Rehearsing the Blind Spot.

Performance.

Open Studio.

The Highline Building, Elephant and Castle.

2018.

 

''it was... my own ability to miss, to always miss, to miss again and again and again. I wanted to carry on, slow        show progress, threads come loose, a rougher bobbly texture. A word wobbles, loses shape, turns warm and soft from being handled too often. Rifling through the mess, the bits and pieces searching for sharp and vivid things.

Ascend, look, return without having seen it - another escapes.

I wanted to be       transparent, no, not quite the right word,  exposition, it started with exposition, that isn’t the right word either –''

 (An unresolved bricolage germinates, a feminine capacity to reproduce. Touching the edge of my visual field, I would like to perform this blind spot.)

Jess Heritage Blind Spot
Jess Heritage Blind Spot

 

 

 

 

I READ SOMEHERE THAT GRAPES ARE VERY GOOD FOR YOUR EYESIGHT. MY GRANDDAD USED TO GROW GRAPES IN HIS GREENHOUSE, I'M NOT SURE IF HE EVER INTENDED TO GROW THEM, BUT HE WAS GROWING OLDER FAST AND PULLING THEM FROM THE GROUND NEVER MADE IT ONTO HIS TO-DO LIST. STILL, A VINE PUSHED UP FROM BENEATH THE TOMATO PLANTS AND PENETRATED EVERY CORNER OF THAT SMALL GLASS BOX UNTIL THEY BECAME SO UNRULY, THEY BROKE THE GLASS AND ATE THE GREENHOUSE WHOLE. THEY WERE A FERAL KIND OF FRUIT, ANCHORED IN AND FULL OF PIPS. MY GRANDDAD WAS BLIND FOR AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER, I’M TOLD HE LOST HIS SIGHT SHORTLY AFTER A CATARACT OPERATION, WHEN IN THE BATH A BAR OF SOAP SHOT FROM HIS SLIPPERY HAND AND UP INTO THE SOCKET, AND KNOCKED THE SIGHT STRAIGHT OUT OF HIM. HIS SIGHT, FALLING DOWN THROUGH THE MILKY WATER, SLIPPED FROM BETWEEN HIS FINGERS, SETTLED ON THE BASE OF THE TUB, AND PERISHED AS IT SWIRLED DOWN AND INTO THE DRAIN.

WHEN I WAS VERY YOUNG, I HAD THE CAPACITY TO TURN MYSELF COMPLETELY TRANSPARENT. I WOULD OBLITERATE MYSELF, BECOME SUDDENLY UNSEEABLE BY HOLDING A SMALL OBJECT IN FRONT OF MY EYES, OR DUCKING BEHIND A PIECE OF FURNITURE THAT COULD OBSCURE MY VIEW. TABLE EDGES, CUSHIONS, SMALL FACE SIZED MATERIAL THINGS MADE ME DISAPPEAR. MY ‘NOT SEEING’ BECAME A ‘NOT BEING SEEN’. A TACTFUL BLINDING. NAÏVE SUBMISSION. A CLOAKED ‘BLIND SPOT’ THAT NEVER ONCE CONCEALED ME FROM THE OUTSIDE, I NEVER REALLY APPEARED TO VANISH. I OBSCURED MY VIEW OF YOU AND SO, I THOUGHT, I BECAME OBSCURED TOO. ALL I HAD TO DO WAS MOVE MY HANDS AWAY, AND ‘SEEING’ RUSHED IN, FLOODED BY SIGHT, ORGANISED LIKE DISHWATER DOWN AN OPEN DRAIN.