Finding Home and Losing Space
By
Steven Whalley

BFA, OCAD UNIVERSITY, 2011

A THESIS SUPPORT PAPER SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE
REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF

MASTER OF FINE ARTS

EMILY CARR UNIVERSITY OF ART + DESIGN
2018

© Steven Whalley, 2018

Abstract:
My research focuses on an investigation of how my body reacts to spatial and sensory
information and developing visual motifs and metaphors that poetically capture
somatic interruptions in my daily life. While subjected to the onset of neurocardiogenic
episodes that cause me to have uniquely altered sensory somatic encounters, my body
feels like a receiver for a multitude of sensory information from internal and external
environments. Sometimes objects, shapes, spaces and sound change instantaneously,
and my body is left to respond accordingly, losing parts of vision, sense of touch or
ability to hear. I look to these somatic experiences for inspiration in making art. Key
research questions have guided my practice, such as What can the fragmentation of
spaces that occur in these moments provide my practice? How do I translate somatic
experiences, such as a corner of a room disappearing or a wall floating upward
through the ceiling, into a visual narrative? How does one remain orientated in such a
moment and how can one's (re)orientation be transposed into an art installation? My
aim was to make sonic, visual and material gestures about these experiences to better
understand them and the relationship between sensory and spatial perception. Much
of my inquiry assesses the aesthetic content of the ‘home’ as a way of mapping the
manner in which my body and perceptions are ‘organized’ by and within the world. I
draw on the work of Gaston Bachelard and Tim Endensor, among others, to not only
develop my discussion of architectural spaces and its aesthetics but also as a way of
navigating my personal experiences of architectural spaces that enclose the fragility of
my body and its reliance on an external environment for orientation.

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Table of Contents:
ABSTRACT…………………………………………………………………………………………ii
TABLE OF CONTENTS………………………………………………………………….………..iii
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS…………………………….…………………………………….……..iv
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS…………………………………………………………………………v

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An Introduction to My Art Practice — Somatic Experience….……………1
1.1 Chore…………………………………………………………………………………6
1.2 Furniture and Maps…………………………………………………………………21
1.3 Recording Movements…………………………………………..…………………26
1.4 Material Investigations……………………………………………………………..33
1.5 Reflection…………………………………………………………………………….35

BIBLIOGRAPHY………………….………….…………………………………………………38

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List of Illustrations:
Fig. 1: Excavate, 3 channel audio/video installation. (still) 2016…………………………2
Fig. 2: Space Observations, Graphite, Ink, Crayon. 2018…………………………………4
Fig. 3: Square Legs, 3D Printed Rubber and Acrylic. 2018………………………………6
Fig. 4: Projection Tests, Cable, Paper, Projection. 2017………………………………….9
Fig. 5: Projection Tests, Felt, Paper, Projection. 2017…………………………………….9
Fig. 6: Staring down, Photographs. 2016-17………………………………………………11
Fig. 7: Waiting Lines, Collage, Ink (8.5 x 11 in) 2016……………………………………..12
Fig. 8: Lawnmower (House), GIF 2017…………………………………………………..…16
Fig. 9: Sidewalks, Digital Collage 2017…………………………………………………….17
Fig. 10: Yellow Door, Digital Print. (32 x 48 in) 2016……………………………………….20
Fig. 11: Marker. “Petite Planete”……..……………………………………………………..22
Fig. 12: Morning Map, (details) Ink. 2017…………………………………………………..23
Fig. 13: Morning Map, Ink. (30x40 in) 2017………………………………………………..24
Fig. 14: Deligny, “Mapping of Wander Lines”……………………………………………..27
Fig. 15: In a Minute, Animation (still) 2017…………………………………………………28
Fig. 16: In a Minute, (Installation) 2017……………………………………………………..29
Fig. 17: Cables, Ink (8x8 in) 2018……………………………………………………………32
Fig. 18: Basement Investigations, Paper, Ink, Wire, Cable. 2018………………………..33
Fig. 19: Basement Investigations, Projection, Paint, Mesh, Wire, Carpet. 2018………34
Fig. 20: Sensory Map (1992), Detail 2018…………………………………………………35
Fig. 21: Sensory Map (1992), 2018…………………………………………………………36

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Acknowledgements:
I would like to thank and acknowledge my thesis supervisor, Daphne Plessner for her
tremendous support throughout this project. In particular, for helping me push this
document and work to where it currently is today. Her expertise in critical art theory,
and perceptual discourse has aided me immensely throughout the process of writing
this document, through which I have gained a better understanding of my art practice.

