projectforts

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Meet Jay Nelson, professional fort builder on the coast of California.

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So wanna

Triple Decker Hammock Fort @fosterhunting

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Thursday August 16th, we are throwing a fundraiser bash at Physical Futures Initiative Headquarters!

Come on down for some music, a bit of forting, and lots of fun in support of Forts!

Email info@physicalfuturesinitiative.com for more information, or to RSVP.

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Ruminations

Our approach to this project was one of experimentation. The idea was to get the public to engage with the installation. We've had some previous experience; our Transformation Booth at Spadina Circle asked passersby to enter a telephone booth we cocooned and respond to questions regarding social change by writing in a book. 

This project, however, needed random people to actually construct something. Was this asking too much? We were unsure. Nevertheless this project provided an excellent opportunity to test the public appetite for spontaneous engagement. What follows is documentation of the interactions we received:

Saturday August 4th: Installation Day!

Monday August 6th: the Aging Hipster (@aging_hipstr) constructed a fort and tweeted to us... 

We coincidently were passing through Trinity Bellwoods Park that afternoon and snuck a picture of our own -- before receiving the awesome tweets above from the Aging Hipster!

  We tweeted him back and asked if he would be willing to share this perspective on forting. He agreed! And this is his reply:

The Forting Experience.

I ran into the Forting installation quite by accident this past Monday.  With the fantastic hot weather on the long weekend there was nothing better that some al fresco dining and general relaxation in Trinity Bellwoods.

My first reaction was one of amusement.  Could this be some sort of City of Toronto initiative to encourage use of the park ? Some type of entertainment for children ?  The sign looks very official in its brown and yellow hues.  Very government of Ontario circa 1970.

Being accompanied by my two young children we enthusiastically dug into the brown bag to see what we could make with the contents inside.

Two sharpened stakes and a hammer, well those should probably be hammered into the ground.  Another piece of wood without a sharpened end.  Must be the top of the fort frame.  Lets tie that on with this piece of string and this scrap of yellow cloth.  Drape the sheet over the frame and fasten to tree for shade.  A perfect urban oasis.  Let’s take refuge, crack open an entirely unauthorized cold one and enjoy the afternoon.

Art that engages is always more enjoyable and even more so when it is unexpected.  Great job @timeanddesire.  Keep us posted on your future projects!  ~ Aging Hipster

Wednesday August 8th: Rannie Turingan (@photojunkie) didn't construct a fort; however, he did take a picture and tweeted it...

   we also enjoy the comments

Later on that evening, we received an email from Troy Ford, Parks Ambassador for Toronto's Parks, Forestry and Recreation. In the email Mr. Ford explains that he must "educate [us] that [our installation] is in violation of our current parks by-laws and failure to have a permit, is also in contravention of by-laws and protocols". He goes on to express concern that our Forting Sign "will have a negative impact towards the great work being performed by homeless outreach workers - as Trinity Bellwoods Park has a recent history of homelessness".

Naturally, we are quite disappointed that our installation was interpreted as encouraging homeless people to sleep in Trinity Bellwoods; for what it’s worth, we believe that mental illness and poverty is a larger contributor to this problem than our signs. In addition the instructions we left on the sign do not promote sleeping or camping...  we only encouraged Forting - a form of community play!

Regardless, the rest of Mr. Ford's email was congenial. He provided us with contact info for pursuing permits in the future, and he even offered to return our materials. We thought… time to document this process.

Friday August 10th: Arrived at Coronation Park to retrieve the work. We were met by Alfred, a park worker, who led us to the 2nd floor of the city building at the park. We were led to Brian Green's office, where the art was being kept. He wasn't in, so his assistant radioed him to confirm the release of the materials to the 'assistants' we sent, of course… 
Who says Artists don't have double personas ;)

We wanted this interaction with the city to be as official as possible. Thus, we created an inventory list of all the materials, to officiate the transfer. After checking off the items, we had them sign it, making the transfer officially complete.

  After collecting our work, we then parted ways...

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Accidentally posted this to the default tumblr rather than Forts yesterday

Thinking about ‘forts’ and the many possibilities that arise from the word, I retreat to the pillow-and-blanket constructions of my childhood. There is a particular kind of feeling that comes from being in a fort; it is one of safety, but not necessarily comfort. You are shielded from the world...

