Held at Frontyard on 12 December 2021. The conversation about the book was led by Frontyard janitor, artist Sally Chessell.

Sally: Hi, welcome to Frontyard and to the launch and to have a conversation about this gorgeous publication SPACE BODY HABIT, produced by Ira and Elia. Before we get started, I want to acknowledge that we are on Aboriginal land, every step we take. Here, Gadigal/Wangal country. And so, I pay respects to elders past, present, and the custodianship of the land. Sovereignty has never been ceded and the questions of ownership and occupation and space are still very, very present, and I think really intersect with this beautiful book. For some of you who have maybe had a chance to have a look at the book, it's a quite amazing archive of conversations. So, in a way, this is an ongoing practice, stemming from it.

My name is Sally. I am here by invitation by these two, but I also play a little bit of a role in this space. I'm one of the janitors, which in bureaucratic speak might be a board member, but here at Frontyard, we call ourselves janitors. There's many of us, fifteen or so, that attend to the space. So, my overalls were in the wash today, but usually I'd be wearing overalls because we clean the toilets and we garden and sometimes things get out of hand. And we bring together our resources and bring them back. But Frontyard, of course, is not just the janitors, it's everybody who is here and has come through, and the traces of those folks, and creatures and plants. So, for those of you who have come to Frontyard for the first time, welcome. For those of you who have come back, welcome back. It's really great to be able to gather again.

So, launching into the topic of the day… I think most of you here know Ira and Elia in some capacity. Ira is a somatic-practitioner, history of being a dancer, and also a curator. And something that I've observed over the many years of passing Ira, is a real care for conversation, and this is very much a thread. And Elia: visual artist, installation artist, musician, set designer, many things… And so, they came together to produce this beautiful body of work. What I might do is just ask if you guys would like to introduce yourselves further, and then I might read a little bit of an excerpt from the book to get us started.

Elia: Sure. Perhaps how we came together, how we met and started this project, might be a way to introduce our collaboration. So, we actually met a long time ago through a theatre performance that we were both volunteering at. And since that time, we've just kept running into each other at various events and enjoyed the conversations that were happening every time. And, um… then last year, Ira invited me to have a conversation for her podcast with Artemis Projects, and that was really such a great experience, to really dive into space and these topics of how we interact with our environment. And yeah, I think that was a spark for then taking this project further and thinking, oh, there might be something we can explore together there.

Ira: Yeah, that’s it… Conversations with Elia, since I met her, have always been pleasant and fluid. And when we met originally at this performance, we haven’t exchanged our numbers or kept in touch formally, but our paths intersected through many years. This has been ten years ago now; that we first met; very briefly. And then, the street would be that space where we would meet and pass paths over years. And yeah, conversation has really been this kind of glue that connected us. For me, at least. And so, to suggest to Elia to go into a project that's all about conversation was very natural, because she already seemed as somebody with whom having conversations would be enriching and nourishing.

Elia: Mmmm. Yes. Conversations come less naturally to me. I feel like I was guided a lot by Ira through this process because a lot of your practice is having conversations with other artists and taking time to consider questions that could develop the conversation further. So there was a sense at the start – at least for me – the sense of vulnerability, in really opening up and thinking through ideas in the moment. And it's one thing when you're doing it, you know, at an exhibition opening; you're very relaxed and you've got a glass of wine, but I think when we brought it into this context, it was, um… It took a little bit to become comfortable with that process of conversation. And because we were recording it as well. So, uh, … Not that we had the intention of making a book at the time, but there was a bit more intentionality with conversation. But, you know, we settled into the process quite quickly, I feel. Yeah, it was lovely.

Sally: Beautiful. Thanks. Um, … just being mindful that different people here might have different engagement with the book, or different engagement with the project. So, I'm going to take a chance to read a little bit from the book, just to provide a little bit of grounding for the conversation. So, in the Preface [Sally reads]: “A collaboration between dancer/somatic-practitioner Ira Ferris and installation and visual artist/scenographer Elia Bosshard, this book is a transcription of conversations and experiences that unfolded during a two-week research residency at Frontyard, a multi-purpose creative space in Marrickville, Sydney. Set to explore the many ways we perceive or fail to perceive spaces, we led each other through a series of spatio-somatic and phenomenologically-driven exercises that either revealed or challenged the way our bodies and minds relate to space. With the starting premise that the interaction with space is often habitual and perception of space often unconscious, we looked at the ways to deepen and enhance our awareness of space and its impact on our day-to-day life. Through all these we questioned whether the focus on the visual sets a limit to perception and what happens if we shift our sense of space beyond the seen. […]”

