Been a mixed week. A mixed month. Quick and gone. Already. So fast, into thin air, evaporated. Where does time go? The month has been mostly spent worrying about over – due tax returns, loss of earnings, future projects that are on hold, building traffic and page rank for mutant space and looking and searching for new technologies, free technologies that will help our resource on its way. It’s been interesting learning about new methodologies, technologies. I never thought I’d find myself immersed in SEO, HTML, PHP and analytics (I was only vaguely acquainted with computers until 2004 and even after that it was only one finger typing in a word.doc until about 2008). The past year was a huge jump into a dark hole called web 2.0. And there’s only one way to go with it and that’s down – It’s a one way digging mission. It’s like the old adage, the more you learn, the less you know. Keep digging. You’ll get there. No you won’t.
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Digging out of winter
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A delicious recipe for split pea soup
You will be reading this well after Christmas is over. However, I write in its wake, the season of the most delicious leftovers of the year. How I love them and next year, I promise to give you some timely hints about what can be done to convert the detritus of your Christmas dinner into mouth-watering culinary delights.
Last year, I shared thoughts with you on pulses. In February, there was a recipe for dhal and in July I suggested how you might make a lentil salad. Here, I am going to talk about split peas, yet another member of the pulse family but one, I suspect that is no longer much in fashion. In any case, I find that I cannot obtain them in my local supermarket and have to go further afield to a delicatessen. Dried peas are a food with an impressive history. They have been consumed since prehistoric times; their fossilized remains have been found at archaeological sites in Swiss lake villages. Peas are mentioned in the Bible and were prized in ancient Egypt, Greece and Rome. Strangely, for thousands of years, dried peas were mainly eaten in dried form. It was not until the 16th century, when cultivation techniques created more tender varieties of the garden pea, that people began to consume them in their fresh, rather than in their dried, state. They are highly nutritious and are rich in both protein and dietary fibre. In these trying times, it is also worth emphasising that they are cheap to buy! Have I sold them to you? I hope so. There are many variations of the recipe for split pea soup. Here is mine.
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Annette Buckley
This month in our culture blog we look at Irish musician Annette Buckley
Cork woman Annette Buckley received rave reviews after releasing her debut album “the ever changing colours of the sea” with 8.5 out of 10 in Hotpress. She combines lucious vocals with great piano playing, think Bjork fused with Billie Holiday and you get a sense of her vocal dexterity and quirkiness. Having collaborated with many Cork bands, Annette has also shared the stage with the likes of Ryan Adams, Duke Special, Imelda May, Jack L and many more.
Annette is currently writing and demoing new songs for her next album with her band which includes: Tadgh Sheehan on guitar, Ray Horgan on drums and Ray O’ Donoghue on bass.
“a stunning vocal from Annette Buckley”…
Irish Examiner
“Annette Buckley brings her sensational singing voice to the fore”…
Ottawa Express, Canada
“Mad about Buckley…An album thats both romantic and emotional with songs of love an loss”…
Ottawa Sun, Canada
“Buckleys beautiful voice does justice to her evocative lyrics”…
8.5/10 Hotpress
For more info check out:
www.myspace.com/annettebuckley
www.youtube.com/annettebuckley
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Amongst the rubble
The Sky Congo airplane was not just an abandoned and rusting shell, it was also a symbol. To look at it wither away on the tarmac, even before disembarking, the visitor would scarcely find a more potent symbol of the country’s decay. Today there is no sign of either half of it. At the end of October it had been in one piece, one month later in two, and now it is gone. Perhaps the symbolism would be spoiled unless it disappeared. Continue reading »
Kinshasa is still here. Direct from an authentic European winter to this, a furnace. A 40 degree turnaround in eight hours. Passengers ripped off layers but not quick enough to evade the moisture. How many of them were here for the first time, and couldn’t know how much the Sky Congo plane not being there meant?
