Bottoms Up / Gratitude

A collaborative response to rupture by Toronto’s arts community, animation by digital artist Alex McLeod, music by classically trained Gurpreet Chana and written piece by curator Rhiannon Vogl


Story by
Alex McLeod, Rhiannon Vogl, Gurpreet Chana
Published
May 1, 2020
alt

Rupture isn’t a break, it’s not a letting go or a leaving behind. Rupture is a crack, a sliver, a way in, a way through.

Rupture is rocking, of being tossed out of net, of fracturing and splintering off. Rupture is making space in the between, finding the sliver of light to sink into, ease into, slip into, and then push hard on the edges that hold us back. Rupture is remembering, not forgetting, about shattering out of what is already there.

Rupture is rocking, of being tossed out of net, of fracturing and splintering off. Rupture is making space in the between, finding the sliver of light to sink into, ease into, slip into, and then push hard on the edges that hold us back. Rupture is remembering, not forgetting, about shattering out of what is already there.

Erupted rupture
Erupted rupture
Erupted rupture

… a seed pod explodes, a chrysalis cracks wet with dew, setting off a chain reaction, a transition of matter so fine and
(in)finite.

If I stretch my face up to the sky, who is to say the flutter of my eyelashes doesn’t make the wind change course, or the clouds blow north?

Rupture is making new, explosive energy, expansive expulsion of that which does not serve. Ruptures make waves, makes pain, makes hearts stop. Ruptures are both actions and involuntary reactions. Ruptures also force together, they push things together, people together. They turn things over, turn them upside down, spin them backwards and flatten them out. They burst suddenly and completely. They leave scars that need sutures; dents that need mending.

Rupturerupted
Rupturerupted
Rupturerupted

…the breeze turns and the fog lifts. There are thousands now, a ripple effect, one yet none at all the same. Plural versions, double visions. Evened, but not equal. Yet.

My reflection is a refraction, in this rose-coloured glass. One I’m not sure yet where to follow. Synching in this silo, the goldenrod, it gets so strong, catching me in the nose.

Erupture
Eruptured
Erupturing

Ruptures might also be quiet, hidden beneath the skin, silently waiting to present themselves. Ruptures might be gatherings, gathering, collecting in wait.
Ruptures might be s t r e t c h I n g
Ruptures might be r e a c h I n g
Ruptures might be s p a c i o u s

The places where boundaries become weaker,
The places where bonds become stronger.
Ruptures want rhythm, to be more in tune, and more with tune

…this rupture wants to d a n c e.

I Disintegrate
I Reintegrate
I Flare
I Flounder
I Fall
I Fail

Enruptured
Enraptured
Raptured.

And then rise up.

Credits

Animation

Alex Mcleod

Tabla

Gurpreet chana

Poem

Rhiannon Vogl

Links

Alex Mcleod
Gurpreet Chana