Dreams in the Sea Witch Houseboat
2010
Scavenged native Atlantic sea kelp, lichen, deer bones, shark egg sacks, chains, lantern, found objects; 1970’s houseboat, original sound score by Shawn Trail
Interactive site-specific installation at Marina 59 in Far Rockaway, Brooklyn, New York
Accompanying text published in e-flux journal, excerpted and updated here:
This installation creates an environment in which viewers are confronted with textures, mythologies, collective memories, and primal fears of the sea. Using a vintage 1970’s houseboat as the installation space, factual histories and biologies meet fantasies and dream-worlds. The boat must be docked in a harbor or marina for an extended period of time for visitors to enter. Guests come aboard and are welcome to sit on the boat’s deck, feeling their movement on a body of salt water.
Just like the ocean itself, the narrative environment of the installation space distorts the notion of linear time. This boat is reminiscent of a trailer in its mid-century fabrication and construction by industrial materials; yet the interior is dream-like, calling to mind both American literary mythologies and horror film aesthetics like The Blair Witch Project. Tangible myths much more primal and ancient are palpable, too.
Inside the cabin are a number of situations for the viewer to experience. The first experience aboard is of site-specific sculptural assemblages. Large piles of dried kelp and seaweed pour out of the dresser drawers in the sleeping cabin; branches and animal hides sit atop the bed; fishing nets entwine, distort, suffocate sections of the interior architecture; jars of dried sea-life, herbs, lichen, and various cooking implements neatly line the small Formica kitchen counter; old maritime books and maps are found on the built-in bookshelves. Other details such as a black rotary telephone, integrated seating areas for visitors, and a crackling CB radio toy with the viewer’s suspension of disbelief. An original ambient score by Shawn Trail echoes through the cabin.
