182 mm x 128 mm
90 mm cover flaps
£12 (£2 p&p)
Book + limited edition poster print
(470 x 420 mm)
Edition of 15 (3 different versions x 5)
Signed and numbered
£40 (£2 p&p)
One, 2, 3 Jenna
The moon is visible in the window tonight. It is round and sharp and there is no need for lamps. Turning from the window, the writer pulls a chest of drawers away from the wall and drags a pile of clothes out of the way with her heel. She climbs a platform she has assembled from a small table centred on top of a larger one and begins writing on the beige wall.
She is un-writing her days' work.
The writer must attend to an internal equation that calls for a balance between her daytime writing; words that circulate in the world and provide her with money and earn her a general sort of admiration. And nighttime words, which leak out, full of the aggressive phrases and obdurate postures of the years before her education began.
Exploiting forms that traditionally get burnt
up in the production of the moving image, Jenna Collins' One, 2, 3 moves through sequences of writing that
dramatize the small but necessary acts of theft and invention that shape a story
in its telling. In this case, one that
navigates the legacy of a dead female writer and the task of being a
Jenna Collins' solo
and collaborative artwork across media but primarily video and sound, has been
broadcast, exhibited and screened widely at venues across the UK and further
Collins is based in London and West Yorkshire.
One, 2, 3 is
a splendid feast made from the broken bits at the bottom of the bag. Bitingly
funny, with a peculiar slippy charm that lodges its subversive truths about
making art deep in the bones.
- Kate Feld
In Jenna Collins’ One, 2, 3 an
inexplicable locating occurs. We are led into rooms, views, situations and
scenarios with no real notion of how we came to be wherever we are but at the
same time finding ourselves as the unwitting witness to certain
meticulousnesses, certain claustrophobic, often absurd, unbalancings, events,
processes. The possibility appears to be offered of dipping one’s fingers into
the pockets of the text and running off like a thief and indeed the placing of
incidences, sometimes faintly mirroring, sometimes set inside - or resting
obliquely against - the other, does leave the reader free from consecutive
narrative but at the same time, oddly trapped even implicated in what unfolds
and what doesn’t.
- Paul Becker
© Joan Publishing