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Finding Home and Losing Space:
An Introduction to My Art Practice — Somatic Experience

My art practice revolves around an examination of somatic experience — the haptic,
auditory, visual, gustatory moments that inform one’s imagination and understanding of
daily life. My work aims to explore how mental states of lucidity and somatic ranges of
fidelity1 have the potential to build subjective allegorical narratives that would otherwise only be fragmentary sensory moments. I frequently experience acute altered mental and sensory events, such as seeing parts of a room evaporate, objects that appear
incomplete, or I hear high pitched noise, etc. These events are intense moments that
happen erratically and have the ability to puncture normal daily life. What then can
artistic translations of say, evaporating rooms and incomplete objects as distinct from,
for example mundane chores reveal about the complex sensory somatic connection of
body and materiality of the world? For me, these somatic experiences function as a
metaphor for disoriented or obscure bodily experiences. In practice, drawing, animation and sound based inquiries sample then translate a dysfunctional narrative in response to said experiences. Actions and compositions made about perceived spatial
misalignments become a thread through the work, providing the structure I feel necessary to investigate the polyphonic nature of my obscured sensory relationship to the
material world and the vernacular of gestures and translation in its relation.

1 For me fidelity is the aesthetic and perceptual degree of clarity or precision of an image or sensory experience in

translation or reproduction.

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https://www.stevenwhalley.com/projects/#/excavate/
Fig 1: Excavate, 3 channel audio/video installation. (still) 2016.

I want to propose for a moment, the notion that my perceptual figuration resembles
that of a house; an idea that has permeated through my practice after my initial iteration of my project titled Excavate in 2016: (see fig. 1 above). In this work I formed a
narrative from past works, I began to notice how images of architectural construction
and daily actions or chore were used with prevalence in much of my work. I became
interested in the disruption and destruction of physical structures. I recorded video of
an excavator tearing apart a house close to my work. The images of the house being
destroyed was quite vivid and the event left me with a feeling of emptiness. I didn’t re-

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alize the impact this experience would have on my practice. I came to understand that
the ‘home’ as an architectural space, shaped my aesthetic experiences of the built environment and in turn, the manner in which my body and perceptions are ‘organized’
by and within the world. The idea of ‘home’ as a perceptual device is partially borrowed from Gaston Bachelard’s Poetics of Space, in which Bachelard speaks to the way
in which objects and rooms of our past and present can perceptually inhabit one’s experiencing the world. He says we tend to exist in “hierarchal” homes where rooms
have specific order and purpose. People designate certain emotions, ideas and interactions to rooms of memory. Spaces such as attics, corners and basements provide a
bridge between internal and external perceiving of worlds. This makes me think of my
past and present gestures made in the rooms in which I reside. Through action like
chores, ones navigation and use of these rooms and objects physically changes
through the layering of repeated gesture and afforded comforts that grow with these
experiences. In intimately familiar spaces the body is able to perform with awareness of
structural nuances, and embedded furnishings with a near subconscious ease. For example knowing the correct tension needed to open a particular bathroom faucet and
avoid getting sprayed with water, or even when it is dark—the early morning, avoiding
the spot on the stairs that makes a loud creak so as to not wake anyone. These are instances of the body’s familiarity with its environment. The familiarity in the somatic
knowing of these architectures and objects such as cupboards, knobs, switches, keys,

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stairs and so on, formed through repetitive physical engagement and embodied responses, is similar to how I perceive my actions in making and sensitivities to the materials I use for my artwork. Perhaps not describable or even noticeable in the work, I try
to perform similar actions in every form my art takes.

Fig.2: Space Observations, Graphite, Ink, Crayon. 2018.

In retracing experiences as a way of working through elusive somatic oscillations between the body and spatial orientation, I usually begin with photos or drawings. Something immediate. I feel there is a relationship between partly constructed architectural
encounters and abstracted somatic experiences which helps make sense of my range
of sensory experiences. In an effort to explain how I use these experiences to make art
from, I first want to examine the impact places of architectural ruin have on mental and

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sensory experiences put forth by Tim Edensor, reader in Cultural Geography. In his article ‘Sensing the Ruin’ he addresses the sensual effects marginal and mass urban spaces
have on the human senses. According to Edensor human sensual experiences in a city
exist in two ways. First is the city perceived as the ‘constant cacophony’ of urban environments that people are subject to. In such environments we experience a physical
and mental exhaustion, coined by George Simmel as“neurasthenia — a condition held
at bay by the development of a blasé attitude to shield the individual from this overwhelming assault.” (Edensor, 2007. 218) Second, Edensor says contemporary urban
spaces are becoming “progressively desensitized” through architectural forms, policies
and planning that help condition people and their behaviours in these spaces. Signs,
lights, traffic and migration provide an understanding and directive navigational experience of urban spaces through daily interaction with surfaces and objects that evoke
prescribed sensory responses. An example of this space would be the mall foodcourt.
That is, my experiences of malls is of a sterile environment and this sense of sterility is
one that I set out to explore in a series of drawings titled ‘Space Observations’ (see fig.
2). The aim was to focus on translating the sterility of public spaces and my somatic experience into images. The works are reactions to the sensory impression I get from a
space. In these instances I look for the afforded fragmented imagery that is present and
reflective of my sensory experiences. I draw through the memory of my own somatic
sensory abstractions and trace the merging of these moments through new gestures.