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Movie Magic

You are in a darkened living room. It’s nighttime and through the windows you can see the street lamps casting their orange cones of light on the deserted street. The only light comes from the TV. The Wizard of Oz, on pause. The crickets outside are clearly audible above the faint whine of the refrigerator all the way in the kitchen. You’re putting the cushions back on the couch after having built yet another fort to hide in. You’re alone. --- The gigantic emerald green head of the Wizard hovered high ahead amidst the flames. “Why are you here!” the voice boomed. I clutched the broom close to my chest. “I...” but the words stuck in my throat. I felt my grip weaken slightly as panic set in. “I...” “Answer the question!” said the ghastly apparition, punctuated by two jets of flame, uncomfortably close. “I...” I threw the broom down and ran from the chamber. I made quite a ruckus as I fled, taking the stairs two at a time, until I was quite clear of the Emerald City. --- In one paw, the Cowardly Lion holds a prescription for Clonazepam. In the other, a plastic bag containing this month’s issue of O Magazine. He waits inside the Shoppers Drug Mart until he is certain that the panhandler outside is looking the other way, then he scurries out the door, his tail whipping behind him. --- It was my therapist’s idea to talk to the Cowardly Lion. I’d never thought of crawling through the TV screen into a movie before, mostly because it’s impossible to penetrate a sheet of glass and enter a two dimensional representation of a world, but she assured me that this was how it was to be done. She reached behind her desk and withdrew a small yellow gift bag, which as I found out contained a special edition Blu Ray disc. --- Film Immersion Cognitive Therapy (FICT) was to be used in conjunction with my antidepressants, and I was to enter the film at various key scenes. By exiting, rewinding and replaying scenes over and over, I could explore the different outcomes of my actions. It had taken all of my strength to overpower the Wicked Witch of the West, only to find myself retching over a parapet from the putrid stench of her liquid remains. It’s not the same when you’re in the movie. It’s not fake. It fucks with your head. You can smell things, you can feel things. You overhear conversations. --- The Cowardly Lion is trying to crush a bud into the bowl of my bong with his heavy paws. I’ve lost track of what we were talking about just minutes before, and feel embarrassed. He was telling me something important. We’ve built a fort out of the couch pillows and a heavy comforter, airtight enough that it has become completely hotboxed. He takes a drag and pulls out the slide. “You know, my therapist says I need to quit...” I say. He gazes at me skeptically for a long time with sleepy, dry yellow eyes. He hands me the bong. I take a rip and hand it back. --- I keep looking forward to my next venture into Oz. The Cowardly Lion, likewise, is spending much more time in my world, trying to argue for a visit with my shrink. She won’t take him, on account of him not being real. He pops a Clonazepam upon hearing the news and calms down within 20 minutes. Then he smokes a bowl, spends the next two hours curling his mane in my bathroom, and passes out in my bed, only swishing his tail impetuously when I walk in. I get goosebumps at the mere thought of disturbing his slumber, and take my own Clonazepam, before going to the living room to sleep on the couch. The crickets are too monotonous. I crawl through the screen into Oz again, full of bright colours and swelling musical score. --- Six beers are gone from the fridge and the Cowardly Lion is sitting on the couch with my bong on his chest. Five empty beer bottles are neatly arranged in a row by the baseboard, the sixth, half empty, is firmly in his paw. “Liquid courage!” slurs the Lion, before giggling. --- “The therapy is progressing well?” asks my shrink, leaning her head against the back of the armchair. “Yes, I’m making good progress. I’ve revealed the real Wizard behind the curtain this week. It was really hard, I’m still just too freaked out.” I neglect to tell her how much weed I’ve been smoking, at the Lion’s insistence. I especially neglect to tell her about how clingy the Cowardly Lion is turning out to be, and the things he’s confessed to me, which I will keep a secret. “That’s great! How do you feel?” “Good.” I say. That’s what she wants to hear, right? She looks at me with a practice patience, insinuating that I continue. I look away, entranced by the Godzilla poster on her wall. I’m getting the goosebumps of panic again. --- We’re listening to Dark Side of the Moon, smoking a joint. He leans in close and put his paw on my hand. He says he’s been reading The Secret, and he knows how to turn his life around now. I feel sorry for him, putting so much faith in a pseudo-philosophy, and take the joint as he passes it. “The lunatic is in my head...” he sings, with the bombastic tremolo he’s well-known for. I lean against him for comfort. “The lunatic is in my head.” I repeat, softly. Another drag, and a puff of smoke. “You raise the blade, you make the change, you rearrange me ‘till I’m sane!” “You lock the door, and throw away the key...” I eye the eject button on my PS3. The TV screen hangs on a still frame. “There’s someone in my head...” he trails off. His mouth is close to my ear. I feel his warm, stinky toker’s breath and his whiskers tickling my cheek. --- We really didn’t mean to fuck, it just sort of happened. My heart races just thinking of what my therapist would say if I told her. I can’t bear to turn the TV on anymore to visit Oz. I’ve taken another Clonazepam and sworn off drinking and smoking. I really should quit. The Cowardly Lion is a total wreck. I can’t stand having him in my life right now. How did I get myself in bed with him? He’s being so clingy and always wants me to reassure him that he’s not being too much of a burden. He doesn’t want to go home, the only Oz he is interested in is Dr. Oz. When he gets drunk and only wants to talk about his neuroses and how sad it is that he’s the most feared predator of the forest but can’t muster the courage to call to order a pizza. He swaddles himself in a protective blanket and keels over and sobs uncontrollably. --- If he’s going to smoke all of my weed and drink all of my alcohol, the Cowardly Lion is going to have to get a job and pay some of the rent, and when I broach the subject he starts bawling and locks himself in the bathroom. My therapist regards me gravely when I bring this up and suggests that I ought to patch up my relationship with the Lion. I get the familiar goosebumps, my chest tightens, and I realize I haven’t been holding my breath. I pass my tongue along my gums, soothing the canker sore that’s developed over the last few days. --- “Puh-leeeeease!” says the Cowardly Lion, leaning in despair with all his weight against my locked bedroom door. “You’ll be SORRY!” he growls, after I fail to respond. I hear dishes breaking in the kitchen. There’s a short pause as he waits for me to react, then the rest of the dishes shatter on the floor. Out I storm. He’s grinning, and he stumbles, completely drunk. I smell vomit. My vision tunnels. My body goes weak. I fall to the floor. The comfortable floor. I slump over. --- “FICT is not an exact science.” says my therapist, tactfully, glancing at the clock. “I’d like to try you on The Neverending Story. How does that sound to you?”

