Ouroboroscopic Ways
Patrick Moran and Liam Wright-Higgins

Exhibition open:

15.10.11 – 6.11.11
Sat. – Sun. 12:00 – 18:00

Private view:

Thursday October 13th 19:00 – 21:00

Over the road and through the lashing rain, the Bingo hall throbs pissed. My nostrils dilate. My lungs fill. My ribs round. Denim and Lynx Africa and vaginal mucus. Bow wow wow. Bone. Urea. Diesel. Tussles. Spice and sauce and the musk on the tips of outstretched fingers. No throat. No teeth. No tongue. I smell the sponge and blood of rotting wood. I smell the hours etched in filth along the pavement and up the walls. I smell the meat and the oil of the meat and the bone of the meat. Bow wow wow. I smell conker pith and malt vinegar. Gold. Bath salts. Syrup. Brine-bitten tin. Breath. Arf. Stalking the puckered and shitty arse of a plump staffie cross. Its neat tuck. Its gear and tackle and trim. Wow bow wow.

A thousand drowned horses. Nautical miles of slurry. Spunk fogged expanses. Nautical horses of drowned caves. The stink of almonds, veined fractures, mould-furred aporia. A girth. Flaccid appendages. A red pong. Growl and snap. A fat red pong.

View video documentation here.