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Edensor writes that in dealing with modes of contemporary urbanity, “The resulting
structure of feeling or sense of place of urban dwellers is, then, grounded in the predictable routines and in the material and sensual qualities that are repeatedly confronted in everyday experience.” (218)

I often wonder what qualities of these space studies is present to other people, in the
actual spaces and these drawings? Can these drawings become object or sound, inhabit a space and potentially develop their own sensory figuration?

Chore

Fig. 3: Square Legs, 3D Printed Rubber and Acrylic. 2018.

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In making artwork I tend to minimize and desensitize spaces. Looking at the negative
space as much as the gestured marks. This choice is integral to my research. I look to
distill moments in making, both conceptually and aesthetically, using everyday chore
and gestures such as a recording of a broom sweeping a floor. This sonic score mimics
the waves on a beach, from which several drawings emerge, that become object.
Translations in process and material propel my practice. It often feels like I am drawing
a continuous looping line.

I am compelled by this exploration of repetitive and reductive impulses and I make efforts to reduce background information, amplify and repeat residual marks and moments. In preparation for my thesis exhibition, I have been exploring the repetition of
drawn gestures in different mediums; whether layering and keying sound, video, folding up drawings and notes or most recently printing my drawing in a rubber based
acrylic material. I want to use hand made gestures in my work. Marks made by hand
carry sensual and embedded knowledges. The above image (see fig. 3) was my first attempt in translating my drawing into a three dimensional printed form.

This object look like an impression of the drawing, almost fossilized in its resinous encasing and quite clearly an artifact of mixed processes. The appearance is rough and
crude as I work out the kinks in the process, however it feels like a quick intuitive ges-

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ture drawing that I gravitate towards in my practice. Living in a rapidly changing part of
Toronto, I feel connected to unpolished and incomplete forms of architecture, understanding this landscape in the image of home. It is often, as discussed above, my experiences in foodcourts brightly lit spaces, where I experience aesthetic surface abstraction in sensory interaction due to things like shiny acrylic, LED lights, illuminated branding and signage. Often the fragility and temporality of the structures and walls and the
way these spaces are curated, produces sensory experiences that provide me a different image and understanding of real and subsequently imaginary spaces. Edensor
refers to these places “blandscapes,” a term coined used by Art Critic Jim Drobnik.
This is appropriate as ‘blandscapes’ promote vague and surface based interactions with
space and are sensually disorienting or dampened. He calls them “aseptic places, created by the modernist drive towards deodorization, that are so empty that they lead to
an alienating sense of placenessness.” (Drobnick 2002, 34).(Edensor. 2007, 3)

I find this fitting to my own sensory experiences with place. Over the course of a day
sounds, textures and smells help give order or disorder to experiences. In fairly recent
explorations I found myself attempting to layer media, materials and drawings from
experience in attempt to disorient the work; bring disorder to squared images and projections. More specifically, I was looking for a way to change how one or several mov-

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ing images operate and change on concrete textures and with material framing explorations.

Fig. 4: Projection Tests,
Cable, Paper, Projection. 2017.

Fig. 5: Projection Tests,
Felt, Paper, Projection.
2017.

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This past fall, as part of the Maker Space Residency program at Charles Street Video in
Toronto, I performed a series of tests thinking through ways to frame projected images
that was not was either confined to or intersecting withe the materials and natural architecture of the building. I was interested in using materials that were immediately
available in the space and the space itself as a framing mechanism for my animation/
installations (see fig 4-5). I began working with projection mapping software to crop the
edges of the animations to fit with things like audio cable, notes and drawings, tapes
and more office based supplies. I was able to accomplish partially nested and hyper
focused compositions that were restricted and reimagined by the walls, corners and
objects of the space. Using the natural architecture of the space as a canvas of sorts
brought some excitement in the process. I found myself responding to the space like I
do when drawing. I could perceive somatically disorienting sensations in response to
the way the image folded into the corner of the room in the middle image. The moving
image against the concrete corner broke free of traditional projected forms and seemingly inhabited the room. This was exciting, however I also experience failures as with
very little to no budget, I was unsuccessful in producing an adequate projected image
in a well lit space.

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Fig. 6: Staring down, Photographs. 2016-17.

I often feel like I am placeless in obscure sensory experiences. When losing a sense of
the space around me, I reach for the corners and pieces of furniture, or focus really
hard on the edge of a shelf, table or railing searching for clarity in familiarity — trying
to ground myself to something real. It is difficult to find words to express a frequent
and stuttered drifting in and out of known and unknown states of physicality. Sometimes just trying not to fall down is a chore. I find myself needing to understand my visual field in order to remain physically upright and conscious. In the early stages of all
my projects I find myself walking through places like alleys, underpasses and decon!11

structed buildings as they provide me with the environment that induces a similar response to past memories of sensory somatic experiences. Like Edensor’s ruins, these
places afford me the ability to observe things I would not typically see, say on a sidewalk. I notice a beauty in the reference of infrastructure scribbled throughout streets of
my city (see fig. 6) Spray painted gas line locations, underground coverings, and patches accidentally spilled paint all contain an aesthetic quality that is unfinished, quick and
gestural, and part of another set of systems, relations and languages. These are non
artistic gestures that through my engagement with them become familiar strangers
of sorts. Perhaps these images are not always present in the work but they are always part of my process of thinking about
making. Familiar strangers afford an array
of presumable truths and the ability to fabricate hypothetical narratives around people, places, and things.

