20210317

p3rm46r4ff171 carvings have been executed successfully. Together with Jesse, we managed to produce a little above 45 tags to the Kannistonkallio quarry. Most graffiti we worked on was at ground level, some were reached by climbing and others from the top of the hill. Sizes varied, most text and images being below a meter in heigh and spanning one to three meters. We used mostly chisels and a few outlines were made with an angle grinder. Some stylistic experiments with steel rods were made too. We are currently preparing to print an image of the graffiti for the Performing the Fringe exhibition. There is also a plan to publish some teasers on the Pori Art Museum instagram. Here is a low resolution video showing highlights. Music is by tyops.

Ruosniemi hills are located 7km north-east from the Pori centre. There are a few Bronze Age constructions in the area such as the Ruosniemi metsasarat burial mounts. A corner of the hills called Kannistonkallio (38m high) was established as a quarry in the 1920ties. Granite from the site was used for the construction of the Pori bridge (completed in 1926). During the Continuation War German troops operating in Finland forced Soviet war prisoners to work the mine and to produce material for an expansion of the Pori Airport. After the war the quarry was used by the city for producing gravel and an entrepreneur manufactured pavement at the site. Local kids stole dynamite from the quarry storages and practised ski jumping on the hills.

Some time in the 80ties the pit which the mining operations produced filled with water and became a popular swimming site. The pond is known as “Ankkalampi” (Duckpond) and it is believed that the water seeps from a groundwater source. Crabs and fish have been planted to the pond. The quarry is mentioned in the Geological Survey of Finland database and photographs of the Ruosniemen sepelilouhos are dated to before 1996. Some texts in the current graffiti date the writings to 1987. Illustrations and texts are spread along the over 100m long hill edge. In 2018 a pair entrepreneurs established a outdoor centre called FinnDome to the site. FinnDome houses guest in dome-shelters close to the pond.

The selection of graffiti we engraved was based on intuition and we worked independently to cover the vast area. Initially I was inspired to engrave texts which were made to hard to reach locations. Engraving text to hard to reach spots was a way of connecting with the original authors. In some cases I didn’t engrave texts because the spot had required tremendous courage to reach. I wanted to leave them undisturbed. The majority of the texts we wrote are names and nicknames like ana, anzu, eero, erno, hanna, lepis, limppu, miia, niina, riikka, tero and so on. There was a considerable amount of love confessions and some like emmi <3 samppa got engraved. Others were left untouched because fading-love can be a beautiful process.

Looking at photos from the site most of the graffiti we engraved were written in plain handwriting and a significant portion are names of girls. We were also motivated in engraving asemic utters like pippui, oky-mus-porkka and odd illustrations. Some might have initially been parts of longer texts which had eroded over time. Some focus was also given to proto-global graffiti signs such as zeni, zlim and hamp. These sound like something kids born in the eighties might imagine rappers saying (I threw a tag which read zikke around -93, it was written so that it could be read as zakke and derived from my old name Sakke). The letter Z is exotic for the Finnish language.

We also engraved brand names such as hilux, bimmer (and possibly JAPA). In this context, it felt like the authors had written them as prays of sorts. Or perhaps social pressure had forced the authors to produce brand names instead of opinions. The shape of the quarry formed an opening with two distinct stages. The setting invited a dramatic reading of the original texts. It felt like the original authors had channeled deep feels. There were some crude markings and signs which showed that the authors had been working with their haterade, fears and desires. To reach some spots the authors have performed life-threatening climbs.

I think the audience we made this work for does not resite in our time. The audience we worked for occupies a beautiful ruin, where everything we currently posses has been assembled into piles. This landscape affords them novel tools which surface periodically from the ground. The tools are yielded for unimaginable purposes. I think this audience is what we have been working for when we’ve framed various Ore.e Ref. activities as an “archaeology of the future”. We investigate today as a remain and imagine our stuff from the perspective of an other intelligence. This speculative intelligence is not of our own invention. They are folk of the Pensastuulikansa (Bushwindpeople) as defined by Outi Heiskanen and they don’t live in a particular time. They merge occasionally in the form of good humour (with no joke).

Outi was a kid during the second world war and witnessed how scarcity turned her mother into a craftsperson. Outi’s mother could, for example manufacture soap from anything. Making “soap from anything” is the most innovative practice I can dream of. I think with Jesse, we imagine that the audience we are reaching out to, are folk who have developed mindsets, which afford them skills to use the tools and materials they discover from their surroundings, beyond the semiotic functions these items are currently assigned. A possibility for semiotic reconfigurations has been discussed before during the Performing the Fringe excursions and the process is presented as a core strategy of the Crusaders’ School of Pure Humour Without Joke.

