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Installation view, photograph: Eva Fernandez

Fremantle Arts Centre
25 Mar – 15 Apr 2011

Forster’s curiously titled )( engages in the meaning of construction and the construction of meaning. His work is full of the fun of language puns but also a serious critique of the limitation of language. In )( Forster has erased much of the source material only to find a significant new language in the often overlooked lynch pins of text – punctuation and space. Forster reminds us that translating meaning fundamentally relies on a constant and expected language, however an artist’s practice, and importantly for Forster drawing, relies on and expands from the shortcomings of this same language.

Detailed list of works ( download ).

process: This empty industrially printed and bound book was carried by my side for one-hundred and forty-three days. Containing no information, this book is inscribed with a history of fingerprints, dirt and violence. (Information ≠ Meaning)

process: Every occurrences of the twenty-six letters in the alphabet are digitally erased from three essays about language. Each essay in this series represents a different domain of knowledge: Literature, Science and Philosophy. Through this simple process of erasure the absence reveals the scaffolding on which meaning is pined and opens space for new possibilities.

process: The geometric elements from the LED displays in Time told by four characters were reproduced out of cardboard to exact scale. Lifted from the geometric constraints of their signifying system, these simple forms were then used to generate a series of drawings on grid paper. Exploiting the method of chance devised by Arp and the Dadaists, these forms were dropped from various heights onto paper and their placement mapped. These mappings become blueprints for other possible signification systems.

process: A clock where the standard number system is exchanged with the twenty-six letters of the alphabet. Each LED display endlessly cycles through an empty space to A, then B, then C, and so on through to Z. The first display on the right changes every second, and the one to its left changes every twenty-seven seconds, then the one to its left changes every twelve minutes and nine seconds, and finally the last display changes every five hours, twenty-eight minutes and three seconds. This simple clock iterates over every possible combination of four characters (twenty-six letters and a space) over exactly six days, three hours, thirty-seven minutes and twenty-one seconds before repeating. TICK… TOCK… Once in a while recognisable words appear for a second before disappearing into nonsense. FUCK… Why in a completely determined system are some of these moments offensive?

process: Each point of punctuation within the text is copied and redistributed around a point according to a simple formula: x = sin(a)*d and y = cos(a)*d, where a and d are random values between 0 to 2π and 0 to 50cm respectively. A computer is used to generate the random values in order to avoid the introduction of human bias in to the system.

process: A clock. Changing every second this clock iterates through every possible form within the structure of the LED display. A total of 65,536 forms. From time to time a recognisable structure strikes – An A or a B, a + or a -. These are moments of clarity in a completely determined system of nonsense.

process: Searching through the catacombs of text for any book that could possibly be meaningful. I flip through the pages of random books, tending towards anything that shows signs of wear and tear. Using only the traces left by other travelers as an indication of value, I slowly gather a collection of potentially meaningful books. I take them back to my desk. Sift through the pages and digitally scan any containing marks left by human hands. These are marks of distinction – this is all meaningful. Still cloudy, I try distilling this meaning by erasing all the irrelevant symbols. Leaving only those precious words that are underlined or circled by another’s hand. This is important. There is something here. This is meaning.

Annotation is an incomplete archive of an endless process.
Searching through libraries for any book that could possibly be meaningful. I flip through the pages of random books, tending towards anything that shows signs of wear and tear. Using only the traces left by other travelers as an indication of value, I slowly gather a collection. Taking them back to my desk, I sift through the pages and digitally scan any containing marks left by human hands. These are marks of distinction. These are thoughts. These are drawings. Still cluttered with text, I take these digitized pages and run them through a custom computer program. This program automatically detects and erases any printed text, leaving only the residue left by human hand. This is a program written in code, a text that erases text. I repeat this process.