Fig. 7: Waiting Lines, Collage, Ink (8.5 x 11 in) 2016.

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In Waiting Lines, I was trying to understand how embodied processes and routines of
making are reliant on the spaces in which they occur. I understand spaces to leave a
residual trace in ones sense memories. To investigate this in drawing, I decided to push
the boundaries of the canvas and processes I was using. At the time I was frequently
visiting an alley by a theatre in Toronto where I would make notebook drawings. I enjoyed the act of ripping sheets out of the notebook after completing a drawing. I started to rip out plain ones after a while. I noticed the subtle variations in the surface of the
discount notebooks plain sheets. I had an aesthetic and sensory response to the act
and material associated with the paper and the shadowed alley. I decided to explore
what the blank sheet of paper can do through acts of repetition. The background of
Waiting Lines is the blank page from my notebook ripped, scanned, slightly shifted and
rescanned multiple times, then digitally layered and printed on card stock. There is a
residue that builds with each layer forming a clouded texture that emerges from the
edge of the sheet. Misalignment is something I look for in making. There is something
in mistranslating experiences that speaks to the my own understanding of the world;
something about the slightly askew that feels more complete that something perfectly
framed. When presented with opportunities to adjust or edit an image, I often cannot
resist reworking it. In doing so I believe the deeper these images get impressed on my
memory. The saturated black building structure drawn on top of the image represent
what I see in my experience. The buildings lose their texture, the telephone wires re-

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cede until they vanish entirely. The image, in attempt to represent my somatic experience fails, but reveals how my actions start to trace my attempts to understand my
body’s relationship to space and builds new allegory through processes and material
manifestations.

One key question in my research is, can processes of repetition provide an entry point
to finding new ways of using materials from other routines and art making processes?
How do I take drawings in notebooks and translate them into exhibition spaces? I decided, if I wanted to find material connections for my gestures, I would have to use the
recognized patterns in my practice as a guide in translating between mediums. The
drawings I was making seemed more related to a place, time and state of mind than
the materials I was using or intentions in composing. Repetition in making was revealing my work was more as a collection of my mental states while tracing elusive moments of sensory reflexiveness. What are materials that can speak to this? My hope
was that addressing the sensory impacts of these uncomfortable encounters provides
insight into material investigations. As Edensor says,

“Through valorizing certain forms of sensual experience, such instructive regimes create a reflexive body which “[becomes] the training ground for the double process of
educating the senses and making good use of them” (Edensor 2007 219)

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In drawing, gestures can often feel natural. I feel mark making with a sense of immediacy and control are integral to constructing an image. However, original iterations of
quick intuitive gesture drawings and phone captured video footage change when
transferred onto a computer. I see the images differently; when slowed down, using
nondestructive softwares allows me to view multiple versions of my original gestures
and create moving sequences from them as well. I start to feel inhabited by these images when they are on my computer; seemingly thinking through them daily. This type
of thinking and making through recycling image introduces a slow slippage into the
work. Creating more nuanced and fragmented investigations.

I personally enjoy watching processes of degradation and destruction. There is a physical nature to taking something apart. I am interested in the ways in which one thing
become another and what is lost or gained by translations. My body learns through
acts of translation. This lead me to the creation of several animated gifs from my drawings. The work below Lawnmower (House) is one of many made. The lawnmower
moves in and out of the frame on constant loop, shaped like a house on one end it is
allegorical. Repetition in animation has the ability to stand in for daily interactions, and
potentially show how they embed in sense memory through acts of chore and repetition. For example, If I was to lie with my face against a carpet I immediately have a
sense-room memory experience — a memory of me on the floor in my grandmothers

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living room eyes fixated on the warm fuzzy images on
her massive cathode tube television beautifully encased in a thick and weathered veneer. I can feel the
carpet on my face because this sensation is fully embedded physical memory. I can smell the fresh cut
grass coming in through the window as my uncle
mows his adjoining lawn. The memory and resolutions of material experience linger in my body but
Fig. 8: Lawnmower (House), GIF 2017.

is degraded and layered with many other experi-

ences that reframe it in context. Exactly what is real and what is fabricated is unclear at
this point. I began to think if animations are able to trigger these types of memories
and physical responses in a viewer.

