THE DUST COLLECTIVE

I am inviting everyone to contribute to DUST through their own collected samples, memories, stories, poems, words, recorded sounds.  DUST is a gateway to explore the world through the remains that it leaves. A platform to build a cluster of personal (real or fictional) shared narratives by sifting through the micro-ruins of our everyday lives.

 

 

If seventy percent of dust is human skin - then you're still here.  In this house, the sofa, the carpet, the air. Twirling in shafts of light, whirled away by an open window.  Trailing across surfaces like golden fur.  Marking my footprints on the floorboards. 

If seventy percent of Dust is human skin then you're still here.  A breath in my lungs, a coating on my fingertips, a brush against my face when I walk through the door. Close enough to touch.

This is more than memory, a visceral thing, an essence that can be seen, tasted. 

 That can be wiped away. 

 The house is empty, boxes packed, furniture gone.  The rooms echo in their stillness.

Spray and wipes, pledge and dusters.  Cleaned away by impatient hands.  The last pieces of you.

 Just so much dust.

 Myfanwy Rodman, Just So Much Dust 2018

Breathe, 
and dislodge your effortless galaxy, 
that flees and clings to menial objects 
blushing under their new old disguise. 
Be careless and slip, and the clouds explode. 
The world splits into gold, grey and drunken 
Darkness that lurches and spins under an 
already-lowering blanket, a feather drifting, 
and hushing, and tucking away time, 
as a million grooves and imprints of memories 
sleep behind a smudge of a dusty fingertip

 

Alice Wheatley, Dust Clouds 

All in one and one in many

Particles of splintered light

Cascading, luminous, pouring outward

Inward came it’s healing sight

Astronomic powder moving

Flowing back and forth through skin

Porous is my form unbroken

Atoms from without within

Amelia Harker, Dust

 

 

An explosion of light. A tsunami of hot air. A wave of splinters and of brick. Dust rolling across the ground towards her like an enormous desert storm. But what Barbara remembered most before the cataclysm came, was the silence. Her life suspended for a millionth of a second, as though it might take a whole other turn.

 

Mary Paulson-Ellis, The Other Mrs Walker

SOUND

DustnScratches (edit) - David Henckel
00:00 / 00:00

DustnScratches features the unwanted sounds of dust, static, crackles, pops and scrapes that add to a sense of time, warmth and nostalgia when listening to music on vinyl. 

If the majority of household dust is composed of our human skin then, through the act of listening to music on dusty records, we are hearing part of ourselves within the music - an unconscious collaboration with the performing artist or producer.

 

David Henckel 2018

david.henckel@gmail.com