Installation for forty loudspeakers, visible wires, iron bars and eight-channel audio.
The word 'roil' pertains to a state of turbulence, specifically with reference to water and its chaotic energy, witnessed in phenomena such as crashing surf, churning swells and rough currents.
The Roil is intended to evoke a space that I visited frequently during my childhood and have returned to occasionally in later life. I have a mysterious attachment to this space, strengthened by some of the most profound and curious memories of my early life. Memories of happiness, unease, fear, boredom and fantasy coalesce with the space's geographic and sensory qualities: rolling hills, waving grasses, a southwesterly breeze, the smell of seaweed, sand between toes, the myriad sounds of the ocean and distant drones.
Luis Bunuel once remarked that our memories are forever being invaded by our imagination and dreams: 'since we are apt to believe in the reality of our fantasies, we end up transforming our lies into truths.'*
I wonder how accurate my memories are. Why do they evade distinction and appear so unfixed, disturbed and superimposed? What does it matter? It's a beautiful mess.
* Bunuel, Luis. My Last Breath. (London: Jonathan Cape, 1983), p. 12.