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.
Can we use sound, repetition and difference to personally and collectively engage with space, time and labour?
Opening with one of the most memorable shots ever filmed, and screened a year after the initial successes of the 2011 Egyptian revolution, Too Soon, Too Late is a search for the traces left on the landscape of past revolutions in France and Egypt.
Three short performances involving social exchange (jumpers, hats, glasses…) and singing (ballads)
Summing up of the investigations with a reflection on what has been done that week and what could be done the next.
A dismantled, performed film, where a narrator pieces together the sounds, images and storytelling of a documentary about Hurricane Katrina before a live audience.
Tormented and drawn-out high-pitched yelps and drones, all interleaved with periods of torpid silence.
A bodiless treatise on narration, bored speakers, audience misbehaviour and police megaphones, but: is anybody listening?
A chat, with examples (Zola, H. P. Lovecraft, Hammer Horror), about blackness and the sheer stupid thickness of what has no profundity whatsoever.
Gravitational Feel is an engine for intensifying the differentiation of our entanglement, which you continually reprogramme in the mutual rub, shift and lap of its sonic, wooden, steel, textile and human material.
Italian duo of brothers Maurizio and Roberto Opalio utilising an array of acoustic and electric guitars, various toy-instruments and toy-microphones.
Two-parts Helhesten spit strangled shanties and cracked reeds from under a net of the Glasgow Improv Orchestra’s six-strings and one moustache.
Although Tony had visited Haino in Japan, and they played together in private, this was the first time anyone other that Haino’s cat saw them perform together.
