Tsusunami : Alecto and Thanatos.
10 years in the darkroom, chemicals unchanged since 2012 (ongoing) Crystals forming on the surfaces. Counting in my head whilst trying to sing along to Chic cos I don’t have a working timer. Hand developed 16mm + 35mm. The circle of hell reserved for untangling celluloid and the pangs of fear before opening the developing tank, every time. Kodak ex-military surveillance 16mm, manufacture apparently denied, acquired in cash in hand transactions.
Excess of emotion as affirmation of life. Never too much. Cinema is fury at 24 times a second. Blink and you’ll miss it, You haven’t seen anything yet, This is all going to end in tears.
My last film was funded by a guardian angel with a case of mistaken identity and a $100 dollar bill. A 10am start for Whipps Cross ending in a brawl at the Grotto.
Productivity fuelled by restless desire for adventure.
Double agents and off duty warlords engage in guerrilla warfare in the gravel pits of Hythe End. The temple walls of Peacehaven (and the busdriver that tried to kidnap us). Lightning in Aldeburgh. A tectonic plate in Fishguard. My former attic studio in Peckham, which in itself was a shrine to Bacchus, is much missed. Memphis in Seaford (heaven on earth). Angelo the horse in Billingshurst - so camera shy that he ran wild, causing Rose to throw herself off him. A rogue electrician encounters the naval of the world in Camber Sands. Multiple terrible situations staged in South Bermondsey. The award winning beach of Leigh on Sea, and the barwoman whose curiosity was spiked by the shovels in my suitcase. Driving to The Broomway crammed in a Volkswagen convertible, at the car park a man plays saxophone into his open car boot and Madonnas La Isla Bonita fills out the mood. Being thrown around the back of a pick-up truck in North Yorkshire while we film Stenberg riding his motorbike into the beyond. Trying to walk towards the moon beam in Dungeness, finding the root of all evil in the sand on the way. I like to be near water, various London haunts contain a personal notoriety.
I believe in making the production of my work as enjoyable as possible.
Simulation gives way to a real mania, everything’s for real. Reality and fiction blur into a delusional non-time. Use of Instinct. Tyrants on the ash heap of history. On the warpath, lie down and be counted. A pavilion of predators, a species of terror, nostalgic for the dark ages.
“One must become firm and unshakeable enough that the existence of the world of civilization finally appears uncertain. It is useless to respond to those who are able to believe in this world and find their authorization in it. If they speak it is possible to look at them without hearing them, and even if we look at them, to only “see” that which exists far behind them. We must refuse boredom and live only on that which fascinates.” Georges Bataille – The Sacred Conspiracy
Still to come in 2016 is a SLaroche Tarot card deck, a film and sculpture installation in September at Public Exhibitions and screenings of various features about evil people doing terrible things.
WRITING FOR SACRIFICE ISSUE OF LINE MAGAZINE
Self immolating warriors know about sacrifice. Vexed; Chasing justice chasing notoriety chasing CNN. At loggerheads with Ogoun. Reweaving the tapestry of justice into a tabernacle of terror. Lone gun tragedy No deities, Living relics are so over. Egomaniac crusaders hellbent on skinning the lunacy off the lunatics. I'll know everything about sacrifice when the fates throw their good hand on my grave. SL