[turns page] Day Zero. Pre residency meeting at Alpha. Questionnaire on Frontyard space as a memory. “Elia: what type of dwelling is Frontyard? Ira: It's a community space. Yeah. Community. I'll just leave it there. It's just interesting to me also this word ‘dwelling’, because I’m even considering how to translate that: ‘to dwell’. […] Imagine you were in the space, what level are you on? Ground level. How many levels are there? One level. How many entrances are there? Two. Can you describe the floor plan starting from where you mainly enter? Oh, there are actually three entrances, now that I think about it. Um, so you come from the street and you open the gate door into the front yard, into the front garden, and there's a paved area in front of you. And then on your left, there's a grassy area. There used to be hammocks there. There are trees, I believe two tall trees, maybe three. And then you walk to another gate, and on the side of that gate is a key under a lock. So, you open the lock and you get the key and you open those gates. And I believe you're opening them towards your body, so toward the street, and then. Oh, there are four entrances! Um, and then you come into this kind of like little terrace area where sometimes they just have their bikes, or I don't know, I think there are some magazines there, something like that. But it's a bit like a junk area, almost. But from there, you open the door of the actual house of Frontyard as a building, and you enter this frontal room that is rectangular in shape. And as you enter on the left of your body, the whole wall is covered in windows that look onto the street and onto that first bit with the trees and the hammocks and the grass. And in that room, there is a long table and this is where people gather. And sometimes there will be monthly dinners there that they organize. But if you were there on a residency, this is where you can share space with other residents, if you want. And from there, from that room, if you went, as soon as you enter, if you went to your right, you would enter a small narrow corridor, like a hallway. And on each side of that corridor, there is a room. And these are the residency rooms. One is a bit bigger and has a blue wall and a big table in it, and a bookshelf and a window. And the other is smaller and feels kind of cramped. Honestly, I would prefer that the first one is given to us, because I feel the other one is a bit hard to think in. And next to the smaller one is also a toilet. If you keep going through this narrow corridor, pass those two rooms, you come to the end of the building and there is a library there. What is the total floor space in square meters? Oh god, I have no idea. 10 x 35, maybe.” […]

[turning page, Sally keeps reading] Ira to Elia: “This maybe a bit of a hard question because it's hypothetical, but if you weren't given an induction [by disembodied voice, who happened to be me], and if we weren't given rules on how to use the space, would you attempt to use it in a different way? Um, I don't know, that's hard to answer. My initial impression is that this whole building lends itself to be used in clear ways. I mean, just coming back to how there's evidence in every part of the space of the activities that can occur there. Like the front room is clearly a space for lots of people to come in. There are little signs everywhere saying to do this or that, you can use this or that. I feel it's all very self-explanatory. So perhaps there wouldn't be too much difference. Perhaps the induction has given more of an invitation into feeling welcomed into each of the spaces. Like I didn't realize the whole open-door policy, which is interesting. Maybe I wouldn't have noticed that if Sally hadn't mentioned it.”

[turns page] “How comfortable or uncomfortable do you feel here at the moment? I feel pretty comfortable. How do you know that you're feeling comfortable? That's exactly what I was trying to work out, actually. Maybe it's something to do with just having set up our place in this space now. It's kind of like going to a cafe and getting a diary out or something, and you sit in your chair and then you sort of establish: that's your space. So yeah, perhaps there's that sort of boundary making or ownership involved. Not ownership, but you know what I mean…” […]

[turns pages, keeps reading] “Listing the creatures we share the space with. By sight: pigeon, wattlebird, grasshopper, minor birds, small black flies, slaters, worms, woof spider, small bee, tiny green fly – one millimetre, skin lizards, leaf wrapping spider, Ira, Clare Cooper, another janitor, two other girls visiting Frontyard for lunch. Through sound: neighbours, airplanes, Sally's voice on the phone, pedestrians, construction workers, children at the day-care.”

Day One… charts initial impressions of the space. Day Two… engages listening to the space, … and the body as space. Day Three… exercise about space and time. Elia invited Ira to walk 10 meters, beginning, I think, from somewhere here and ending, I think, somewhere towards the library. And then invited Ira to sit and to imagine 10 meters to the left, to the right, to the front, to the back, to the up, and to the down. So, what began as an initial encounter involved eight days of contemplative instruction and engagement with the space, and space as a concept. So, now to open it up to you two… You've talked a little bit about the meeting and the space of conversation, but how did you come to undertake this project as a project, and how did you come to undertake it at the Frontyard?

