11th September 3rd October
Saturday & Sunday 12-6pm or by appointment
VULPES
VULPES
Unit 4. Prout Road, Clapton, E5 9NP.
www.vulpesvulpes.org
Saturday & Sunday 12-6pm or by appointment
VULPES
VULPES
Unit 4. Prout Road, Clapton, E5 9NP.
www.vulpesvulpes.org
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Full details in the post below
http://beecholme.blogspot.com/2010/09/new-art-at-depot-inspired-by-depot.html
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Vulpes is getting noticed
I came across these and thought you might be interested.
(I'm sure there's a lot more out there about Vulpes)
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http://beescope.blogspot.com
"Way more interesting though was an outing last night to the very sexy Vulpes Vulpes gallery, just down the road in Clapton, to see a piece called Welcome to the Dream Factory. Disclaimer: I slightly know writer/director Orlando Reade; if I didn't, on the strength of last night's performance, I'd certainly want to. A slippery fish, this one -- the piece, not Orlando -- as a core narrative about a foundering relationship between a man and woman (or a man and a young girl) continually veers into post-apocalyptic quest fantasy, or a gluttonous chow-down on the mulch of supermarket culture, or detective drama, or pornographic daydream, or anticapitalist chatline, or (in the sole wrong-turn of the night) baleful afternoon quiz show. It's almost impossibly nimble as the text skips between modes and moods; it proceeds as if you're already remembering it imperfectly, in real time. A particular boon is the wildly appealing ingenuousness of the performance style, which recalls at times Lone Twin, say. It's very rough, very fragile, and able to make some extremely complex moves feel as easy as dreaming. I can't tell you who did what -- relations between the printed programme and the actualite are hard to establish -- but I do know it was all put together in a week and a half, with little money and enormous skill. What excites me, particularly in the light of Medea/Medea a couple of nights earlier, is that this is theatre that likes theatre: and which is quietly, unshowily, wildly original, in its language, its structure, in its design and the set-up of the room, in the softness of its bare-bones approach. While some folks are beating their heads against a door that won't open no matter how hard they push, others -- usually somewhat out of the way of critics and funding and so on -- have noticed the sign that says 'PULL', and are already on their way. I'm hugely encouraged to think of the many such performances that may be happening all the time in little found spaces and galleries and such all over town, that I haven't heard about only because my ear isn't close enough to the ground. And it's abundantly clear that Orlando Reade is going to be an important maker: but I don't think he knows that, and I didn't have the heart to break it to him."
"Way more interesting though was an outing last night to the very sexy Vulpes Vulpes gallery, just down the road in Clapton, to see a piece called Welcome to the Dream Factory. Disclaimer: I slightly know writer/director Orlando Reade; if I didn't, on the strength of last night's performance, I'd certainly want to. A slippery fish, this one -- the piece, not Orlando -- as a core narrative about a foundering relationship between a man and woman (or a man and a young girl) continually veers into post-apocalyptic quest fantasy, or a gluttonous chow-down on the mulch of supermarket culture, or detective drama, or pornographic daydream, or anticapitalist chatline, or (in the sole wrong-turn of the night) baleful afternoon quiz show. It's almost impossibly nimble as the text skips between modes and moods; it proceeds as if you're already remembering it imperfectly, in real time. A particular boon is the wildly appealing ingenuousness of the performance style, which recalls at times Lone Twin, say. It's very rough, very fragile, and able to make some extremely complex moves feel as easy as dreaming. I can't tell you who did what -- relations between the printed programme and the actualite are hard to establish -- but I do know it was all put together in a week and a half, with little money and enormous skill. What excites me, particularly in the light of Medea/Medea a couple of nights earlier, is that this is theatre that likes theatre: and which is quietly, unshowily, wildly original, in its language, its structure, in its design and the set-up of the room, in the softness of its bare-bones approach. While some folks are beating their heads against a door that won't open no matter how hard they push, others -- usually somewhat out of the way of critics and funding and so on -- have noticed the sign that says 'PULL', and are already on their way. I'm hugely encouraged to think of the many such performances that may be happening all the time in little found spaces and galleries and such all over town, that I haven't heard about only because my ear isn't close enough to the ground. And it's abundantly clear that Orlando Reade is going to be an important maker: but I don't think he knows that, and I didn't have the heart to break it to him."
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