What's the difference between Rocking and Rolling?

This is a work in progress: please look around and interact as you wish, it is the starting point for a new project, and a response to my thesis research. As such can be seen as a new tool that needs to be tested, broken, etc. This structure is the bones of what will be situated in Tent, and has been designed to be flexible, movable, and multi-scale.

The title refers to previous works Soft Camera A & B (not shown), which propose non-digital structures and user interfaces that can contain detailed information about a scene or action. These were made using discarded office supplies. The second part of the title is a nonsense question that activates terms of orientation and movement, while a planting a contradiction in the basic ingredients of rock and roll music.

This work aims to choreograph a shared and self-conscious walking environment, where this basic type of movement can be measured and examined outside of a psychogeographical context, seeing walking not as the creation of routes and pathways but as the animated state of clothing, physique, attitude; and the interlude between states of work and leisure.

Pushing the work is a prerequisite for having 'seen' it. Please take turns rotating the structure together, being mindful of the safety of others. Feel free to add your own music.


1 - This Revolving Door Moves In A Straight Line / Soft Camera C: What's the difference between Rocking and Rolling?

2025-ongoing


works on paper:


2 - Political Cartoon (Banned in B.C.)

2025

3 - Revolving door study, Maastricht

2024

4 - untitled chain

2022-2025

5 - Non-Electric Spotlight/Dandy Distance

2025

6 - Natural Disco Ball, Gingham Disco Ball

2025

Grainy black and white photo, source is lost (c.1920). A young man stands with torso facing the camera in baggy smart casual dress. One foot is raised up on a stool, and a second figure kneels on the ground, measuring the young man’s huge pant cuffs with a tape measure. The cuff is pulled away from the leg forming a large triangle of tweed fabric in the centre of the photo which the two figures turn towards with pride and awe.



Three digital photos downloaded from second hand clothing marketplace, 2024. All three show the same man wearing tailored form fitting leather trousers by Versace. The photos show the man from the waist down, standing in front of a typical white bedroom door, first from the front, then in profile, then from the back. The black leather pants, which have many panels and zips, reveal a stocky muscular physique. His thumbs are tucked into the waistband, and his hands sit in loose fists, tanned, in a confident superhero pose, which also holds up his grey t-shirt. The leather is glossy, and the highlights taper smoothly down to matching black Chelsea boots with an exaggerated modern sole. The terracotta tiled floor seems to promise a context that is never fully given.



A pre-internet hand drawn meme seen c. 2016 circulating on image site tumblr.com. Not yet found again. Original context unknown; probably a t-shirt or print magazine. From memory: four (young, white, American) archetypes are walking on a plain background, clockwise at intersecting angles. There is a bookish girl with glasses and skirt, a skinhead guy with boots, a preppy guy in college football jacket, and a punk girl with choppy green hair, fishnets, and studded leather jacket. Each one is checking out the next, forming a chain of street-level attractions. Each in turn is thinking “He looks cute…”, “She looks nice!”, “He looks fun”. The image seems to say “you never know who’s into you” but also “the one you desire is looking for something else”. The drawing has a generic matter of fact style, similar to flight evacuation instructions.



Adrien Brody’s long face extends the full height of the frame. The mouth is twisted into a wry pout as he tries out unfamiliar sounds. The stubble is blue around the mouth, and he is looking sleepily away from the camera towards the ground. An even healthy tan removes any suspicion that he might be British, and his well-nourished shoulders threaten to burst open the baby sleeves of his tiny Union Jack t-shirt, which is accessorised with a modest black dog collar. Gelled spikes of black hair pierce the blank sky, which seems to hang inches behind his head. His small earlobes remain unpierced.



