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Michael Curran
'Predicting the future…predicting the future...'
Love in a Cold Climate

The film has begun. You are being led by torchlight through an empty mansion, choosing your way as if by accident among the labyrinths of similar itineraries. The adventure is narrated by fragmented voices. The beam of the torch searches here and there. At last it falls on the cast of a face, a death mask, made stone by the gaze of Medusa. I Can See my Way Home. You may only look at Medusa in a mirror or you risk petrifaction. No small hazard. Freezing and turning to stone are the autonomic fear responses of the embodied viewer. You simply can't help yourself. You must use reflection here. Have you seen Louise Bourgeois use the mirror as a weapon? See the silvered glass as the axis of Michael's work. Fall through the mirror of self-identification. Think with Kristeva of Narcissus, the youth who thrusts his image into the spring. But rather than drown in self-absorption, imagine that the love object of Narcissus is psychic space; representation itself: fantasy. The 'film' of water: its infra-thin meniscus, poises the image between coming into existence and passing out. Now watch All My Little Ducks. Michael is crouched like Narcissus before a bowl of water. He ducks his head repeatedly, self-absorbed, drowning in the act despite the echoing taunts of passers-by.

Image of Tattoo by Michael Curran, 2002
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