Louisa Bufardeci
Every second is like, forever, and every year is like 11.3 centimetres (2007)
embroidery floss, fibreglqass screen, each 50cm wide, lengths variable
Some Material Flags
The sea between A and I
2014
I know I don't know
2014
In a very short space of time
2012
String Theories
2012
Here a chandelier
2012
Flags for the fourth dimension
2011
Blend
2010
Yes and No
2009
Some Material Flags
2008
Recent Plans
2008
Every second is like forever...
2007
13 conversations, all one minute long
2006
Anti-War Speeches
2006
Starter Pistols
2005-6
Landscapes
2005
Team Joy
2004
Governing Values
2004
The Mercer Project
2004
A walk around the periphery of Malviya Nagar
2004
Skin Quartet
2003
Ground Plan
2003
Languages
2003
Export Distribution
2003
Essay topic
2002
The unbearable weight of ordinary things
2002
Cold Storage
2001
Ethnicities to Nations
2001
A few facts I think you ought to know...
2001
ColourPhonics
2001
Tax Payer's Money
2000-2
Counterplay
2000
FugacitÓ
2000
The Art of Good Reasoning
2000
Specifics of Location
2000
World Listing
2000
Another rounding of facts
1999
A rounding of facts
1999
Spector
1999
"The comforting illusion"
1999
Breathe in, breathe out
1998-9
exhibition image: Every second exhibition image
details:
 

all works
   
When placed against a wall, fly screen flickers with moirés and patterns that shift from one perspective to the next.  The illusions are remarkable but the reality of the fabric is less interesting – a simple fibreglass weave generating a regular grid of rectangles. 

Into this trickery I've stitched fragments of soundwaves.  Each fragment is taken from an anti-war speech given at a rally in Adelaide in September last year and the text of each fragment is noted in the title of the piece.   The title of every piece also notes that each fragment has been accredited to a different, hypothetical anti-war speech from throughout history – the speaker, the war, and the place, date and time of the speech are all noted.

So I sit at my stitching frame, head bent far down, chin to chest, stitching, stitching, stitching, and considering.  What do people do in times of war when they barely appear as such –  like these days here?   What to do when, despite the daily media coverage whose news is as regularly repetitive as the grid on the fly screen, I feel so removed.  And unwilling.   So I sit and stitch and this action becomes an action of inaction, like all my other daily actions.  And they become actions of waiting where every second takes forever and every year is absurd.