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In the Arena of radio
I was on National radio this week – Irelands RTE ONE. Very exciting. Nerve wracking. I was petrified. This was it, my one moment, my pitch, my call to the nation to take action. I couldn’t afford to mess it up. Some people find radio easy; they’re relaxed, have an affable manner, are clear, concise, confident. Not me. Thanks to a fellow mutant space member I got a call from the producer of Arena, the RTE 1 arts show last week. I was asked if I’d like a 10 – 15 minute slot on Tuesday 19th January at a time between 7.30pm – 8.30pm (that’s the time of the show and I wasn’t to find out what time slot I had until I was in the studio that night). They quizzed me on mutant space, what it was all about, where the idea came from, etc and said they’d get in touch. I was thrilled. By last Sunday I was busy writing out potential questions and answers – I spent three days trying to second guess them – getting all my ideas into suitable sound bites that didn’t sound like I was reeling them off the back of a cereal box. It wasn’t as easy as I thought and I ended up with mountains of paper – scribbles and scratches. Come Tuesday I was exhausted.
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SEO and me
Been busying myself with SEO marketing…trying to optimize our skills exchange and its proving to be a long laborious process. What I have noticed is how many web marketing companies sell themselves as SEO experts and yet are not ranked highly on the very search engines they claim to be masters of. As someone recently said to me – its a black art. And yes I suppose it is, as many people don’t know what it is, how to works, etc and rely instead on web companies to do the job for them at a cost. It’s a disgrace.
So, my tuppence worth of advice; if you do have a site and want to optimize it, either google for free advice under “seo marketing tips” or check out companies that rank highly under “seo marketing” as these companies are the ones that are putting their money and time where their mouth is i.e. they’ve optimized their site to rank highly under the very job they claim to be good at.
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Delicious recipes using beetroot
Beetroot is perhaps the most outrageously delicious of the vegetables available from Irish soils this month or any. Recent near hysteria has replaced a childhood spent sticking my nose up at the some what intimidating deep purple orbs. Continue reading »
Much beetroot is to be found pre-cooked in jars or plastic on shop shelves – boiled to release all but enough flavour to let them taste stale and musty with age.
The root, when baked in its skin to keep in tact its flavour and colour, somehow tastes sweet and at the same of earth – flamboyant while direct.
Check for freshness by the perkiness of the leaves.
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Moving words. Mooviingggwooords
This month we have another diary extract from Irish performance artist Hilary Williams
There is a strange part of me that is attracted to Performance Art like some sort of radiator that seeks me out or do I seek it out? When I am out in the cold. Literally.
This piece of work was a sort of follow on to the work I did in Cork last November (see Dec 3rd column). For that I had prepared some performance poetry but due to time restrictions did not get called on to perform it (possibly just as well as there was very strong poetry produced that night).
I was surprised and delighted to be later invited by La Catedral, The Back Loft Studios for Mamuska, a performance evening on December 13th 2009 which was part of a few days of a mixed bag of cabaret, dance, sound, film, exhibition, comedy and performances. Basically whatever you’re having yourself.
It was to be fifteen minutes of performance but I was also asked to show my film Crab Murder (see the mutantspace vimeo channel for my film) so the performance had to be culled down considerably. I had to make clear to myself what I wanted to do and yet stick to my own found rules as to what this work was to be.
I found Hedwig Gorski to be my motivational force. Her work in the USA comes from a Polish war torn background and USA sixties Conceptual Art but was very distinct from all other poetry styles of the time. Unlike many of her contemporaries she did not come from a feminist stance and formed poetry designed for oral presentation not print. I added my own slant which is that it is never quite possible to repeat any performance again, each to be unique in its own right.
I picked the simple act of coming on stage with my pull along Ryan air size rucksack inside which was a long piece of gauze which I walked around with, unwinding and slowly using lips, tongue and throat to physically draw out the words – words moving words around. I next had a small but beautifully formed poem (not) about my aging body parts. Short enough to have some humour, rhyme and comedy. I had to memorise it – not a strong skill of yours truly. It can’t be printed here as my rules prohibit it. The next piece was two short prose accounts of two gentlemen I met the night before. They were bizarre encounters but actually happened. One man was looking for a bus to Bray where he intended to find a hay shed to sleep in as the smell of urine and vomit in the doss house was unbearable.