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This is an abandoned house, close to where I grew up in Orangeville. It has served as a 'clubhouse' for the last five or so generations of teenagers. Over the past few years it has began to decay so severely that I don't think it will survive this coming winter. 

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sandcastle fort on Toronto Islands

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My fort is visited through memory. Recalling the time spent with loved ones is what protects and restores me. One memory is muffled by another, a cacophony of noise disrupted by occasional moments of clarity. The outsider is distanced by objectivity and does not enjoy direct access my fort. The sequencing of events are convoluted by repetition and glitches when the now visits my fort.

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Initially I thought the building blocks of my fort were cast every time I chat with family via Skype. I now realise that it's not the discussion - the  words in themselves - that is my shelter and strength, but rather  _being with_ that/those person/s that restores my soul.

This is a cacophony of being with-ness (30 second snippet taken from longer piece). I remember each instant with fondness.

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Woven Grass Nature Fort by Rick and Annie

We were able to weave and tie long strands of grass together to create this dome-shaped structure. It turned out to be a very discreet fort, hidden in the rest of the long, tangled grass.

Find our sketches and some text here.

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House of Cards Fort by Rick and Annie

We want to mention that we employed some cheats, such as play putty and some scotch tape (we didn't tape every joint, promise!). It was a windy day, what can we say?

Find our sketches and some text here.

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Above are some sketches that we (Rick and I) made toward our final project following our initial experiments and discussions/brainstorming sessions. We wanted to explore the idea of fortification through active building and construction--A lot of what we've arrived at comes from a process of experimenting with material, site, and scale (like our first exploration of sand castle building on Toronto Island).  

After participating in a discussion on this blog about cushion forts, I wanted to problem-solve a way to build a cushion fort without the appropriate number (or size) of couch cushions. I thought of squares or circles of quilt batting as a miniature solution for cushions. This idea was not realized, because we concluded that it would have required a much more methodical construction.

What we are actually interested in is an intuitive and organic way for the two of us to build while responding to the developing structure/architecture. And having documented the sand castle experiment, we realized that the point of view we most wanted to experience was from the inside--what if a fort was built around us, while we were inside of it?