A police sketch describes in fine economic lines a young man with short dark hair, soft features, and an unfeeling facial expression. A Mohawk is graffitied onto him in loose fat lines on both the front and profile sketches. Zooming out, the camera hangs above two balding heads, pointed at the concrete ground. The man on the right holds a black marker pen, which he uses to draw this exaggerated mohawk onto the imagined likeness of the ‘Son of Sam killer’ that adorns the front page of a New York daily newspaper. He wears a printed lilac shirt with an open collar. The man on the left grips a brass toned beer can, and on top of his rust coloured t-shirt sits a gold chain with gold aviator glasses dangling from them. They both have similarly short wide finger nails on their thick hands. It is easy to believe the actor is also acting through the drawing; the choppy matter of fact lines are defiantly heterosexual, superimposed over the delicate police sketch. One recalls the repetitive zig-zag of Donald Trump’s 2005 doodle of the New York skyline (Trump, 2004).



A tall dark LED panel stands upright in the centre of Broadwick Street, London, adjacent to Carnaby Street, one of the city’s commercialised pedestrian districts. On the monolithic dark surface, an array of white lights sketch out in clean lines the stride of a young woman in profile. The animation loops endlessly at a smooth 50 frames per second. The figure appears to be wearing a leotard, and a high ponytail which bobs slightly with each step. Her feet have been abbreviated to stubs by the artist, making her rhythmic contact with the ground appear measured and self-conscious. She is neither 2D or 3D, all stylistic traces that might point to a given animation technique have been smoothed away by Opie. This purpose-built display will never show anything else, yet its bespoke grid of bulbs contain large areas of darkness which, untouched by Shaida’s walk, will remain unlit indefinitely. The real Shaida, walking for Opie on a treadmill, recreates the moment of moving image’s inception, when Eadweard Muybridge serialised the natural motion of a black jockey and his horse (Han, 2022).



The white underside of the stairway (B) forms a backdrop for Julie Marsden (Davis) and the unnamed Servant (uncredited). Julie wears women's riding gear with back turned to camera, feathered hat cocked back self-assuredly. She faces her servant, who bids her to change into evening attire. He is wearing black tie, waistcoat, tailcoat, without gloves. He is old, and his large hands are held akimbo in a noncommittal gesture of bargaining. Behind the vertical lines of the elegant bannister, cascading down like harp strings, stands Zette/Sadie (Theresa Harris) in the upper left. She leans forward in traditional maid’s dress, perched above a large cluster of hydrangeas in a silver vase. With a simple rhythm, the trio of dark figures cascade backwards along Davis’ line of sight into the rich architecture.



An elegant white handrail whips across the frame from upper left to lower right. Two hands hover on the rail. Standing on the wide, curved, and carpeted stairway (A), Judith Traherne (Davis) with back to the camera wears a dark gown, her face obscured by a crown of curled hair. The body language is opaque. Facing her from half a dozen steps below is Alec (Ronald Reagan), grinning boyishly. He wears a broad shouldered woollen suit over a dark sweater. His hair is lively, curling against the slick product. An appendage from a crystal chandelier creeps in from the right, behind it a Neoclassical column is carved out of the background by harsh studio lights.


Large double doors block the left and right thirds of the frame, held ajar by Charlotte Lovell (Davis) who stands before us, back turned, in a fitted satin gown with crimped collar and cuffs. She holds the door for support, looking with us towards the out of focus staircase (A) before her, where two shadows, arm in arm, walk gaily towards an unknown light source. These shadows repeat the journey up the stairs that their likenesses have only just completed. The handrail curves darkly past the the doorframe, its stairs turning up and away to the left.



The lowest level of a dark staircase (B) can be seen in the middle distance, this is the only glimpse we get. Before it a young house boy (uncredited) walks, in a white linen suit. He looks thin and timid under the loose fabric while carrying a potted Monstera plant towards the front door. Several yards of varnished floorboards and Persian rugs separate him from the foreground, where Leslie Crosby (Davis), faces Dorothy Joyce (Freida Inescourt). They stand backlit by a small electric candelabra; Dorothy who is taller, wearing a dark full length satin evening dress, extends an arm to Leslie who clings to her lacework. Her lightweight viscose dress is pleated and puffed at the shoulder, with a plunging neckline. Their faces are in near-total shadow, like two new moons, while their arms catch another light, and appear as young tree-limbs, entirely foreign to the clothing they spring from.



