowers and grass grow tall here, and a lone tree stands on the coast. In the distance stands a city, but a city that’s most unusual in form; rather than rising up into the sky, the tall buildings are bent and oddly deformed, stooping back towards the ground on which they stand. Fog or smoke enshrouds them, and giant cobwebs lay stretched between them, giving the city a neglected feel.

It is something that is seemingly lost on the denizens of this strange place. While most of them stand in the fields surrounding their city, few appear to be paying it any attention; their focus is instead on the balloons bobbing gently in the breeze, strings hanging tantalising down, most of them just out of reach.

Most, but not all; some have clearly dropped down to within reach of outstretched hands, to be grasped firmly and, whether it be with shocked surprise or sudden pleasure, have then lifted the ones grasping them up into the air, carrying them on the eddying currents of air so they float over the crowd and drift between the city’s curled towers.

Flying in this way is obviously a delight, something several of those left on the ground clearly wish to experience. To this end, some have been enterprising in their attempts, calling upon step ladders to help increase their ability to grasp passing strings as ballloons float overhead as other watch and point. Such is the wonder of these balloons, that even the bed-ridden reach longingly for a passing string and the hope of … what? Freedom? Flight? Escape?

And what of us, those who stand and watch, alongside the island’s cats as they look on mournfully, as neglected as the city itself? What are we to make of this scene? Is this perhaps a commentary on the dangers of obsession? The wilting fingers of the city’s tired towers with the shimmering cobwebs spread between them, perhaps a warning against becoming too focused on a single thing, be it an activity, object or something else?

Or are the balloons themselves a comment on our quest for freedom, to be able to soar above the problems of everyday life as presented by the shadowy city, its cobwebs symbolic of the many things which can obscure our view or even bind us in the mundane? The artist doesn’t seek to enlighten us; instead she leaves us to interpret things as we choose.

What she does provide, however, is a balloon which visitors can obtain for free at the landing point, allowing them to experience what it is like to float above the ground and beneath the sky like the citizens of this strange land. I won’t promise it’ll help you decide what is going on in this deceptively beautiful land; but I can say that floating around on the end of a piece of strong can be a lot of fun, and it’s easy to see why the locals enjoy it!

Bolloons should remain open through until the end of April, so why not hop over and see what’s going on for yourself?

Related Links

• Balloons SLurl (Rated: Moderate)

Ruins is Cica Ghost’s newest build. It presents a wonderfully evocative scene, with the broken shells of buildings rising like the battlements of an ancient castle from a mottled scrub land. It’s an enthralling, enigmatic build which, for me, bought to mind an old Anglo Saxon poem, The Ruined City, which I offer here in modern verse, accompanied by images of Cica’s work.

The Ruined City

Wondrously wrought and fair its wall of stone,
Shattered by Fate! The castles rent asunder,
The work of giants moldered away!
Its roofs are breaking and falling; its towers crumble
In ruin.

Plundered those walls with grated doors —
Their mortar white with frost. Its battered ramparts
are shorn away and ruined, all undermined
By eating age.

The mighty men that built it,
Departed hence, undone by death, are held
Fast in the earth’s embrace. Tight is the clutch
Of the grave, while overhead of living men
A hundred generations pass away.

Long this red wall, now mossy gray, withstood,
While kingdom followed kingdom in the land,
Unshaken beneath the storms of heaven — yet now
Its towering gate hath fallen. . . .

Radiant the mead-halls in that city bright,
Yea, many were its baths. High rose its wealth
Of hornèd pinnacles, while loud within
Was heard the joyous revelry of men —
Till mighty Fate came with her sudden change!

Wide-wasting was the battle where they fell.
Plague-laden days upon the city came;
Death snatched away that mighty host of men….

There in the olden time full many a thane,
Shining with gold, all gloriously adorned,
Haughty in heart, rejoiced when hot with wine;
Upon him gleamed his armour, and he gazed
On gold and silver and all precious gems;
On riches and on wealth and treasured jewels,
A radiant city in a kingdom wide.

There stood the courts of stone. Hot within,
The stream flowed with its mighty surge. The wall
Surrounded all with its bright bosom; there
The baths stood, hot within its heart. . . .

Related Links

• Ruins SLurl (Rated: Moderate)