The other a refined academic who was writing about mans behaviour in a renowned Dublin University. As he talked he seemed full of knowledge and confidence about his soon to be published book, but then, to a complete stranger, let out the sad facts of his own physical and mental future which were extremely bleak. Which of the two men was the better off? I finished with a long piece written late at night (with difficulty and truth) about a relationship, never thinking I would have the guts to spill it out. But I did. Maybe he will never know but others did and so words were moved around and some of them were quite moving.
The evening was set out so that in between each act was a ten minute intermission so performers and audience were one and the same and each got a chance to discuss the work – audience interaction always helps my work a great deal. I ended up having a great discussion with a young Canadian woman, a PhD in Drama no less, about performance art and contemporary theatre.
I am learning all the time, I try to keep up with whatever is cool now. I seem to be a few steps behind. No matter, a few people saw my work, it happened, I came home pleased that I had again scaled an unknown mountain alone and saw some nice vistas.
Hilary Williams
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Thoughts behind an Idea / The Lord’s Prayer
This month we have a piece of poetry from punk poet Wasps Versus Humans
Our father
Old people holding on to something, in old people’s homes, nearly dead, a life gone. Seeing it all disappear, grains of sand, scared
Who art
Floating off, on some kind of cloud. Relatives waiting patiently on the other side
In heaven
What are we afraid of? Being lonely, alone. This is heaven on Earth, forests, deserts, rivers streams, mountains. The heavenly landscapes
Hallowed be thy name
In the name of God, wars, pain, suffering. Contraceptionless societies, living in poverty. On top of rubbish dumps in Brazil, Durexless and riddled with Aids in Africa. While white Popes live in palaces. Believe
Thy kingdom come
Kingdoms are for kings right? Wearing crowns. Falling to our knees, bow down, the down trodden, begging for forgiveness, kissing rings. Questionless and accepting
Thy will be done
Growing up learning to be a good every Sunday, plus Christmas, weddings, funerals, christenings. Morality pushes my face down into the dirt. Be good, be good
On earth as it is in heaven
Waiting for the oxygen to leave my body. Hallucinating, drifting in-between life and death, sleep and dreams. Lowering me down, where am I? It’s dark
Give us this day, our daily bread
The sun scorches the earth, draining it of all life. We watch documentaries on TV, depicting the situation, we feel sorry for them, and then order another pizza. Obese children watching TV. Believe
And forgive us our trespasses
A Bible written a hundred years after the event, one big long Chinese whisper, spinning around the earth like a satellite. Picking up information, in cahoots with the Romans, needing another God
As we forgive those who Trespass against us
Breaking into houses to feed your children, drug addicts beating up old age pensioners, too scared to leave the house, can’t afford to put on the fire Grandmas , believe
Lead us not into temptation
Pray, lose weight, give to charity, shop, watch TV, go to work, gym membership
Deliver us from evil
Money, table dancing, Bank managers, death row
For thine is the kingdom the power and the glory
One tiny grain in a vast universe. One exhale in one day, in one life time. One wave that crashes on one beach, in one place, once
Forever and ever
The love of a child
Amen
Last breath on this earth, and then nothing
Wasps vs Humans
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Sending Sticks (6I) – “Reaching Orhovelani in Thulamahashe – part I”
This month we have another essay from a skills exchange member and South African Artist now living on the far western part of Ireland
The daily, three-phase, hundred and forty kilometre round trip was recurringly tedious. Arduously hot. It began by getting to the main road at 6a.m., to wait there, to be picked up and bumped around on a hardened flatulence of tyres bloated to the extreme in an arrogant preference for efficacy of the speed machine. Gruellingly rough on the body. But, with the mostly long, flat, straight, shimmery strips of tar on which the Boere* stock would put foot, not braking even for the few bends, the intolerable, incarcerated proximity to these hostile drivers in order to reach and return from the meeting point, amounted to an endurance of about only two hours, each weekday.
Mesmerising mountain ranges in the west towered hazy purple-blue over alternating plains of dry grasslands and encrusted, baked soil, with anthills, Acacia and Baobab trees perpendicular under the stretch of wide skied, infinite visibility leading to zero altitude at the Indian Ocean coastline.
