In This House by Charles Campbell

This post is from part of Charles Campbell's performance text In This House, originally published in Issue 9. To read the whole thing, check out our website at http://karawane.homestead.com.

I will be publishing more things that we have previously featured in the magazine to lead up to our deadline and hopefully inspire you all!

As is frequently the case, the formatting is somewhat different on our blog than in the magazine. Yet another reason to check out our website and look at past editions there!


IN THIS HOUSE

There is no family, but these relations are present and taught.
There is no familiarity, the rooms continually change their functions.
Rooms are gaping holes into which people disappear, and out of which their shadows emerge.
There are walls that serve as conduits for secret communication between strangers.
There are stairs from which people throw themselves in a bid for suicide, or in surprise attacks.
There are light fixtures that serve as gallows and signposts.
There is no welcome mat, the threshold is a barrier and a border.
The doors are barricades, weapons, boundaries and escape hatches.
The people do not live here, they perform a series of shifting occupations.
There are no battle lines, no armies, no command posts, no bullets or bombs.
A human presence is a tactical maneuver in a struggle for space.
It is placid. The newspaper has been read. Sounds of cooking from over there. Television on upstairs. The table has been cleared. Bags are on the floor. Soft footsteps on the stairs. The bed sheets turned. Voices in the street, arguing over a piece of furniture.
Chairs, food, matches, newspaper, a rug, a table, a light bulb, toilet paper, the mail.
Movement across the floor, sounds from the other room, light under the door, tapping at the window, knocking at the door, sitting across the table, hands on a coffee cup, coming in, going out, sitting alone in bed, eating together on the way out the door, looking out the window, peering in the window, watching the walls, talking to the television, cooking for one, sleeping on the couch.
The boundaries between outdoors and inside are unclear, bits of each appear in the other.
The everyday gestures of the home are repeated, but emptied. Their mundane utility replaced with the strategies of the greater world.
Sounds and language float against a heavy silence. The meeting of two individuals is rare, strained, dangerous, and weighted with tactical considerations.
******************

The Temp Job: A Performance Piece from Issue 10 - 2007

The Temp Job: A Performance Piece

The Set Up

This is the original documentation of three out of five days spent on a temp assignment in a major corporation wherein I had virtually no work to do whatsoever. After I had done two books of crossword puzzles and attempted to read a few books, which proved difficult to stay with after 8 hours of sitting in one place under fluorescent lights, I began to write down every time I looked at the clock and how much time was left in my day. On Friday, I began writing down some things about what I was doing at the time.

Documentation

Director and theorist Richard Schechner describes performance as “twice behaved behavior.” What follows here is the “documentation” of the original impetus for this performance—the transcription of my time logs from my temp job. These logs can serve as the basis for a performance, reading, etc. as well as serving as the blueprint or instructions for a newly generated piece.

Theorizing

As Andy Warhol once said, "we figured out how much we thought the audience could take and went about 10 minutes beyond that. Leave them wanting less was always our motto."

The point, of course, of an installation piece such as this is to highlight the passing, often slow, of time and to emphasize both temporality and space. In this case, it is the confining of space and time into a cubicle and a workday.

The Performance

In the performance, a desk should be placed in some public place and the performer should go there eight hours a day, preferably for at least a week.  Every time the performer looks at the clock he or she will say the time out loud and make some kind of repetitive action. Whenever anyone comes near the performance piece, they will be asked "are you the new temp?" When some smart ass says yes, he or she should be "trained" on how to do the performance and then the original performer can take a break.

Thursday

8:20
8:09
7:59
7:40
7:20
6:37
6:10
6:01
4:55
4:39
4:38
4:01
3:43
3;33
3:24
3:22
3:17
3:10
3:09
3:08
3:01
2:44
2:20
2:19
2:15
2:10
2:02
1:57
1:51
1:46
1:40
1:20
1:14
1:11
1:06
1:04
1:00
:55
:39
:37
:36
:33
:24
:21
:19
:15
:14
:10
:07


Friday variation

I left early today, so starting with 8:00 rather than 8:30.

8:04
7:56
7:45
7:44
7:39
7:33 Called to check my bank balance
7:20
7:04
6:54
6:37
6:34
6:33
6:26 Took a bathroom break
6:18 Made a phone call
6:13
6:08 Distributed mail
6:03
5:49 Went to the store to get money and buy a chocolate milk
5:23 Read Skyway News
4:58 Went to the 4th floor to visit old co-workers
4:52
4:43 Talked on the phone
4:35 Spilled water on the message book. Copied over 1 page of phone messages
4:29
4:01 Did the daily crossword puzzles. Could not finish New York Times Puzzle in the Strib. Finished LA Times Puzzle.
3:32
3:30
3:03 Lunch
2:53 Talked to Cheryl on the phone
2:48 Called Aramark about the beeping vending machine
2:43
2:41 Personal phone call
2:29
2:00 Read the Star Tribune Front section
1:44
1:40
1:32
1:02 Hung out with Ryan, former co-worker, in the breakroom. I ate popcorn. He spilled ice on the table and on me.
:51
:39 Copied over my notes from a seminar in December
:38
:21 Had a coughing attack. Had to run to the bathroom. Hacked and spit up a little. Hurt my throat for the rest of the day.
Ish.
:18
:15
:09
:08 Boss told me to go ahead and leave and thanks for covering this week.