Ira: There was a call-out at another residency space. In October, 2020. The space was Critical Path and it’s devoted to dance residences. So, putting my hat of a dancer on, at that time, I suggested to Elia that we apply with this project. I knew that we share interest in space and the body, and phenomenology of the encounter with space. So, we’ve created a proposal for that space, which was from the beginning called Space Body Habit – that never changed. And we didn't get it. And I guess being at a certain age, you know, approaching 40, I learned by now that if one door doesn't open, you don't turn around and say: that’s it, I'm not doing this. You find another way. And I knew Frontyard from before. I've done a residency here a couple of years ago. So, I knew that Frontyard’s doors are open, not just physically, but also metaphorically. Most of us who want to do residency here, can at some point. And I love that about Frontyard, that there is no gatekeeping here and various projects are allowed. So yeah, we decided to change the plan and instead of being in a dance-hall, to try and do the residency here. And the space itself, which is relevant to this project, defined where the project then took. It changed our approach in some ways, not just because the physical architecture of the space is completely different than having just one big hall with a black floor; it also meant that we are coming from two different experiences to the space. One was me coming from the experience of memory – because I've been here before and been here quite a few times – and, accidentally, Elia was somebody who was never here. So that really defined where we started. In the chapter that Sally was reading first – which was the gathering we had at Alpha where I live, and it was called ‘Pre-residency meeting’ – Elia guided me through this questionnaire that she's developed for another project, which was all about memory of a place and what we remember and how we guide others through this filter of our own memories, into their knowing of the space. So, Elia’s knowing of the space was through my memory; her initial knowing before she actually arrived here.

Elia: Mmmm. Yeah. That was the question that we had to address really early on. Because we knew that this induction was happening as well when we were coming to the space. And, of course, Ira had been inducted into the space and introduced to it already. So for me, we were asking what will be my introduction into the space? Will it be through Ira’s memories, guiding me through the space? Should we do this questionnaire and that's my first conception of what this place is? Or do we wait until we arrive and Sally is guiding us through the space? Or do I go in alone and have my own initial connection with the space? It was an interesting question to ask because we realised that there are always these frameworks of perception that are constructed and shape how we perceive the spaces that we interact with. And, yeah... So anyway, we did decide to go with the… with you guiding me through the space. And it was a nice introduction because that's what the residency sort of flew into - guiding each other through different exercises within the space and different parts of the space. And so, it seemed like a very natural trajectory to then use that approach to keep exploring the space, guiding each other through how to listen, or see, or take time in different parts of the building.

Sally: Mmmm. I think as somebody who's quite familiar with the space, it was fascinating to read both your memories and your initial impressions, Elia. And there's this beautiful… The book is peppered with beautiful sketches that mark some of your thoughts. And there’s a map that you drew from Ira’s memory; how you thought the space would be laid out. Done before being here. And then after. And even reading that piece out just now, Ira, I was like, oh no, that gate doesn't come out towards the street. Does it?

Ira [softly]: No.

Sally: So, you put these things forward and they may or may not align with the physical space, but they kind of carry with us throughout spaces all the time.

Ira: Yeah. It's a failure of memory, basically, at that moment. Yes.

Sally: Yeah. But a beautiful failure. Um, I guess I'm curious… So, you led each other through these exercises. And one of the things you were quite curious about was unsettling sight and also being really receptive to sound and other senses. And I'm curious about why this was important to you both?

Ira: For me, it was really the guiding thing behind it all. Through my curatorial practice, I became quite conscious of how prevalent the vision is. It's the sense that’s become the strongest, and at the risk of losing the contact with all the other senses. As a dancer, I'm quite aware that there is more than just this part of our body [frames her head]. There is so much more. And as a dancer, the touch and the sensation of the space around the skin of the body is something you're very attuned to. And… the sight separates us from the world; from everything that surrounds us. Because, if I'm looking at you [points to Sally], you are at the distance from me. But if I close my eyes and listen to your voice, your voice is so much closer to my body. And… there is something environmentally urgent about that as well. Because if we are observing the world around us only through our eyes, we think that we are separate from the world, from the nature, from the space. But if we close that sense and open other senses, such as touch or sound or taste, we feel more enmeshed with the world, one with the world. I think that the sense of care develops through that. It is selfish in some way, because we learn that we are interdependent with these things; that we are affected by whatever is happening around us, and that we affect it. Um, … So I think surprisingly what the whole process led us to – for me surprisingly, at least – was the development of care through that.

Elia: Mmmm… mindfulness to spaces that we inhabit. And, um, for me in my practice, I'm very interested in … – cause I build installations – in exploring how we feel spaces more than we actually see them. So, our body feels how to navigate a space through spatial cues, and the social interactions we have with other people are framed by the spatial setups or structures that we're in. And so, when you enter a space for the first time, there's something more than just recognising how to navigate a space. We often feel this sense of, um, … we call it a spark or a charge. Like the space is charged in some way. And you know, you get that feeling like, when you walk into a space and you’re either comfortable immediately or there's something that you, you know, … you develop comfort over time. And so, exploring how our senses can inform our interaction with space and how we learn the space and how we get to know a space is, yeah very interesting. Just to go beyond that first visual impression that we have.