I believe images both inhabit and are inhabited simultaneously where a blending of
real and imaginative can occur. A loss in centrality in my sense orientation can often
feel as though I am deaf or it can leave me blind in vision and touch, helpless in a dysfunctional body. In making art I often try to understand a current visual field by rearranging, filtering and cropping images and following patterns. In the artwork titled
Sidewalks (see fig. 9), I looked to confuse how a sidewalk surface is perceived. I took
several similar photos of sidewalks from my commute and layered them together until

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Fig. 9: Sidewalks, Digital Collage 2017.

the composition of the image was completely full. In doing this I was calling attention
to concrete surfaces that people walk on everyday. These normally vague and unnoticeable surfaces can evoke a new sensory response by altering the way in which they
are typically visually encountered. Does filling the edges of the frame with surface image evoke a more somatic engagement with image? In forming an image that is not
actually perceptually attainable in everyday architectures, speak to my own disoriented
past and create a unique sensory experience for an audience?

My success in translating these somatic experiences varies, so I try not to think in qualitative terms. Everything in making is helps frame my sensory perception and becomes
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important in some way or another. Expressing embodied sensory focused moments
often produce varied degrees of aesthetic fidelity between my artworks. I feel this is
where the metaphor of home affords an understanding of deeply embodied physical
responses to objects, images and space as an awareness of perceptual spatial flexibility. The home acts as a place that inhabits complex infrastructures that operate in support of the home. It is not only the physical structure of a house but a relational space
to grow with. Understanding home in this way requires the ability to step outside of the
house. To help explain how this works for me, I turn to Lisa Robertson’s idea of “scaffolding as analogy” presented in her work Occasional Work and Seven Walks from the
Office for Soft Architecture. Robertson writes that scaffolding,

“Explains what a wall is without being a wall. Perhaps it describes by desiring
the wall, which is the normal method of description. But also the scaffold wants to fall
away from support. Its vertigo is so lively. The style of fidelity of scaffolding is what
we enjoy. It finds its stabilities in the transitions between gestures.” (Robertson, 2003,
163)

As stated above, finding stability is important to understand an environment. This notion of finding stability in transitions is interesting to me because I feel as though I am
in constant transition, whether in making art or subject to a sensory episode. Understanding a space relationally to ones body is often taken for granted. Transitions often
appear to have no physical artifacts. When known objects and structures transform or
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change without notice there is a bodily reaction or sensorial hiccup. That is the sensory
artifact. The body is unable to orient properly to the occurrence, and there is a period
needed to recalibrate. When a body enters a completely unknown place, it relies on
memory to fill all sensed voids. There is searching through known past understandings
to inform the present. For example, in my work titled Space Observations, I often prioritize sense memory over vision in making images because it speaks to the transitory nature of perceiving spaces. It is more like the view from the scaffolding surrounding a
house. Scaffolding as a structure provides stability and is able to stand in for the oscillation between somatic experiences and actual experiences of inhabiting a space that
manifests in making. Unlike the house, scaffold permits an understanding of somatic
experience through its structure. Its vantage is from the exterior looking in on its inner
frameworks. What is important from this is scaffolding provides structure that encases
construction and allows one to step outside of the metaphorical ‘home’ if only to look
inside it or work on it. Robertson continues,

“We are furnished by our manners and habits. Yet we can’t see what they are.
We can’t knowingly possess our own ways. They carry as a cadence in the body; repeatedly we reach to lift the curtain, the dictionary, the cup. This is a measure. Each
gesture rhythmically completes itself with its object.” (Robertson, 2003, 197)

This was also important to read as it shed light on an important role that chance and
play with fidelity and gesture have on my making. A common aspect of my artistic rou!19

tines and gestures is the removal of surface and background. Finding different or
unique ways to show and use these acts is part of my rhythm in making. The cycle is
complete when I remove enough information from an image to satisfy the memory of
the original interaction. As Robertson says, I can’t knowingly possess my own ways. For
me, I begin to understand what these memories aspire to be through becoming more
familiar with the habits that I perform with all material. In my artwork called Yellow Door
(see fig. 10), I wanted to trace the destruction of a building. This is a place I would visit
and draw daily. I would sit in the same spot and draw it nearly every time I was there. I
knew the building was set for demolition. Much to my delight after the building was
demolished all that remained was the dirt and yellow door, so it was then I decided to
pay an homage of sorts to the building. I
removed all physically drawn marks using
photoshop paint except for that of the
door and dirt behind the stairs. In my
memory of this place, the dirt and door
remain in focus but the rest of the spatial
information blends into a vague wash of
similar surfaces.

Fig.10: Yellow Door, Digital Print. (32 x 48 in) 2016.

