A bicycle and a piece of sky*

Big up the man like Turrell. It’s like a walk-in Rothko, a bath of colour where the attendants keep sponging you down until you’ve got washerwomen’s hands, only you’re wrinkly due to colour saturation, not water. Well, there are attendants, although unfortunately they don't sponge you down. The first piece requires the eyes adjust as you gradually descend into the room, the other senses lagging behind but just as keenly involved when the piece reveals itself. The colour infuses the room like a virgin teabag introduced to hot water, and it does feel physical; the purple tingling on bare arms. Though it could equally be the other punters fumbling into you as they make there way around the room. The colour is a presence though; people whisper as if a headmistress is present, they approach the edge as if they might suddenly topple off and generally edge around like they’re in Purple’s house and don’t want to displace anything for fear of being rebuked. Gazers grope around at the light end of the room, trying to capture some colour in their palm.

The second features slippers, but they’re the sort of slippers a factory-worker would be issued, flimsy static-ridden bags, not the enveloping pairs of comfort that BHS purvey. The slippers are meant to keep the white space-age loading-bay pristine, as it then opens up to a vast pink vista that extends indefinitely. You’re not meant to dangle your legs of the bottom, as it would spoil the vertiginous sense of being on the brink. It’s what I’d do though if I could sit on the edge of a 2001-esque space port.

The third is red and features a corner. I spoilt it by missing the attendant’s introductory warning and subsequently stepping into it. It’s never the same after that. From the edge the colour spills out, filing the pores, but given licence to roam, standing in the centre, you can no longer reach out. “Only what is seen sideways sinks deep”.

The skyscape squats in an old deer shelter, presumably the equivalent of a bus shelter for delinquent deer to deface and terrorise. The square room is encased in concrete cladding, forming a solid ledge for viewers, riddled with guttering at its edges and feet. It is topped by the ceiling, a large square omitted, framing the sky. Why do we need our attention drawing to something that is permanently hovering above us? Why does the artist feel the need to chop the sky into digestible chunks, like we’re children incapable of chewing? Can confining something, giving it borders and limits, make it more beautiful?

p.s. if the fizz-wizz is out there, would (s)he please identify themselves in the comment box.

Jason Forrest - Skyrocket Saturday (from Shamelessly Exciting. Ken and apfrod crew actually went on a Sunday, and so similar viewings cannot be guaranteed if you go on a Saturday. Or indeed, on a skyrocket, although I doubt they'll allow one of those on a footpath, or even a bridleway.)

* these were Andre Derain's last words when asked if there was anything he wanted.