Sally: That idea of care really expands towards the end of the book. And when you talk about spark or charge in the book, you're having conversations around that with respect to the language and some of the definitions around ‘space’ and ‘place’. Did you want to talk a little bit more about those conversations between space and place, and some of the things that came up through your work?

Elia: Mmmmm. Yeah. Space and place… Um, space as somewhere that perhaps we haven't had the time to connect with and don't have a care for. Empty spaces. Spaces that exist but have no value or meaning or memory attached to them. And then places, of course, being somewhere that we hold within us, as well as being the physical place that we can go to. So, places like Frontyard, places like home. And one of the topics of conversation was how does space become place, and realising there’s this sort of ‘gradation scale’ where we enter a space – say a new space for the first time – and then as we revisit it again, it becomes a bit more of a place. And if we keep revisiting it and keep being affected by the space, but also perhaps affecting the space and holding it in our memories and within our bodies as well, yeah it becomes a place, it becomes a part of us. And yes, I guess that’s this difference between thinking of spaces as just containers that we use to as a function, and then spaces that also contain us and in that sense are places that are meaningful.

Sally: We had a bit of a chat yesterday and Elia you were saying that there are things that you are keen to revisit from the time, like exercises that you feel you were present to them in a way that you want to shift now. And Ira was talking about… now that the book is published – and it really does archive eight days of conversation, and it really invites walking alongside or listening alongside, because you read it at the pace of conversation and the stutters and the thoughts and the laugh and the pauses – um, Ira you were talking about making notes in the margins. How, in some way, this is very much an archive of a little seed that was planted, but it's still very much taking root and growing. And I'm curious, maybe Elia to you, … what are some of the things that you feel like you want to revisit, that have stayed with you and your body?

Elia: Well, there was a question towards the end of our residency, which Ira posed, and I think because of the current environment with COVID and everything's online, my reaction was to immediately think of digital spaces. So, I'll ask the question again, because I'm interested also to pose this question to you [points to Ira], which was, … “Do you think you could have a close friendship with someone whose home you have never seen?” And so, I immediately thought of how I’ve been interacting with people and meeting people online and not seeing them in the physical flash, and having seen just maybe a bit of their home through their screen. And, um, sometimes that can be a very, … You know, you just throw your computer down wherever it's comfortable. And other times it's quite a curated experience. You know, we design our backgrounds to be professional or feel comfortable in what we're presenting within our home spaces. Um, … but I feel like there's something missing in that conversation about how well can we get to know someone, have a close friendship with someone, if we've never seen their home or never seen their space? Yes. I would like to explore that. What do you think there? What are your thoughts on that?

Ira [takes time to consider]: Um, I mean, … I guess I asked the question at the time cause I felt that it's not possible. We can know somebody tangentially, or have acquaintances… And maybe there is gradation to a friendship, as well. You know, there are those very strong friendships and there is, you know, building of the friendship. But I think eventually, if your friend wouldn’t invite you into their space, there would be something strange about it. And… I guess I asked the question to think about space, or place, and its connection to identity and who somebody is. And for me, spaces that people inhabit say so much about who they are. You know, how you choose to arrange the space and whether it’s messy or clean, or all these little things. And also, … There is something welcoming in inviting others into your space. So very quickly, the word ‘trust’ appeared in that conversation. That somebody entrusts you with seeing this intimate part of themselves, without which, I think… Yeah, I think it would be unusual that you know somebody for years and years and they have never invited you to their space. So yeah, that’s… Did you have further thoughts about that?

Elia: Um, I mean, just thinking… I mean, like meeting Sally as well… We met on the phone through the induction here and then coming across each other in a zoom meeting the other week. And then now meeting today. And I was walking in the back garden and Sally, you were outside, about to come in, and we said hello and locked eyes but I just didn't register that you were you, and it was only until you came into the Frontyard gate, and I just… I think because you'd entered the space now, it sort of clicked for me: Oh yes! But there's something about, you know, being in the physical space at that moment, it kind of made sense meeting each other and meeting each other in the flesh, anyway. Yeah…

Sally: Mmmm. There is some point in the book [stops mid thought]. So, in the Frontyard there is a bit of an open-door policy, which is I think referred to. So, there are doors here and here, but you go further back and all the internal doors have been unhinged and put away. The idea being that the space is literally open – noise travels and people can move between spaces, and ideas can move between spaces. And there are a number of points in the book, you talk about liminal spaces and you use the doorway as a kind of example and a metaphor for liminal spaces. And I'm wondering if Frontyard as well, in a way, is one of those liminal spaces, in a sense that it's not public – what is public? – it's not private, it's quite open. So, what can happen in that liminality, or the doorway? Because in the book, there's also some discomfort expressed about being in that liminality. It’s a place that asks questions and makes decisions; asks you to make decisions about what's next. So I'm curious if you wanted to maybe expand on that idea of liminal spaces and how did you engage with liminal spaces here?