Playing with semantic changes was typical of the Crusader School, as was the unclear delineation of events that grew out of one person’s spontaneous idea and was then developed and variegated by the entire community. In their openness – in terms of both authorship and chronological delimitation – they are happenings in the purest sense of the word, although this term is rarely applied to the Crusaders’ activities.

In our case, the folk of the Pensastuulikansa will be able to read the engravings and make sense or assign meaning to them.

The quarry can be found at Liitostie 92, Pori. 61.50567, 21.87771.

20210308

Bought a beat down Lauchpad Mini mk1 for cheap and attempted to fix its failed USB micro port. Got some great tips from William Bailes but didn’t get the device working and ended up buying an other lp-mini-mk1 for not so cheep. Enforced it’s USB port with epoxy. I’m trying to get going with Norns using Midigrid. Got Beets and awake running well. Hoping to get into Got glut running using 64 patch and grandchild too. Also found a NT1-A for a steal. Set up for upcoming sound recording stuff. p3rm46r4ff171 preparations are taking the most of my time and I’m scheduled to travel to Pori on Friday. Packing camera gear and tools. The sculpturesque Kettlebell workouts (for strengthening grip and core strength for rock carving) feel functional.

Lost a small teaching gig, lost an election vote counting gig (elections were moved to a later date), fearing I’ll lose my big teaching gig for this spring. Hoping not to loose two separate podcast gig and two performances which are planned. Applying for gardening jobs at cemeteries and the city. Also looking for work at Posti. Waiting for my Wolt contract to be validated.

20210301

Participated in a creative writing class at Aalto facilitated by Fer Boyd. The week was rough but rewarding and I learned a lot on how to host collective writing efforts. Boyd was great and it was relieving to experiment with writing in the Aalto academic context. The group was fun, smart and active! A lot of piercing one-liners and concepts were thrown in the air. “Holy, as in it has holes” was offered was a way to explain the positive effects porousness provides texts. We also discussed that the term and concept of “Native-Speaker” should be abolished. An alternative from Russian language was proposed “Language Carrier”. This would work great in Finnish too: Kantokieli (Äidinkieli < Kantokieli). This would be translated as “tree stump” -language.

There were also some revealing experiments with citations. We observed that in fiction, stories within stories deepen the reading experience. The relations of a reader following a fiction, from were the antagonists of a story hear a new story as a part of their quest, blurs distinctions and suck the reader in (I’m trying to describe the framing techniques of One Thousand and One Nights). In academic writing quotations work in an opposite direction. They push out from the text and present themselves as unnegotiable, hence shallowing the reading experience. I’m tempted to write the bulk of a text as a quote and to infuse my own thinking to it as a quoted fiction.

Wrote two texts I feel confident to tag as Art-Writing.

20210225

They, a recovering survivalist with limited means, were halted at the border control and tasked to polish their gems for an inspection. Being smart about it they had already disposed, or digested rather the stolen ones before entry and yielded only proper fossils on their wrists. There might have been some crumbs left from the stolen ones but not enough to reveal whose they were. Fake skin bubbles in metal crusts flew past at astonishing speeds and the border officer would have had to shout into the noise to be heard. Not that it mattered, they knew the questions and how to answer, or deliver rather and begun the recitation.

– “All stones are of the same age”. They started.
– “All stones are of the same age, to you” the officer replied in a shallow exhale.
– “Back way back when, when folk still dusted cow brain peels with silver and children sat in silence watching light pass them. A promise was made that a figure would appear which would lead us to a glorious death. I’m a bearer of the peels and the glues.” They handed in their documents and took a step back.
– “I’m a bearer of the peels and the glues, to you” the inspector murmured and performed the stamps.

Both were pleased that the ceremony went easy and so they continued to the queue, waited for their tools and then headed to the antibiotic hills. The work was hard, as expected and drilling took its toll. They proceeded mining through rubble and junk, passing layers of old newspapers but were wise enough not to waste time reading any. Remembering what Outi Heiskanen had told them, that text is not supposed to be read. It is meant to line the edges of the pit, so that it does not cave in.

A gem, which at night returned to them by means of interior circulation, reminded them of a happy summer night. After a glass of wine Heiskanen had asked out loud “Tell me, how do you build a house?”. They remembered replying something, knowing it was irrelevant as Heiskanen knew the only answer: “You start digging… In a day or two a man comes by and they will tell you that you are not doing it right. Then quickly, challenge them and hand them your tools. Go to lunch and wait for the house to be completed. Like this, have a look“.