When talking about forts, Rick would often tend toward the idea of shelter--I would always return to the idea of containment. It's a minor and rather subtle difference, but in the end our final videos speak to both ideas of forting.

Continued in next posts...here...and here.

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Stefi...

"Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain..." - The Wizard of Oz

Participating in the Forts Project has been a wonderful experience.  It has given me the opportunity to collaborate with someone I greatly respect and admire and has pushed me to reflect on my life in a way that I don't think I would have, had I not been involved.  Thank you to the curators, and of course, big thanks to Kathleen for inviting me to collaborate with her. 

"We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin." - Andre Berthiaume

I ended up creating 6ish masks.  I say "ish" because a few were half finished experiments.  I used many different mediums.   After I took pictures of all the masks and played around with layering them in different combinations, the image above was my favourite.  The images below are the 3 masks that I ended up using to create the final layered image. 

"The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are.  You trade in your reality for a role.  You trade in your sense for an act.  You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask.  There can't be any large-scale revolution until there's a personal revolution, on an individual level.  It's got to happen inside first." - Jim Morrison

Acrylic paint/ink

"The mirror will only lie, when you look at it through a mask." - Anthony Liccione

Acrylic paint/mixed media collage/image transfers

"We understand how dangerous a mask can be.  We all become what we pretend to be." - Patrick Rothfuss

Acrylic paint/fibre paste

"Masks

She had blue skin,

And so did he.

He kept it hid.

And so did she.

They searched for blue

Their whole life through.

Then passed right by ---

and never knew."

- Shel Silverstein

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Kathleen...

Kathleen...

Since I hope to work in an abstract way, we examined the work of two of our favourite Guelph abstract artists: Nancy Farrell and Scott Pattinson.  We discussed their very different styles and related our conversation to the differences between masculine and feminine art work.  You can check out their artwork on their website galleries.

www.nancyfarrell.com

www.scottpattinsonart.com

The Forts Project has allowed me to explore dichotomies and boundaries in my own work and in collaboration with another artist. It has given me an excuse to explore the creation of abstract images that have implicit meaning for me. Although I have less of a compass to measure the success of these pieces than my usual body of work, I am happy with the final one shown here and I think with more work, I might be happier with the other image as well. The technique involved in the creation of these pieces is less important than the intent for me, but if anyone is curious about them, they are created with gauze adhered to canvas, over-painted with watered-down acrylic, well dried and over-painted with oil paint mixed with medium and cold wax. These pieces and the topic as a whole pushed me to explore the boundaries that keep me producing the same kinds of work and that may separate me from other artists who work in different ways. I have thoroughly enjoyed the experience - thanks Forts curators and thanks Stefani.

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This is a miniature snow fort. It’s not actually made out of snow, but my other forts aren’t actually made of beds or tables and blankets- but other things made to represent them, so I’ve decided this is ok (mostly because it’s so hot and I’m sure my snow fort would melt before it left me house). I placed this fort at LeBreton Flats, right outside the War Museum. I had planned to leave it inside a snowy exhibition at the Museum of Natural History, but I was too afraid to get caught. While placing this fort here it brought up a few ideas.

First- I thought of when you see the remnants of snow piles in the spring.

Second- Canadian winters. So many of us growing up in Canada have snow fort memories. It’s probably the second kind of fort people think about after pillow/blanket sofa forts.

Third- my impact on the environment. I’ve talked to a few different people about my forts. Most often people say something like “So you just leave the fort there?.. Isn’t that littering?” So this fort is made out of white cardboard and glue- mostly biodegradable. And unlike some of the plastic furniture I bought specifically for this project, it wasn’t made in some sweatshop like workplace, packaged up in more unnecessary plastic that was probably made at another location, and then shipped from various countries and warehouses until it made it to the dollar store where I got it.

I think that we have the power to change the world just through everyday actions. I’m not saying that we’re going to stop global warming, but I do think that it’s quite ridiculous that it’s taken so many of us a world crisis to start riding a bike, or start composting, or eating local. With global warming I wonder if snow forts, along with skating on ponds, and tobogganing, will stay as Canadian memories rather than rites of passage. I’m not saying we’re going to stop global warming- because hey, maybe it would be happening without us, but I am saying it’s time we started acting a bit more responsible about what we know we can change. It’s not just about the environment, but social justice too. Do you know where your lunch came from, who made it, or even what’s in it?