Elia: Yeah, one of the exercises that we did on the very last day was speaking about, um … We spoke about doors quite a lot, actually. I think because of the open-door policy prompting that, but also doors are just interesting spaces in that they are in-between of two spaces and often places of pausing, but also places of action as well. Um, on the last day the exercise that we did, was choosing different architectural features. So, we chose doorways, windows, ceilings, … And just wrote down all of our associations with that feature in that space. And doors were very interesting to observe; just how much is associated with doorways and what they encourage in terms of our relationship with the space. And then also reading Bachelard’s Poetics of Space and speaking about the… Yes, the liminal space that the doorway is. And thinking about, okay, well, what is the door in our everyday life. And it can be that place where you sit to have your lunch and you're not fully out in the world, but you're sort of protected by your space behind you. And the shopkeepers, they're standing in the doorway looking for a customer to come in, not wanting to be completely separated from the world by being inside. So, there's not quite leaving the shop, but not being fully within it either. So, it’s this waiting for something to happen. Yes. And, yeah, recently I had some friends over and I think because there were so many people in our small garden space, some friends started sitting in the doorway between the inside and outside, the kitchen and garden, and it just became this sort of… like a barrier for people who had to pass through, but also like a nice social engagement. Like, you had to acknowledge them and negotiate the space in order to pass through that area. So, yeah there’s something about movement through doorways, which is quite interesting. But also the metaphorical sense of that as well; making decisions. Yeah.

Ira: Yeah, I think Elia answered this question but in metaphoric sense, I guess… I mean, in surrealism, a doorway is always this… It appears often in dreams. It's between the wake-state and the dream-state. Between possibilities. Between the future and the past. And there was this moment in the book where we reflect how it's more likely that we will stop insecure at the doorway when we are going in, because the future is more immediate on the entrance and we have a potential of seeing what's in front. But when we are leaving, we'll probably be quicker in that action because what we are leaving to is not clear. So pausing at that threshold, doesn't make a difference. We anyway can’t see what's ahead of us. So, it's the same space… physically it's the same space, but it becomes so different depending on whether we are entering or leaving.

Elia: Mmmm. There’s a passage that you read out loud, which is recorded in the book, from Abram. And he speaks about the, um… If one could examine all the doorways that we've opened and closed, it would tell the story of one's life.

Ira: Yeah. It's from Bachelard. Yes.

Elia: Oh, it’s Bachelard?

Ira: Yeah. Poetics of Space. Yes. And then it says… But is he who opens the door and he who closes it, the same person?

[short pause]

Sally: I guess I'm curious, if... We talked about maybe going through one of the exercises, to invite a collective body into feeling some of the things that Elia and Ira were experiencing during their time here – to invite you into sound and perception, as part of the conversation. But before shifting to that, I'm curious if anyone had any reflections on the book or the project, or have any questions from those conversations that we had?

Gabby [from the audience]: Yeah, it's very interesting to talk about liminal spaces like doorways, for instance, and also thinking about that idea that you guys were speaking about earlier, that whole, um, you know, … I think this is actually in the book too, something about the dichotomy between 'place and space – can a space become a place, and in reverse, can a place become a space. Um, and I'm curious to think of what, … And I'm wondering if this is even where you would use the word ‘liminality’, but I was thinking about, you know, for instance theatre spaces or music halls or dance halls – places, or spaces, and this is where my question comes up, that performances take place in, and you might know the space, you might know that it exists, but every time you go there it becomes something different. Like it might have a different set or there might be a different story or a ballet, whatever it is. So, I wonder what you guys think about that … Would you use the word ‘liminal’ to describe those spaces, and is it through the action of what is happening on the stage or in the hall or whatever, … does that then become a real place on its own?

Elia: Mmmm. That's a great thought. Yes, I think so. I love the layers of that as well. Like, it's the space, the theatre that you maybe have been to before or haven't been to before, and then within that there's your seating space and your relationship with the stage and your relationship to your fellow audience members. And then as you sort of settle into your chair, you know, it becomes your place. Like this is your comfortable spot and, you know, that marking of the boundaries. And then of course viewing the space on the stage, yeah, that becomes place or different places. I mean, we talk a lot about that in theatre as well, like creating place and making really clear spatial decisions. So, there's that sense of coherent place. You know, if you've got a door over here and you can't see beyond the door, we are still always going to imagine that there's a place beyond the door. So, the space also extends beyond what we can see on the stage. It extends into imaginative spaces or places. So, yeah, it's interesting. And then that word becomes so interchangeable as well – space or place – and it’s not one or the other necessarily.

