- The Real Colin Woods
- Auckland, New Zealand
- Colin was born in Belfast (Ireland) and came to Aotearoa/New Zealand in 2002. He was previously guitarist with Irish punk band Music For Deaf (not the later US band of the same name) and participant in UK/Ireland based Allotropes experimental collective. His current interests include experimental music (both composed and improvised), video, song writing and performance, and composition for conventional solo instruments and ensembles. He is a regular participant in the Auckland improv colective Vitamin S, one half of the duo Toy Triptech (with Rohan Evans), and has performed occasionally on alto sax with Jeff Henderson’s variable ensemble Superstars of Westlynn. Colin holds a Diploma in Contemporary Music from Unitec (Auckland) and B. Mus.(Hons) majoring in Composition at the University of Auckland. Recent releases include the album Skyway to Carpark (2012) and EP Short Straw, both are available to download from bandcamp and as limited release physical CDs. Colin is a also a Director of Angel Food, New Zealand’s vegan food innovators,
Thursday, 12 October 2017
The Voyeurs’ Manifesto.
“All art is autobiographical; the pearl is the oyster's autobiography. “
Film director (1965, quoted in Popova 2012)
I am, by nature, a curious person. That’s a nice way of saying nosy. I watch people at every opportunity- on the street, in cafes, on public transport. I don’t think I’m unusual in this respect but perhaps I am too honest about it. I particularly like the onset of twilight when I can enjoy the slightly guilty pleasure of seeing into windows when the occupants have switched on the lights but not yet drawn the blinds or curtains. I smile at the unintentional theatre of a person dancing in the kitchen while they cook, convinced that they are safe and hidden in their personal space. I absorb the details of their environment - the poster on the wall, the retro lamp in the corner, the glow from their television screen. They are quite unaware that aspects of their agency are seeping out and leaving this trace. My act of viewing transforms it from domestic mundanity to ephemeral performance art. I am slightly ashamed of my unknown intrusion but that actually adds to the thrill. I have turned these ordinary people into unwitting unpaid actors, on a stage that they pay for, framed in the proscenium arch of their own window. Whether or not Fellini’s oyster makes a conscious choice, the pearl remains, its laminated structure building until separated from its creator.