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Furniture and Maps

I want to further reflect on Robertson’s notion that we are furnished by manners and
habits. We furnish our inhabited spaces for safety and comfort. To give a sense of
place. What does that say about manners and habits as furnishings? Placement of intimate artifacts and curated adaptations of space reveal much about our need for comfort in physical spaces in order situate the body and mind. One feels more somatically
in rhythm through well structured relationships with belongings. Much like a photograph on a night stand, furnishings help trigger memories and embodied experiences
that are layered and complex. These ontologies act like the carpet from my example
above, providing a gateway to other physical sensations and responses that reside somatically imprinted. If my body is a home, then my gestures made, tools used, and
habits/processes explored are the furnishings of it, and for me, fall very much inline
with Robertson’s premise. Material manifestations from these moments become modular pieces. Like furniture, I move them around constantly, looking for compositions and
arrangements that help understand my habits and bring a resolution to experiences.

Gaston Bachelard says,
“But over and beyond our memories, the house we were born in is physically
inscribed in us. It is in a group of organic habits. After twenty years, in spite of all the
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other anonymous stairway we would recapture the “first stairway,” We would not
stumble on that rather high step.”(Bachelard, 1958, 36-38)

Bachelard considers the physical structures and acts within a house as something that is
physically inscribed in us and in sense memories. I wonder if making from sense memories is continually searching to recreate or understand the first sensory experiences of
this kind that I had? I often visualize parts of my grandmothers house when in sensory
flux. It is the first place I recall having obscured sensory experiences. The house gives
an image to interior and exterior experience of sense memories. The house as an object is capable of inhabiting actions of daily life and repelling those from external
forces. Like the body, the house ‘shelters' daydreaming. It’s rooms ‘protect’ the
dreamer. It allows one to make gestures for and of the world from a safe vantage. It is
these environments that afford new perceptual understandings, and material relationships. The house becomes home.

Fig.11: Chris Marker’s “Petite Planete”

In searching for ways to frame my bodily relationship
to place I came across Chris Marker’s Petit Planete series (see fig. 11), where he enlists help of local individuals or group of individuals to construct a guide for
cities, as to provide a more authentic experience. Each volume varies in how it is
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planned. There is a large variance in
emphasis placed on history, art and politics. The photography and personal
perspective reveal a subjectiveness and
familiarity that is not present in a traditional travel guide.

In making my artwork Morning Map I
noticed a similar subjectivity in how I
was describing one of my altered sensory experiences. I recalled one cold
winter morning in which I got lost several times on my way to work. At first I
wanted to construct a sequence of text
and image like Marker’s guides, providing a linear view of the experience. I
rendered between three and eight
drawings a day for three weeks.
Fig. 12: Morning Map, (details) Ink. 2017.

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Fig. 13: Morning Map, Ink. (30x40 in) 2017.

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I could see how narratives emerged through the collecting and layering of drawings.
Each drawing would recall a particular part of the experience. I was collecting as much
information from my memory of the event, walking the same route and sitting in same
spots. There were notes and illustrations of people and places from my commute to
and from my job. Objects and places such as clouds, parking lots, fences and street
lights were landmarks that stood out in the recollection of these incomplete moments. I
was hoping to reveal what a loss of discernible perceptual images looks like. Most images remain incomplete like I experienced them in the moment. This work started to
raise the question, what degree of fidelity is needed in representation of these moments and is a sequence accurate and reflective of my experience? I noticed there was
a looping way of viewing the image that was a result of layering notes, text and images. I was intrigued by this type of composition.

In Morning Map, several points for entry were created as I began to arrange the images into one composition. I think of it as a sensory geographical map for this morning
encounter. The map provides a useful way to see an environment flattened; without
consideration for time. A map allows me to see the larger scope or a focused location
providing a shift or pull in focus. In tenuous sensory experiences, establishing a visual
discernibility between figure and field, require a similar gesture.

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This work was successful in disorienting the viewers engagement with the image. Moving forward, I looked to continue trying to trouble the ways in which one reads an image in efforts of speaking to my somatic experiences. In doing so, I believe I am looking to give agency or ontology to the somatic encounters and the spaces in which they
occur by borrowing from how I perceive oscillations between sensory and spatial architectures. The map does this. What else does this? Edensor’s discussion of place understood through bodily encounters with architectural space helps me to frame my experiences in this manner. He says,
“place is sensed and senses are placed” (2005), the sensual and practical engagement with familiar space depends upon materialities, not merely the cultural understandings that emerge out of broader discursive and representational epistemologies. It is therefore essential to reinstate the affordances of place and space, those
qualities which are spatial potentialities, constraining and enabling a range of actions.
For space is “a concrete and sensuous concatenation of material forces” (Wylie 2002:
251) which possesses an agency to impact upon the sensibilities of those who dwell
and move within.” (Edensor 2007. 225)

Recording Movements
Around the same time I became intrigued by the work of Fernand Deligny, who was
interested in what he refers to as the “Arachnean.” The Arachnean is a web like form of
nature; much like that of a spider web, this web is perceived as a social structure. The
web essentially is an analogy for a network as a different mode of social behaviour and

