Furniture, objects, oddities by
Glasgow based artist c.a. walac.
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Social
Alchemy









Garden Party furniture


Social Alchemy presents a set of ceramic furniture made of hand-sculpted tiles imprinted by the layers of actions and convivial rituals taking place within the specific space of the living room – Meet, play, chat, breathe, drink, rest, think, enjoy the view…

The furniture which usually composes this social space establishes itself as an essential part of the domestic ritual and silently receives all sorts of energies. Intangible social acts are translated into symbols shaping these objects, carrying the ghosts of our actions and intentions. They draw a vocabulary expressing our interactions in these real domestic fictions, almost as alchemical recipes of the experience of living together. 

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Drawing furniture while you are laughing on the couch next to me: it makes me shake. But that’s okay, it makes it real, in the moment. From the softness of the foam your laugh reaches my pencil. There is a part of you in that drawing now. Shaking lines are our way to be moving humans. Can the impact we have on things be measured on their level of irregularities? If you were to draw a piece of furniture, a pen in your hand, and from the soft material of your emotion, what would it look like? Design of desires. Forget about furniture and function, what would support the everyday life mess of your ever fluctuating contradictory complex feelings? Ugh.

I am going outside barefoot and wonder if flowers can grow on ceramic if it is made of earth? I put the feet up on the table, you don’t like that. Your hand reaches out and pushes me away. We nearly spilt the drinks and our friends protest. All of us are sitting around that mass that holds everything we could be tempted in. A sustainable gathering of things made to keep us talking. We make sure to all face each other so no one gets lost. Even when we stay late at night and can’t tell what is glowing the most: the moon, the stars, or our tired eyes. This set up draws various simple geometries of sighting where there is no sides, just a big centre we all are part of, and in which furniture brings angles.

We are not objects and objects are not us but there is this thin line where we share the same life. Like the way we merge on a hot day, the skin sticking to the tiles – which skin belongs to who under excessive sweating? Or the impermanent marks of the grid on your thighs in shorts because you spent too much time here daydreaming.








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