艺术家声明

我还记得荡秋千时的感觉——在那一刹那，我们会多么努力地工作，被甩到最远的地方，就在不可避免地向下和向后拉之前，我们会感到暂时摆脱了重力，当我们的手松开链子，我们的躯干抬起时，我们会感到悬浮的轻微打嗝。

离开座位。我们在航行，所以在运动中时间停止了，然后突然又向我们冲过来。我们在操场上排队，试着触摸天空，

单独在一起。暂停在流动性的文字，阅读也使我们行动起来。我们沉浸在打开的书页之间，沉浸在纸张的质感和线条的规律性中的。

有人大声朗读的节奏和气息把我们带到了一个遥远的世界。当我还是个孩子的时候，我可以花几个小时依偎在祖母温暖的身体上，听她读书，听她翻页的手发出的沙沙声，看外面的鸟儿和天气，被一种亲密的感觉所传递肩并肩分享。线程的事件是由在附近的许多口岸和远:这是一个身体穿越空间,是一个作家的手穿过一张纸,是一个纸袋的声音穿过一个房间,是一个读者跨越一个页面和另一个读者,是听过与说、是一个铭文交叉传播,是一个手写笔穿越一个槽,是一首歌跨越物种,是悬挂的失重交叉调用贝尔或风箱，是触摸被触摸的回报。那是一群鸟和一片摆动着的秋千。它是空间中某一时刻的特定点。安妮·阿尔伯斯(Anni Albers)在为《大英百科全书》(Encyclopedia Brittanica)撰写的文章中反映，所有的编织都可以追溯到“一条线的事件”。线的交叉点构成一块布。布料是身体的第一个建筑;它保护、隐藏和揭示;它承载着我们的重量，在我们出生时包裹着我们，在我们睡觉和死亡时覆盖着我们。有图案的布象征国家或组织;一个绣在白色地面上的红十字会是普遍的援助标志。一块白布可以是鬼，可以是怪物，也可以是休战。约翰·康斯特布尔在他的画作中将天空描述为“画在物体后面的一张白纸”。当我们谈到布的品质时，我们指的是布的手;我们通过触摸知道它。像皮肤一样，它的膜对接触、空气的运动和重力的拉动都有反应。在70英尺高的拱形铁桁架上，一块白布通过绳索和滑轮悬挂在一块秋千上，这块白布是大厅宽度的两倍多，几乎和大厅一样高，是空间中的中心人物。无论是拉锯战还是齐心协力，无论是个人的还是协调的，丝绸的反应性流动性记录了摆动场的综合速度和加速度。白布的天气变化是通过集体行动产生的。一个共同的活动也许揭示了我们与蜜蜂、蚂蚁和鹤的亲缘关系;所有人都联合起来，成为亚里士多德所说的“社会性动物”，为提升整体而采取同样的行动。

在操练厅门口，面对着一群关在笼子里的鸽子，两个读者坐在一张木桌旁，大声朗读着卷轴。他们是对鸟类说的，一个物种被重力束缚在另一个物种身上，它们的飞行能力激起了另一个物种不可调和的渴望;部分是解释，部分是无法沟通。他们阅读的卷轴是一种索引，根据定义，它是一本书中主要单词的字母顺序排列，参考每个单词出现的段落。协和也是一种协议，一种和谐。在这里，更真实地融合了中介和和谐的形式，单词的垂直脊柱与从分类和组织可观察世界的不同清单中绘制的水平线相交。

在卷轴上来回移动，两人在听和说的间隔中，以一致或对位的方式朗读，当每个人从纸上的文本栏中画出自己的线条时，即兴创作一篇文章。在织造过程中，从布料主体结构中飘浮出来的线被称为补充纬线，这是一条在布料上引入另一种图案(通常是装饰性的)的线。如果它的线是不规则的，它被称为一条错误的线。每个卷轴都包含多重阅读的可能性，而每一次阅读都成为一种写作行为。如果卷轴是经向的，读者是纬向的，那么传递到手持纸袋的声音就是一个梭子。

ARTIST STATEMENT

I can remember the feeling of swinging—how hard we would work for those split seconds,flung at furthest extension, just before the inevitable downward and backward pull,when we felt momentarily free of gravity, a little hiccup of suspension when our hands loosened on the chain and our torsos raised

off the seat. We were sailing, so inside the motion—time stopped—and then suddenly rushed again toward us. We would line up on the playground and try to touch the sky,

alone together. Suspended in the liquidity of words, reading also sets us in motion. We fall between a book’s open covers, into the texture of the paper and the regularity of the line. The

rhythm and breath of someone reading out loud takes us to a world far away. As a child,I could spend hours pressed against the warmth of my grandmother’s body listening to her read, the rustling of her hand turning the page, watching the birds and the weather outside, transported by the intimacy of a

shared side by side. the event of a thread is made of many crossings of the near at hand and the far away: it is a body crossing space, is a writer’s hand crossing a sheet of paper, is a voice crossing a room in a paper bag, is a reader crossing with a page and with another reader, is listening crossing with speaking, is an inscription crossing a transmission, is a stylus crossing a groove, is a song crossing species, is the weightlessness of suspension crossing the calling of bell or

bellows, is touch being touched in return. It is a flock of birds and a field of swings in motion. It is a particular point in space at an instant of time. Anni Albers, in writing for Encyclopedia Brittanica, reflected that all weaving traces back to “the event of a thread.” The crossings of thread make a cloth. Cloth is the body’s first architecture; it protects, conceals and reveals;

it carries our weight, swaddles us at birth and covers us in sleep and in death. A patterned cloth symbolizes state or organization; a red cross stitched onto a white field is the universal sign of aid. A white cloth can be a ghost, a monster or a truce. John Constable described the sky in his paintings as a “white sheet drawn behind the objects.” When we speak of its qualities we speak of the cloth’s hand; we know it through touch. Like skin, its membrane is responsive to contact, to the movement of air, to gravity’s pull. Suspended via ropes and pulleys by a field of swings hung 70 feet from arched iron trusses, a white cloth more than twice the hall’s width and nearly as tall is the central figure in the space. Whether a tug of war or a unison effort, individualized or coordinated, the responsive liquidity of the silk registers the combined velocities and accelerations of the field of swings. The shifting weather of the white cloth is generated through collective action. A common activity perhaps reveals our kinship with bees, ants, and cranes; all united as Aristotle’s “social animals,” undertaking the same action for the elevation of the whole.

At the threshold of the Drill Hall and facing a flock of caged pigeons, two readers, seated at a wood table, read out loud from scrolls. Their address is to the birds, one species bound by gravity to another whose capacity for flight provokes irreconcilable longings in the other; part explanation, part impossible communication. The scroll they read from is a concordance, which is by definition an alphabetical arrangement of the principal words of a book with reference to the passage in which each word occurs. A concordance is also an agreement, a harmony. Here, more truly a melding of mesostic and concordance forms, the vertical spine of words intersects with horizontal lines drawn from disparate inventories that categorize and organize the observable world.

Moving back and forth across the scroll, the pair read in intervals of listening and speaking, in unison or counterpoint, improvising a composition as each draws his or her own line from the paper’s column of text. In weaving, the thread that floats free from the structure of the main body of cloth is called the supplementary weft, a line introducing another pattern—often decorative—over a ground cloth. If its line is irregular, it is referred to as an errant line. Each scroll contains the possibility of multiple readings, and each reading becomes an act of writing. If the scroll is warp and the reader is weft, then the voice, transmitted to hand-carried paper bags, is a shuttle.