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organization are needed to properly understand action within it. He states these networks “nothing more than a permanent or accidental assemblage of interwoven
lines.” (Deligny. 2015. 77)
Fig. 14: Deligny, “Mapping of Wander Lines”

http://
www.kunstkritikk.no/wpcontent/
uploads/2013/06/1_delig
ny.jpg

In his projects he works with autistic patients to draw
and paint their journey to and from places such as
home and school, over time. He then layers these images on top of each other. This artwork was created
from a repetition exercise of tracing and mapping the

participants walks. Similarly I was performing similar repetitive acts through daily drawings and recordings. Once again, I began to notice the familiar dramatic variations in
fidelity of gesture and expression that occur over time. I found my gestural marks and
all tracings to be subject to changes in daily readings, thought or action. Perhaps I
could perceive my practice as Arachnean or at least rhizomatic in nature. The path like
lines visible in Deligny’s work were absent in my studies as my movements in these
moments were undetectable in recollection. I was collecting the landmarks and waypoints and the path is assumed.

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Fig. 15: In a Minute, Animation (still) 2017.
https://www.stevenwhalley.com/projects/#/in-a-minute/

In his conclusion of ‘Sensing the Ruin,’ Edensor applies Susan Stewart’s ideas of how
the body experiences somatic memories to space,
“the senses are shaped and modified by experience and the body bears a somatic
memory of its encounters with what is outside it” (1999: 19). Similarly, place thus imprints itself on the body and is carried by it through time and space (Casey
1987)” (Edensor 230)

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In this sense the body records the world around it storing in memory, images, spaces
sensations and experiences. Poetic representations of experience are a response to
navigating between familiar and unfamiliar surroundings and not having a fully adequate language at my disposal. In such environments as Edensor writes, “the body is
not merely reactive to the effusion of sensory affordances but also actively engages
with the things it beholds.” (229)

Fig. 16: In a Minute, (Installation) 2017.

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For example, when hearing an emotional ballad that makes you feel sad, a physical and
imaginary response takes place. The song, albeit for a short period of time can become
embedded as a mental impression and influence one’s state of mind and emotions.
Sampled, if you will, the patterns, loops and melodies of the song can linger, repeat,
and be imagined anew as an accessible and retrievable layered index. A song can be
mentally stored and/or recalled over time in a sort of semi-permanent moment as well.
Perhaps only partial of the original, the song inhabits the body and the material somatic interaction affords a flexibility of interpretation and understanding through artistic
expressions.The fidelity of the experience of say, hearing a song shows how the body
processes sensory information with a tendency towards a poetic and playful gathering
of space information.

I carried the things learned in Morning Map into my piece In a Minute (fig. 15), exhibited in July 2017. Much like Morning Map, the intention to disorient and fragment the
viewer’s experience and have several non functional narratives operate in the same
viewable space became a priority. Essentially another map of losing senses and visual
architectural forms, ‘In a Minute’ uses similar methods of collecting, layering and removing parts of image and sound that I have used before. It also constructs one image
from many renderings of past experiences. By animating and adding sound to the
composition this time, I feel this work took the idea of multi phonic viewing further than

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Morning Map. Animation brings time and movement to the images and creates additional entry points and moments for crossover between moments through momentary
alignments of image and sound. I realized that sound as a sculptural object was able to
affect a viewer’s sensation of memory more than images and could possibly be a way to
get closer to somatic and reflective responses while viewing artworks. I also had to
make responsive decisions in how to show the work due to space and light restrictions.
This resulted in showing it on three screens instead of the projecting the full composition. This problem presented me with yet another opportunity and propellant into material use in framing my images.

In particular, I began to see cable as material for making. It was materially able to mimic
drawn line present most all of my work and offer functionality. This was an important
discovery as cable has always been present in my installations but never thought of as
an artistic material. This installation now provided me with a blueprint to making larger
drawings with material, sound and projection in physical spaces.

When in certain rooms and at certain heights I pick up low level audio signals somatically. Waveforms penetrate my body sometimes growing in amplitude until my head
becomes overwhelmed by the sound of radio frequencies, as if my brain was a FM radio and someone was sweeping across the bandwidth. The cable is a conductor, it

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speaks to functionality, connectedness and
fragmentation of my everyday routines. It can
be a wonderful or dreadful thing to work with.
In my employment I have always used a large
assortment of cables doing various thing with
them, but mainly plugging them in and out of
various ports, and of course wrapping them.

Fig. 17: Cables, Ink (8x8 in) 2018.

When working with cable, one should treat it with care; using proper techniques to
maintain their longevity and functionality. They tend to work best when neatly wrapped
using certain coiling techniques. These are not only the gestures of the cable — part of
its own ‘memory’ and ‘embodied' capacities — but also the gestures that I was interested to incorporate into my artwork. Moving forward, I wanted to see what happens
when I replace these patterns with more destructive and reductive ones.

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Material Investigations

I began working with cable and quickly started to wrap other materials such as wire in
the vinyl tubing used to make cable. The forms on the wall started to appear architectural and fragmented. This is the material space I was looking for. Things like clothes
hangers become unrecognizable lines on the
wall. Drawings become texture and relation to
the form. These fragmented forms are fairly
accurate representations of what happens to
architecture in my altered sensory experiences.
The next step is to add the electronic components of the work to induce a sensory oscillation for the viewer.