Maggie (Davis) stands in the empty space formed by the open left half of a grand double doorway. This cuts the image in two. Visible from the knees up, she wears a fitted deep black velvet dress, with a large white split collar sitting atop it, spread winglike across padded shoulders. She is mid stride, hip cocked slightly, hands hanging down with forced calm, her light hair subtly rising away from her. She is walking away from us at speed, towards the curved stair (A), whose handrail arcs down to meet her exactly at the neck. The dark carpeted stairs curl away from us and out of frame in the upper left corner. The right side is blocked in by a closed white door, in front of which stands an older couple, visibly taller than Davis (Lucille Watson, Grant Mitchell). They look rational and reproachful, in dated evening wear consisting of a mid toned sheer gown, with high neck and long sleeves that blouse at the cuffs; the gentleman is seen in profile in a broad black tailcoat and white shirt.



“And above all it really struck me, that's when I realised the impact of clothes. The way the nuns dress, everything it represents, how it isolates them, how it brings them together, all that. This was my first way of feeling the impact of the clothes.”

Q: What did you wear at the time?

“It was very elaborate, very studied and very fun. That’s how I let off steam.”

Every day, a different kind of delirium?

“Obviously, every day, a different version. It depends on the day. It was a permanent show. I was a showman. That’s how i got my start in fashion. People hired me by looking at me.”

What were you wearing when you got hired? What was your look that day?

“I think I was in the middle of my d’Artagnan Quattrocento period. You know, tights with big stripes like in the renaissance, the shell (grabs crotch, indicating codpiece), d’Artagnan hat, red d'Artagnan boots. Yes, I think that was it. It was really a period when people expressed themselves through clothes. It was really an art and a form of communication” (Loïc Prigent, 2024)



A scantily clad white youth is seen in profile with long blonde dreadlocks, body paint, and a loincloth. He is gently, artificially held down atop the central table of a futuristic interrogation room. Standing over him is a tall man, with blue skin and elongated limbs, in flattering slim army fatigues and stretchy vest. His crew cut tapers off to a long braided ponytail. A second tail swings from behind him. His digitally rendered hand is big enough to cover the boy’s entire torso, and what is a table-sized bench for the boy, is a bench-sized table for the alien man. Behind them, the inner surface of a one way mirror reflects everything but the camera.



A small ornate door opens from the anteroom of a grand factory, which stands beyond a cobbled driveway and large iron gates. A leg and a cane tentatively emerge from behind it. After a dramatic pause, the Master of Ceremonies swiftly folds his entire body in half, executing a curt bow to the silent audience. Upright once more, his slight frame, in pristine evening wear, turns 180 degrees and exits the stage. Wonka steps into the driveway, hobbling across the red carpet, while the crowd of children and journalists waits with bated breath. The lights shut off, leaving only a dim oval spotlight, which pans slowly across the glittering curtains as the band plays a subdued tune. Wonka’s cane is stuck between two stones in the ground and he falls forward in a smooth arc, as if instantly dying. As the crowd gasps he tucks his body forward and somersaults back onto his feet, emerging before the camera frame grinning to the ecstatic roars of hundreds of children from around the world. The camera pans beyond the curtains as the music fades to a snare roll, and the screen fills with the reflections of the crowd which slither across a dented and uneven mirror surface. Wonka dusts off his beige suit and places the brown velvet top hat on his frizzy blonde hair.  His blue eyes twinkle as he slowly opens the gates to the factory. Superimposed, these strange gestures of passing and greeting try to answer the riddle: what’s the difference between rocking and rolling?