DISSIMILAR create artworks in photography, film, sound and painting which explore artistic languages surrounding the subject of the human in the landscape. DISSIMILAR regularly collaborate with musicians, composers, poets and other artists, making artworks that visualise aspects of our urban landscape from alternative perspectives, questioning our relationship with the disintegration of our urban world. In many of their works they seek to re-evaluate our relationship with the hinterland and the torn edges of our cities.
Lifting himself up carefully, he felt his way to the door, sparks of bright pain puncturing the black. He flicked the switch. Eyes shut, he listened to the building. He heard the boards expanding, warming under his feet. The dull pulse in his head slowed. He held fast to the door frame and breathed in. Light cut a knife behind his eyes.
"The river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf / Clutch and sink into wet bank. The wind / Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. / Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song." (T.S Eliot)
Stationary on the surface of the world, your brain is empty you are bored. Stimulus is required now. You’ve held off too long, waited on too many trains, arrived late and left early. Time to arrive in a different place.
You wait, sweating within the vast black and gilt interior, incense burning your nose. You stand and move to the door where they wait. You are detained, restrained, thankful only for the brief respite.
The man is dead now, the white sheet covering his face, the focal point of everyone’s attention, whether looking or looking away. You walk back through the square, dampened. People are milling now rather than standing, moving away from their focal point, quiet. You find out that he was twenty-five and that his friends thought he was fucking around. He was having a heart attack, a massive coronary. It’s three-thirty in the morning.