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Things I keep going back to…
When Ronan first mooted this idea for a column I was delighted – even more so to get the chance to throw in my tuppence worth. So here it is my ‘Things I Keep Going Back to…”
Before I begin I just want to clarify something. As someone who is constantly online and trawling blindly through the net getting constantly sidetracked into things I knew nothing about I have quite a lot of stuff collected. I’ve put some of it into the mutantspace stumbleupon account, vimeo and youtube channel and all of it into the mutantspace delicious account so if you’re interested and want to trawl through my detritus check them out…if you want your stuff included send it on to me at admin@mutantspace.com
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Wreckers
This month we have another essay from one of our skills exchange members on the culture of wreckers and beachcombers
Leaving a friend’s house the other night I noticed for the first time above the door a shelf full of bric-a-brac. Most of the items were made of glass, bottles, jars, a decanter, there were some brass candle holders, old tins speckled with rust and a few other assorted pieces. He told me he had found them all down in small harbour below his house, a cove really, with no beach to talk of. He was clearly glad I had noticed the shelf and began taking down objects and telling me what he thought they were, or where they had come from. His most prized piece of flotsam was a thick, square glass bottle, the sort of glass that queers the reflection of light through it, with a stumpy neck and lip to pour from. On one side was the faint word ‘Cognac’, with the rest of the writing beneath illegible, and below that a faint, but clear, fleur-de-lis. He thought it was at least a hundred years old, I would have said two hundred. A traveller had passed one of the nights, twenty years or more ago, he related, getting more involved as my interest grew. As the traveller was leaving after having his drink he spied the glass bottle on the shelf. He offered Jack fifty pounds for it, with a glint in his eye, said Jack, always fond of the drama. Jack refused but believed the traveller knew his business.
Jack said when he was a boy his great uncle used to salvage all sorts from the same harbour, where he fished for salmon. He took me back into his kitchen to show me something. It was a sturdy pew, ten feet long with a high back, with the main bench, something I had admired before, being a single piece of smooth mahogany. His uncle had retrieved it from the harbour nearly a century ago and had known immediately that he would make a bench from it. He showed me the left arm-rest and pointed out the slight depression in it, and the round marks of a hammer. He used it as an anvil. He said it was the firmest and best anvil he knew, Jack declared.
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Where do I go now?
So what is this all about?
The anatomy of our skills exchange is complex. It doesn’t lend itself to soundbites. There are no easy answers only questions and it is the questions that must be found. It must be questions that the maker must look for as he travels down the road.
Anatomy is structure and so it must be to structure that we first look to. So let’s start there, with that.
The anatomy of mutantspace is built around the maker. It is for the maker and seeks to support him in his mark making, aims to build a functioning system that allows the maker the freedom to express his creativity and give him space to experiment and play. To build this structure we must look closely at the maker and seek to divine the core of his mark making, look to develop a fluid space in which he can easily move through as he travels down his road, moves through failure and confronts the endless red tape and bureaucracy that prevents, confuses and compounds his problems.
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Book Reviews in January

This month in the mutantspace arts skills exchange we review books by Rebecca Solnit, Marcel Mauss and and interesting book about psychogeography
Non – places: An Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity by Marc Auge
An ever-increasing proportion of our lives is spent in supermarkets, airports and hotels, on motorways or in front of TVs, computer and cash machines. This invasion of the world by what Marc Auge calls ‘non-space’ results in a profound alteration of awareness: something we perceive, but only in a partial and incoherent manner.
Auge uses the concept of ‘supermodernity’ to describe the logic of these late-capitalist phenomena – a logic of excessive information and excessive space. In this fascinating and lucid essay he seeks to establish and intellectual armature for an anthropology of supermodernity. Starting with an attempt to disentangle anthropology from history, Auge goes on to map the distinction between place, encrusted with historical monuments and creative social life, and non-place, to which individuals are connected in a uniform manner and where no organic social life is possible. Unlike Baudelairean modernity, where old and new are interwoven, supermodernity is self-contained: from the motorway or aircraft, local or exotic particularities are presented two-dimensionally as a sort of theme-park spectacle. Auge does not suggest that supermodernity is all-encompassing: place still exist outside non-place and tend to reconstitute themselves inside it. But he argues powerfully that we are in transit through non-place for more and more of our time, as if between immense parentheses, and concludes that this new form of solitude should become the subject of an anthropology of its own.