Ira: Yeah. That's where the body really comes in, as well. Space and body are interrelated in that way. And … There is another word that I would use for these spaces, and it's ‘heterotopia’. I believe it's from Foucault. Those kinds of uniform spaces that are the same until they become different in a way.

Sally: Yeah, … Yesterday we had a short conversation, and that's when I learned that this project was a seed that existed in 2020 with the idea of being present at Critical Path, at the drill hall which is a dance practice space. So very different space to this. And I think you were reflecting on how much that shift in what was possible shifted the outcome of this – the residency and the book – because Critical Path, the drill hall is this gorgeous space, usually vacant, very much a black box situation. And it was quite funny because you said, one of your initial impressions Elia was that lots of these spaces in here [at Frontyard] are active. And one of the thoughts around initially setting up this space, the Frontyard, was to keep it quite spare and open and accessible, so that people can come in and kind of make it without too many legacies. And one of Elia’s first reflections was like, oh, there's things everywhere that tell you what to do. You know, not didactically per se, but little traces or little politics or things like that. So that was a funny, yeah…

Elia: … yeah, sense of the people who come and go from this space. Cause it's like, yeah, it's rich in the people who come through the community here. Whereas if we'd gone into just a sort of a blank canvas site, theatre space, there's a sense of needing to perform within and activate it ourselves and bring ourselves into the space, without acknowledging the histories of other people who have necessarily come through there.

Sally: But then also to bump out.

Elia: Yeah, and the bump out.

Sally: But arguably your traces are still there, but it is somehow whipped clean.

Elia: Mmmm. Fresh again. Yeah.

Sally: Restored…

Thanks Gabby. Was there somebody else who had …?

Jen [from the audience]: Um, … Going back to the question about whether a friendship can be strengthened by someone sharing their own space. If someone's home is kind of this, … If they don't have a feeling of safety in their house, do you think that there's an equivalent place or space someone could share, to build that same kind of intimacy?

Ira: Mmmm. That's a great question. Um, …. [stops mid thought] I have to say, all these thoughts that are shared are in flux and fluid. So, anything that we answer here, or in the book, is always open for revision. Within us as well. So any answers that I'm giving, they may change tomorrow. But at the moment, I feel – especially if somebody lives in that kind of space of unsafety – that there is something extra trustworthy, opening, or vulnerable when they invite you to that space, because then they're inviting you into a space that has not been home for them, that is not polished, that is difficult for them. And so, if somebody invited me into that kind of space, I would really feel that they have been extremely intimate to open their doors to something like that. Cause these are the spaces that are usually shut from others. So even more so. I think that it would be more questionable how intimate somebody is becoming, if they have arranged the space very neatly when you're coming to it, because that's a curated space. That's a heterotopic space. Doesn't have a sense of belonging to it. It’s sanitised, I guess. Um, yeah, … Thanks. That’s a really lovely question to think about. Yeah. [turns to Elia] Do you have any thoughts?

Elia: Uh, very undeveloped thoughts. Thank you for the question and the thought is beautiful. I was thinking maybe about community spaces as a safe place to gather and how we, I suppose, assume different identities depending on the space that we're in, as well. So perhaps… I was thinking about, you know, going to your local pub and you've got your local crew there. Or you see the people who go there all the time. And there's something about seeing them that feels familiar and safe. And often these sort of places of leisure can be spaces to open up and feel comfortable being yourself within, and maybe there's a way of getting to know people in that space. It's not their home, but it's a place where they feel safe. Yeah.

Sally: I found the bookmark on first go, which was amazing, but it reminds me of this little section in the book. And it's from Day Three; ‘Talking about space or place: charged spaces’. And Ira you ask the question: Do rhythms create comfort? And Elia, you respond: Well, yes, very strongly. And Ira, you respond: “It's interesting because with people, rhythms create a sense of trust and therefore a sense of being able to relax. Like, if there's some regularity in relationships, you can perhaps rely on them. Rhythm creates that sense of reliability and trust in human connection. And then if you make an analogy to space, having that sense of rhythm in this space enables you to relax because it provides some regularity, some reliability.” I'm just thinking how this book very much charts relational space, or explores relational space, and in a way, if the space isn't safe, maybe the relational space is the one, … You know, by attending to the safety of the relational space, might also feed into the physical space and vice versa.

