Breath Work

by Rebecca Aston

Every day I am committing myself to streaming some breath work; breathing and writing while observing my own breath. Entering a feedback loop with myself, plugging in. Explore the archives of recordings or catch me live online.

During the sessions, I will be wearing a breathing sensor that I have created myself to stream my breath online. The breathing sensor is knitted out of yarn and conductive thread. I’m running a few volts of electricity through the sensor and as my chest expands and contracts the resistance changes, capturing the act of breathing and also movement. I am streaming my key strokes as I write. Inviting others to be present with me, to be anonymous voyeurs that enter into my thoughts.

These live streamed sessions, examining an embodied process of digital making, will serve as starting points for further writing and visual exploration.

This work is made as a part of In-grid, a collaborative residency between arebyte gallery and Goldsmiths, funded by Arts Council England.

I am getting to know this tool I have made. Learning to use it or be used by it. To write in a loop of observation, observing my breath.... Is it about the text or is it about performance? I notice that I have been holding my breath without realizing until I look up at the screen and see this static form in front of me, or I have a sudden need for a deep breath watching my little lung sack heart pulsating form stutter on screen. Bringing awareness to breath, performing in a loop. Bringing time into the equation, not that it wasn't there before, but it had dissappeared into the letters and text. Text presenting itself as a solid structure some pre-formed absolute. You forget about the time, or we like to think of it as a space of eternal time where thoughts and words have been frozen on a page or screen. And now I am thinking about the performativity of editing my text while using this tool. I went back and changed your to my... got rid of some words that felt inadequate. But I had exited out of the stream of time, I went backwards. My edits creating confusion, garbling the stream of information I see unfolding before my eyes. And so perhaps this is less about writing and more about performing, performing for myself and performing for you the unknown viewer who may or may not ever exist. More for another day, another session of performative writing.

Text Keys