Dear Di,
the circle is beginning to close. I collected my thoughts in the drawer of my bedside table. Now it's time to draw my conclusions; time to turn intentions into objects. I'm slowly manoeuvering the parts of my installation into their final position. Are you still on board, Di?
the 1st hole:
since we cannot meet on father ground 1)
our father's land as sister & brother ever
let's imagine a new place between us
I have invested some money in my Winnipeg adventure. I bought a bicycle, thus freeing myself of the necessity of always asking my driver's-licensed friends when I need a ride. This three-speed-pedalled-saddled alternative enlarges the range of my explorations by a factor of three. Effortless I leave the architectural orphanage of downtown Winnipeg behind. I cross zebras and railway lines. Suddenly, I find myself out in St. James looking for signs of life.
the 2nd hole:
slightly suspended in air but yet touching
earth an old tree house full of weather
or an ark its ancient hull gleaming
Kevin Waugh, an intern of the project, lead me to Dan Teichmann. Dan owns the Henry Avenue Forge, a well-equipped foundry with a view of the Winnipeg CPR Yards. He will do the steel-pipe bending and the welding of the davits. He smokes a cigar as he shows me pictures of his recent work. He doesn't have to convince me, I sensed his quality as we first shook hands. On my way out, he proudly shows me his Moto Guzzi 850 'Eldorado'. He takes it for a coast to coast ride once a year. Dell'Orto, Veglia, Marzocchi: incantations from a former life.
Outside, I mount my Raleigh to continue the search for missing parts and usable materials.
I bought hoisting gear: falls, hooks and blocks.
I ordered mahogany and hemlock for the lifeboat's gunwale.
I found just-the-right meshed net to take the place of the vessel's hull, pretending it's afloat.
Wooden stakes protruding from the putting green mark the place of the davits.
the 3rd hole:
remembering the rains let's gather our
belongings & our children & meet at the
river this will be a new country love
On the lawn in front of the ruins, I projected a circle with a 7,5 meter radius. Its circumference touches the stem of a hand-shaped elm. Within these limits, all the elements of the installation shall find its place.
As the poet uses words to outline the area of her intention, I draw a circle to define the range of my visual response.
I superimpose a pentagram on the circle. The five corners coincide with the circle's periphery. These points indicate the position of the puttholes.
At ABAR Industries, I made a down payment on a series of five white nylon 14" x 18" golf flags displaying the numbers 1 to 5 in black.
The golf-equipment supplier that I tracked down in the 1994 version of the Yellow Pages has disappeared in the mean time. In a telephone booth, the yellow pages of the 1995 version felt damp due to yesterday's rain. At Consolidated Turf Equipment, I purchased five white plastic puttholes and five black glassfibre flagpoles. With my rucksack stuffed full of holes, I entered the daily tournament on Pembina Heights, carrying the five 7' long flagpoles as a lance.
On the floor of my freshly painted guestroom in St. Norbert, I arranged the yield of my quests.
the 4th hole
crossing the field to greet you i will lay
my old weapons down & wait if you are
here with me under the harvest moon
The elm emerges from the sloping surface of the field like a stretched-out hand. Its palm opened to the now cloudless sky. Not even a single cumulus around to wave at. Angelic blue....
Let's compare the tree with a hand: I want to stretch a steel cable between its two diverging foremost branches, horizontally connecting its vegetable thumb and little finger. From the middle of this cable, a second cable will be connected to the base of the tree (the wrist joint) where it will be fixed to a concrete pile and stretched by means of a tensioner, thus forming a faintly tilting T. Pulleys will be fixed at both ends of the vertical cable so that a flag can be hoisted or struck by means of a nylon cord.
Once more, I paid a visit to ABAR Industies to have a flag made. This time I ordered the manufacture of a 26" x 36" green flag with white lettering, reading "EXIT". The banner of Mortality. I preferred the European idea of emergencies to the North American one: I decided for white lettering on a green field predicting Relative Safety Out There, instead of red letters on a black background emphasizing the Absolute Danger Of Getting Trapped In Here.
I hope you will hoist it with me on the opening. Together we'll lift it into the foliage while the bagpipe talks in 2/4 and 6/8, jigs and marches. It's filmy body will conform to the prevailing winds, yielding to airy pressure like a revolving door. Hidden in the green, the flag will play its inconspicuous role 'till fall falls in.
the 5th hole
we will look in each other's eyes without
speaking our hands will shake & the great
wooden door will begin creaking open at
last since we cannot meet.
Each time I read this poem I feel the compulsion to replace the words 'on father ground' by 'in mother's tongue'. A phenomenon can be compared with an experience you had. When you look at the ocean, you immediately associate it with the prairie. That image becomes stronger and stronger, until it finally replaces the original perception. Maybe my projection is the result of my subconscious desire to be involved in the poem, to be adressed personally by the poet. That symptom is one of the reasons why I chose this poem as a lead for my St. Norbert installation. My compulsory falsification of the original was useful because it enabled me to understand the poem, to convert it and to finally visualize my notion of it.
I decided to subdivide the poem in 5 fragments. Each fragment will be silkscreened on a metal sign. The signs will be fixed at eye level to the appropriate golf flag pole with brackets. Every player that finishes the circular golf course in the right order passes through the lyric stretch of the circular poem at the same time.
Since my arrival in Winnipeg, two versions of a song have been running through my mind like an alternating current: Sinatra's 'Fly me to the Moon' and Homer's 'Tie me to the Mast'. Famous words to the same Nelson Riddle arrangement that somehow define the limitations to my play in this project. The lyrics start bouncing through my head as soon as my attention flags.
The polarity of their first lines set the tone for my St. Norbert installation. Chance must have launched them on May 9, the Tuesday of my arrival.
On nights, while the moon is waxing and the wind howls, I go out and lean against a tree. As I quietly sing 'Tie me to the lunar module', I watch stuff orbit my naked eye.
One month after we first met, the result of our co-operation reaches the last state of aggregation, the one in which liquid matter solidifies. Within the story of the site our thoughts materialize in a three-piece installation. Its simple appearance allows a multiple use and a multitude of interpretations. Let's hope the prairie will accept our tiny visible intervention in the corner of its eye.
The caddy is ready, the clubs are blunt, the puttholes are put.
I look forward to our golf course next week.
Love, Arnold
1) From: 'Agnes in the sky' by Di Brandt. Page 28, Turnstone Press 1990, Winnipeg.