Ira & Elia: Mmmm.

Sally. But, it’s a… it's a gorgeous question.

[a little pause]

Sally: There is one little thing I want to touch on before opening up… if you still want to do an exercise…

Ira: Maybe not. We can keep having the conversation. We are coming to time. People are hungry, I'm sure. And um, … the thing with the exercises is that they were done in a very intimate and quiet space. It was very meditative for us, and it was just the two of us who were very open and devoted to the project. And when we gather in this kind of environment, you know, partly we are getting hungry, … we want to interact with each other. We haven't seen each other for a few months. The energies are very different. So to take us into the exercises that require that inner space, and silence and patience, is … it's difficult, it's different. So, I would suggest we don't go through that process and if there are more questions we open it to that. Or if they're not, then we have some food. [laughter] But the exercises are there in the book. So, in case that you want to go through these exercises yourself, or take others through them, there is an invitation. And yeah, the project was actually created with that in mind. I think very early on, our intention was to create a workshop model for interaction with spaces. And then it became a book, so the workshop doesn't need to be facilitated by me and Elia, but could be facilitated by whoever has a book. And also, Nadia is here, and I just want to, on behalf of both of us, thank her because one of the exercises is your exercise that we guided each other through and expanded on. So, there are lots of knowledges in the book that are not ours. Many exercises are extensions of the things we have learnt from others. As I think, everything we do is. The things that come through our minds are informed by conversations that we had in the past, with many other people.

Nadia [from the audience]: I actually had a question about that, because I know from the perspective of seeing my exercise repeated in the book, like how different it was, cause it was a drawing game that I made up and was doing in public spaces, bigger specific public spaces when I was travelling. And so then to see the instructions repeated in a much smaller, more domestic space; a space that was very different to the scale of the body,… Because lots of the bits of the activity were about scale and distance. It was so fascinating, because it felt very, you know, some of the outputs looked very similar, but when you discussed it, … And I love that you put such detailed discussion in after the activities; you know, about what you thought and felt through it. And it was fascinating for me to read about that shift, total shift with that activity. So, I was wondering if there were any other similar experiences where your translation from whatever the original input was, was much different. Are there any other reflections you have on that process?

Elia: For me probably the 10 meter exercise. So, this exercise where I asked Ira to walk 10 meters, just to get a sense of how far that space is, and then sitting in different parts of the building imagining, as you Sally described before, 10 meters in different directions. Cause when I first did that exercise, it was just at home and I live in a small, very narrow terrace house. And I was thinking about the neighbours across; so thinking 10 meters through that wall, I was like two houses over; neighbours that I'd never met or really thought about before. And it was just bizarre to kind of travel in that way into a space that I had never considered and not even been to. But, um, then bringing that exercise here, being a larger space as well. Often with 10 meters, we were still within this structure. And then there were also similarities between, you know, thinking down 10 metres in my home space, you know, it's a bit more… it's closer to the city, so I'm thinking like there's plumbing and draining and it goes out to the Harbour. And then here, it was much more earthy and thinking about the roots and the soils and just the difference in environment. Using the same kind of measure, but then just changing the space that you enact the exercise in, changes your relationship and understanding of that environment completely. Yeah, so…

Ira: Mmmm… Yeah, Nadia’s exercise really revealed to us something that started emerging from the beginning with closing the eyes on Day One. With your exercise, Nadia, we at first realised how visually focused it was. And then also, we realised the difference between the two of us. Because Elia’s practices is in installation and visual art, and mine is very physical. So, when we were drawing the space, Elia was drawing the space from the above, like an architect. And I was drawing it from here [points to her body]. So, my space was not a rectangle. It was … where does it feel that I'm being squashed by the wall? Where does it feel that something's behind me? And so, we encountered this conversation about what is ‘felt space’, as opposed to the physical space. And then as continuation of that exercise of Nadia, we did another exercise, which was blind drawing of the space, and we closed our eyes – obviously that gets very messy on the paper – but, just trying to sense the things through the body. Again, the sound becomes very strong as soon as you close your eyes, …

Elia: … and temperature and light. And if the window was open, feeling the breeze on your skin.

Ira: Yeah.

Elia: You still have a very… Yeah, I was surprised how strong our sense of space was through taking away that visual sense.

Ira: Yeah… And it’s so different, um… There was in Elia’s drawing a moment where she draw her hand, which was this close to my body on the drawing [gestures small distance], although it was much further in reality. And it was much closer in the drawing than were her own feet to her body. So that sense that she's closer to me physically than she's to another part of her own body was, … it's just interesting how those boundaries of the physical fall apart. We spoke about the body being a space, meaning that our skin is the wall as well, that separates us from each other and from the environment around us. And that's, again, what the vision makes so possible. And as soon as we close that sense, the skin expands and the space comes close to it.

