The house where the universe ended

I've recently developed a bizarre interest in quantum physics, largely because it is a science that seems to explain how we still know relatively little about this universe. I mean stuff we can actually touch or see only accounts for 0.4% of the total stuff that makes up 'space'. And we don't know this because we can see the particles of this 'other' matter. We know it because of the effect it has on the matter we can see.

Anyway, as a consequence I've recently been researching the ultimate fate of the universe and there are three ways that we could go. The one I found most interesting was 'heat death'. It is the theory that everything in this universe will eventually die – every planet and every star will in billions of billions of years eventually die out leaving a 'dead universe'. What I found so fascinating about this idea is that it is so... Comforting. That there is a shared fate for everyone and everything regardless of how big you are or how much energy, or even how long you exist for.

But don't let it start you on a depressive spiral about how futile everything is. Instead, I really find it's something that should be embraced. Live, do what you have to do and know that no matter how many books you write, songs you sing or pieces you paint, one day they'll be part of a world of lost knowledge. Then breathe a sigh of relief, and stop being so hard on yourself.

Pleasure and Pain

A student e-mailed me the other day with some questions about my artistic practice, which is always really great in the way that I could talk about myself and what I do forever, but it's always better when someone invites that dialogue. Anyway, one of the questions was about live art and why people would choose to cut themselves under the bracket of 'performance art' and defy natural instincts of not cutting oneself.

Before I go any further, I wouldn't like to say I am advocating self-harm. I have never judged anyone for their desire to self-express inside or outside of the context of 'art', BUT I proposed those artists who are actively engaged with pain do so because the aesthetic of performance art lies within this dilemma. Live art's aesthetic lies in that relationship between pleasure and pain in order to achieve beauty.

My conclusion was "To bring it to a more down to earth everyday level, when you really love someone it is the best feeling in the world and yet it hurts so much at the same time. That is what true beauty is all about - feeling pleasure and pain simultaneously."

For some reason these words came back to haunt me tonight when I listened to 'Summer In Siam' by The Pogues. It is a song that reminds me of someone I loved. It is a song that reminds me of falling in love on a warm summer's day. And yet the lyrics simply state "When it's summer in Siam, then all I really know is that I truly am in the summer in Siam." It makes my heart ache because of the simplicity of the words mixed with the memories.

I have avoided listening to this song for such a long time until tonight. And I felt it: it was a small reminder of what love is, what beauty is. An indescribable joy mixed with a pointed melancholy. The pleasure that seems to fill you with mindfulness, with wanting to be right there in that moment, and yet seems to ache only in your heart.

Money by Shunt

I had no idea what to expect, but judging by a few reviews, I was afraid I was going to be disappointed, especially after David Rosenberg's triumph, 'Contains Violence' at the Hammersmith Lyric last year.

However, they managed to pull off an immersive theatre experience that didn't make you, the audience, feel as though you were forced to participate but co-erced you enough to be exhilirating. My prescription? Go and see it. I attempted to explain it but I am still on a come down after watching it. It's scary and exciting in one breath, and contains a lot of relevance in a post-credit crunch society