Fig. 18: Basement Investigations, Paper, Ink, Wire, Cable. 2018.

Using forms and objects from my everyday life in my artwork was starting to make
sense and my work was able to move away from screens and pages and into three dimensional spaces it tries to describe.

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I think of my practice as a series of never ending
continuous analogous gestures, that over time
and with practice afford space for reflection and
focus through making. Working with things in
this way provide the direction for future endeavours. The work propels itself. My current
gestures and habits inform future works. Drawing becomes a psycho-somatic performance
that I translate through different mediums and
medias; one that changes and grows over time.
Fig. 19: Basement Investigations, Projection, Paint, Mesh, Wire, Carpet. 2018.

Looking ahead, I am curious how to trouble the boundaries of images as a body, image
as sensory experience and perhaps image as mode of thinking further than I have already. Can further fragmentation and repetition of these spaces produce new ways of
understanding bodily responses in transitory contemporary spaces? How can I build
the home metaphor to connect all facets of my making? I do know images and movement can reveal an oscillation between body and space. I am intrigued by residual somatic effects of spaces in the body and their intersection with memory, imagination and
performed gestures. I wish to continue investigating the nature of images created by a

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tracing of sensory events. By recording and abstracting daily routines, experiences, and
the architectures of home and neighbourhood, I hope to find ways to speak to the elusiveness of place as understood by my body.

Reflection
In reflection of the thesis exhibition I have discovered much about how I want to show
and think about the installational languages I have learned through this program. I am
now curious about ways to install different types of research, images, records and objects of this research to coexist with or in context to other works.

Fig. 20: Sensory Map (1992), 2018. Detail.

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I am now able to conceive different ways in which one piece can sit next to or inform
another that uses a different language and set of formal concerns. This is exciting moving forward, as my practice seems less confined to certain materials, processes or visual
languages than ever before. For example Sensory Map (1992), uses one primary
method or language of installation which lends itself to a certain uniformity throughout
the piece. I am curious how using juxtaposing different languages in installation can
provoke different entry points to the work, that is more reflective of the way in which
my work functions in studio. Finding ways to add layers or multiple entry points in installation is something I hope to achieve through my work moving forward.

Fig. 21: Sensory Map (1992), 2018.

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I am also interested in thinking of ways to create more visceral and physical responses
with space and object for the viewer. In what ways can I intersect with or affect the
viewing experience that illicit intended somatic response will be important for this body
of work in the future. Perhaps this can be done using larger material gestures or intersections with space, or more pointed choice in materials to have intended readings
forefront the work. How will the work benefit from having more specific intentions
through material choice and spatial compositions?

Lastly, using my drawing practice as a basis to build components from, I am compelled
to explore sound as a more focal point in my practice. How can a project stem from a
really simple bodily idea or action and can I speak to this action in material? In what
ways can combining translations create unique sensory encounters? Can a series of
artistic gestures made about an everyday or universal bodily action take on a new set
of sensory and sociopolitical concerns? What dialogue or experience can this research
provoke in viewers? Futhermore, can drawn forms house objects like speakers, screens
and more drawing to think about memory and navigating space?

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Bibliography:
Alexander, Christopher. A Pattern Language. New York: Oxford University Press,1977 .
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Bachelard, Gaston. Poetics of Space. New York, N.Y: Penguin Books, 2014. Print.
Deleuze, Gilles, and Paul Patton. Difference and Repetition. London: Continuum, 2001.
Print.
Deligny, Fernand. The Arachnean and Other Texts. trans. Drew S. Burk and Catherine
Porter. Minneapolis: Univocal Publishing, 2015. Pdf.
Edensor, Tim. Sensing the Ruin. Senses and Society. UK, 2007. Pdf.
Epp, Ellie. Leaving the land; perception and fantasy in land, relationship and community-- a symposium, 2001. Presentation House Gallery. Web.
Gibson, James. The Ecological Approach to Visual Perception. New York. Psychological
Press. 1986. Pdf.
Kahn, Douglas. Earth Sound Earth Signal: Energies and Earth Magnitude in the Arts.
1st ed., University of California Press, 2013. Pdf.
Proust, Marcel, Lydia Davis, and Christopher Prendergast. Swann's way. New York, N.Y:
Penguin Books, 2004. Pdf.
Robertson, Lisa. Occasional Work and Seven Walks from the Office for Soft Architecture. Oregon: Clear Cut Press, 2003. Pdf.
Voegelin, Salomé. Listening to Noise and Silence: Towards a Philosophy of Sound Art.
New York: Continuum, 2010. Pdf.
Walser, Robert. The Walk. New York: New Directions Publishing, 2102. Pdf.
Williams, Richard. The Animator's Survival Kit. London: Faber, 2001. Pdf.

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