“Shopping malls, motorways, airport lounges – we are all familiar with these curious spaces which are both everywhere and nowhere. But only now do we have coherent analysis of their far-reaching effects on public and private experience. Marc Auge has become their anthropologist, and has written a timely and original book.”
Patrick Wright
Marc Auge is Director of Studies at the Ecole des hautes etudes en sciences socials in Paris. His books include La traverse du Luxemburg, Un ethnologue dans le metro and Domaines et chateaux

A Field Guide to getting Lost by Rebecca Solnit
‘Never to get lost is not to live.’ “A Field Guide to Getting Lost” is a provocative investigation into the nature of loss, losing and being lost. Starting from the revelation that what is totally unknown to you is usually what you most need to discover, this book explores how finding that unknown quantity frequently requires getting lost to begin with.
Exquisitely written, this book manages to be both a heartfelt memoir, and a highly accomplished cultural study, with the bird’s eye perspective of one of the world’s most perceptive critics. Taking in subjects as eclectic as mapmaking and memory, Hitchcock and Renaissance painting, this book confronts the challenge of living with uncertainty.
Rebecca Solnit has written eight acclaimed works of non-fiction. An activist and cultural historian, she has been awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship, the National Book Critics Circle Award, the Lannan Literary Award, and the Los Angeles Times Book Prize. She lives in San Francisco

The Gift: Form and Reason for exchange in Archaic societies by Marcel Mauss
In this, his most famous work, Marcel Mauss presented to the world a book which revolutionized our understanding of some of the basic structures of society. By identifying the complex web of exchange and obligation involved in the act of giving, Mauss called into question many of our social conventions and economic systems. In a world rife with runaway consumption, The Gift continues to excite and challenge.
As well as being a sociologist and anthropologist, Mauss was also a revolutionary socialist. Today his name is associated with the leading intellectual movement in France, MAUSS

Psychogeography by Merlin Coverley
Psychogeography. Increasingly this term is used to illustrate a bewildering array of ideas from key lines and the occult, to urban walking and political radicalism. But where does it come from and what exactly does it mean? This book examines the origins of Psychogeography in the Situationist Movement of the 1950s, exploring the theoretical background and its political applications as well as the work of early practitioners such as Guy Debord and Raoul Vaneigem.
Elsewhere, psychogeographic ideas continue to find retrospective validation in much earlier traditions from the visionary writing of William Blake and Thomas De Quincey to the rise of the flaneur on the streets of 19th century Paris and on through the avant-garde experimentation of the Surrealists. These precursors to Psychogeography are discussed here alongside their modern counterparts, for today these ideas hold greater currency than ever through the popularity of writers and filmmakers such as Iain Sinclair and Peter Ackroyd, Stewart Home and Patrick Keiller.
From Urban Wandering to Cognitive Mapping, from the Derive to Detournement, “Psychogeography” provides us with new ways of apprehending our surroundings, transforming the familiar streets of our everyday experience into something new and unexpected. This guide conducts the reader through this process, offering both an explanation and definition of the terms involved, an analysis of the key figures and their work as well as practical information on Psychogeographical groups and organisations
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We Choose; poetry from Cork
Hereditary compulsion perhaps,
Burning desire more than likely,
Circumstantial I suppose,
People choose, I Choose,
We Choose,
God religion, Jesus and sex, pornographical images,
Dollars and war,
Vegetarian, veganism,
Lies and truth look very similar,
Are they identical twins?
Maybe conjoined,
Severed, by our conscious guilt,
Blaming, controlling fucking weird,
Be us, be you,
Take a pick now or piss off.
Global warming,
Global freezing,
Give us your fucking money,
Fake eradication will commence,
Swine flu deadly,
This is for your own good,
Take your damn medicine,
A spoonful of sugar
Will make it all go away,
Masses of robots packed into sardine tins
Worry worry
Hurry hurry
I’ll just laugh at the machines.
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