They had studied the material but doubted that they were building a house now. If they were, the shape of the construction was such that nothing imaginable could survive in it. Unfortunately for them, they were working too close to the shape to see that it was inverted. If they had taken a step back, they would have observed that their efforts were producing a quarry which would eventually serve as a casting mold of the Pori bridge. But they were too concentrated on finding tiny antibiotic particles. The medicine was contained in the droppings of privileged pets of the past. Beasts which had been medicated by high tier professionals of glory days. If the blue rim, surrounding a pile were to be scraped off successfully and digested, it could heal them.

They spend their days working and nights waiting to work. Genuine starlight blessed them trough the ceiling wrinkles of the bubble dome shelter. Having spend two cold days in the pit they spotted the hardend remains of a past miner and a shameless exploration of their dried out dun led to an astonishing discovery. To everyone’s surprise they had breached into a sediment where antibiotics could also be found in the droppings of pet owners! And so they began to scrape around the remains, expecting a glimmering blue rim to appear. They were not discouraged by the sulphuric fumes. Amongst their kin, outlining corpses with furious labor efforts was the highest sign of respect. This kept them working diligently and to top it all, if they had understood Heiskanen correctly, their life would get better soon.

They is Ore.e Refineries (est. 2007) and they offer mineral water made from quarry graffiti (2021). This text is available as a vector-graphic.

20210224

If I were an unpublishable text I would feel as irrelevant as I feel thinking myself as a god.

I once took part in a communion at a church next to the rail-tracks. The priest, who was one of the first female priests in Helsinki offered us white cookies and wine. I thought it went well, felt serious and fancy. Everyone was silent. As we were walking back to school, Eeva looked me at awe and asked where I got the courage to act as I did. I didn’t understand what she was speaking about but took it as a compliment. It turned out I wasn’t supposed to pick the cookies from the priest plate myself nor to pour my own wine. I was supposed to wait for the offering. My ignorance was interpreted as arrogance and lovingly believed to be a critique. There was some unspoken shame in not knowing how to behave. I believe I was helping myself so that the priest would not feel embarrassed serving me.

Later on in life, this moment gave me some strength in believing I was closer to a pagan than a christian. And yes, I know most christians cherish this believe.

Right now, learning writing feels like praying. A supervisor, peaking amongst a grid of faces, has tasked me to recite prayers for a rational I don’t believe in. The rational I’m tasked to summon is wrapped in a veil of feels. It always is. I’ve performed these rites many times. Bowing, nodding silently, pounding the keys. I’m a good servant, I consider myself clergy even. Obedience should feel comfortable. Thinking optimistically, the irritation I feel is a result of me being confronted with the hollowness of the tone I use. But I’m bored calling for a sense or logic to appear in my own noise. Today inventing stuff makes me feel lonely.

Tomorrow I only want to read the english of non-native speakers. The rest of the lot are cheats. The clergy is not needed now. They need folk at the stables, shovelling wet hey. Why am I so provoked by this all now? Its guilt. Must be. I should be earning money but my hands are tied.

I’m dying to tell you that I have been tasked to write about my mothers dog. It stays with us when she is in treatments. To pray for the beast, can you imagine!

I hate the dog sometimes. I like that the kids like it. It looks at me lovingly and when it pleases me, I look at it that way too. I shout at it to be silent and yank its leach when it goes the wrong way. I have hurt it too. It’s my mothers dog, so it barks at strangers and I don’t know what to do with it. If it were mine it would know better: Wait for them to get close, then bite.

We’ve developed clever routines. When it’s dark enough I open the front door and it rushes to a forest for it’s business. It stays there longer then I want to and goes so deep into the bush that I don’t see it. The only reason I don’t shout after it, is because the site is public and I want to appear cool. Neighbours in the block see us at times. They know I let the a dog out without a leach. “Introducing Berlin dog culture to Käpylä” I say jokingly. Ashamed of being caught but sincere as well.

Sometimes, when it gets darker still I take it for a long walk around the district without a leech. I wouldn’t dear taking an animal I love so close to busy streets uncontrolled. The hate I feel for it offers it liberties I don’t see other dogs having.

There aren’t many things I can confess hating. But hating an animal is accepted because it is a token of a relationship. The dog takes in my hate and uses it to venture deeper into the woods. Eventually it will leave me and I’ll feel free.