Arika have been creating events since 2001. The Archive is space to share the documentation of our work, over 600 events from the past 20 years. Browse the archive by event, artists and collections, explore using theme pairs, or use the index for a comprehensive overview.
A temporary archive and research space tracing the ways in which sound and audition move through everyday life.
A speculative narrative film informed by poetry and theories of quantum entanglement across diasporic distance. An intimate exploration of grief and resistance in shifting landscapes of loss, from the streets to the bed.
Originally billed as a duo of Ingar Zach and Derek Bailey, John Butcher stood in for Bailey at the last minute.
Solo organ performance by German composer Eva-Maria Houben, which focuses on ‘nearly nothing’ to expand the way we listen.
Trans-temporal drag, sexuality and the re-staging of illegible moments in history.
Sachiko’s very simple, pure sine tones and structures. Otomo on double pianos. Filament’s music isn’t composed and it isn’t improvised: it’s a hybrid of the two.
An original and beautifully simple performed installation forging a direct link between sound and image.
Paul Sharits is one of our all time heroes, and one of the great artist filmmakers of the 20th Century.
A system in which oscillators shake The Arches, seismographs pick up the harmonics that are then amplified through massive sub-bass PA.
Is there a link between the ways we’re caged and exiled by the prison-industrial complex and the ways people’s bodies are violently categorised and segregated by race, class, gender or ability?
One of the most startling cinematic debuts on record, The Flicker is more a hallucination than a film, an out of body experience and riotous celebration of visual harmonics frequencies. An experiment in perception, come with your mind and eyes open.
All ticket income goes directly to We Will Rise – a group of migrants, refugees, asylum seekers and their allies who have come together to End Immigration Detention in the UK.
