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On a week
long trip to the Pembrokeshire coast in February 1998, I carried at
least one chair wherever I went. By the end of the week I think I'd
had enough and threw one off a cliff.
Another was placed on a precarious cliff edge and tied to a sizeable rock
with a length of rope. I then carefully sat on the chair and threw the rock
over my shoulder and over the cliff. Standing up at the critical moment allowed
the momentum of the rock to pull the chair away from under me and into a three
second freefall.
God Gave Me Gravity became a symbolic, if a little tenuous battle. If the chair represented the domestic, then gravity became a blunt tool with which to dissect it. Three seconds of flying before a transformation into flotsam, freedom followed by destruction. The chair existed in a transitional state for a fleeting moment, before desisting being a chair.
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