Sally: There’s um… There's a couple of points where you attentively engage in those senses. In one activity, Ira you lead Elia with her nose…

Elia: … yeah, the smell.

Sally: … So, she is invited to travel down the corridor, leading at first with her elbow and then with the smell. And after those kinds of activities, there's always a period of exclamation in the book. Like, oh, I didn't realise how large the space was! Or when I had my eyes open, sound felt distant; when my eyes were closed, the sound was, … we were together. Yeah…

I just want to finish on this concept of boundary making and identity. Because quite early on, …. And after this, you are all welcome to have a look. There's a blue room, and Annabella is currently in residency in this room. And that was the room that you were in, and your language shifted as the gradations of place shifted, and it transitioned from the room that has a blue wall to the blue room, to kind of our room. And there's this fascinating thread, talking about marking and boundaries and also possession and ownership. And I think towards the end of the book, Ira… Cause you've made a comment just before about care. And I think towards the end of the book, there's a little bit of a full circle in that sense of ownership or imposition on the space which feels a bit violent, and a kind of humble coming to the space and questioning entrances and exits from the space. And I guess this book is both an entrance and exit, and a gift. And I'm curious just to ask your reflections around those questions of ownership, which even very early on you were like: Ownership, but not quite. Attachment, but not quite.

Elia: Mmmm. And separating from spaces as well. Passing on ownership, or passing the space on…

Sally: Yeah, sharing the space.

Elia: Yeah, there was a moment maybe towards the end of the residency, Ira, where you were commenting on how we came into the blue room and we didn't really acknowledge anyone who had come there before us, and perhaps there was something of a violent entrance into the space. And we were then thinking about the situations when we take over spaces where someone else has just been, and often you feel this sense of, um, … Like, if you're on public transport and you take a seat that someone's just been in, and you can kind of feel the temperature of the seat is warm, because someone was just there. And so, there's a really strong sense of stepping into someone else’s space, and it's not quite your own space. Or, you know, you're very aware that someone was just here and it's being passed on to you. But we didn't have that so much here, because there was no one else here. And so, we came in with this sort of assertiveness in that we knew that that room was ours for the two weeks. And then just taking a step back and thinking, oh, well, no, there was someone here just before us. And I guess just considering how the space was occupied before we came to occupy it. And as much as the space perhaps felt like our own room, and we called it our own room at the end, there was that need to detach from it and clean it and then pass it on to the next person who was coming in.

Ira: Yeah. And inevitably questions of colonialism and conquering of space came into this discussion. Just acknowledging that – and I'm sorry if I'm wrong in any of this – but Indigenous people don't speak about ownership, but custodianship of space. And when they welcome us into the space, they acknowledge those who have come through that space before them, and those who will come after. And in our cultures, we tend to forget about this lineage; not just with human kin, but animal kin as well. There is a chapter in the book about sharing the space with an ant – how is this creature experiencing the space and how do we alter the space of this creature by being here. And whether we are the guests, rather than it being a guest. So, yeah, those different scales of perception of space.

Sally: Yeah. I think in that section, there are things like: Would the ant consider me Ira or a human? Those little questions of identity and perception, again. Look, it's a gorgeous book. I want to congratulate you both and acknowledge the care and labour and slowness and attentiveness to harbouring this seed and watering it with such curiosity and openness. And by charting and archiving the conversations, you've really offered a gift to other people and into this space. From a kind of Frontyard institutional sense, it's an incredible archive of a particular time, which I think is just quite beautiful. But it's also so multi-tendril than it will live in other places. So, just a huge congratulations. And thank you for being in conversation today, and for opening this space. And thank you everyone for being here.

Ira: Well, thank you Sally for engaging so thoroughly with the book [points to Sally’s copy of the book, peppered with the post-its] … It's actually very moving to see this, because the book is really, … I mean, anything that we do as artists, we don't do it for ourselves. This was always meant to be shared with others; to continue those conversations that we started. Elia had this beautiful expression, which she said on the phone yesterday: “To make ideas concrete in the way that is fluid.” Yeah, all these thoughts are left in a fluid state to be expanded on with others. One of our plans with the residency at the beginning, was to actually have a part of the residency where we invite others into the process. That never happened, and it happened now. So, yeah, thank you Sally so much for taking this time and being so thoughtful in your conversation. It means a lot to both of us to be able to expand the project in that way.

Elia: Maybe I'll just finish with quoting you [points to Ira]; something that you said yesterday in describing the book: “It is an unfinished book, and it’s hopefully the beginning of many conversations.” Thank you all so much for coming.