Covering all four walls is a wraparound mural depicting a scorched, post-apocalyptic Earth. On the wall opposite me, girders and gears loom in smoke-filled air. On the far right, a lifelike image of conjoined sparrow heads pops out of nowhere, like a cutting from a tabloid newspaper. Next to it, a monstrous tree with Medusa-like foliage dominates the wall, its branches heavy with lethal, fanged fruit. These and other images form the post-industrial backdrop - a habitat - for the sculptures crowding the room. They’re all hybrids made from bits of metal, wood, plastic and glass. They’re inorganic but somehow alive. None of them are actually moving, like the chicken-legged tank in the gallery upstairs does, but they all they seem about to.

Right in front of me is the figure of an eight-foot satyr. It struts proudly on a riser, chest outthrust. The curving steel S’s of its legs seem almost too thin to support its lofty and graceful poise. Its face is narrowed to predatory snout, a pair of antlers swept back on the top like flattened ears. Chains dangle from its elbows and upper arms like jewellery, and its ratchet fingers curve to dangerous points. Its skin is made from rusty plates and the leather and fur of a split boot.

Beside the satyr, an equally statuesque creature is caught in fluid mid-stride. It’s a cross between an ostrich and a T-Rex - reincarnated, I'm told, from one of Joe Rush’s old motorcycles. Steel vertebrae extend into a tail and a neck at either end, tipped with a tail light and a headlight (a visual pun). The neck bends upwards, horn-tipped head jerked back in surprise as if something in the sky is hurtling... or swooping... towards it.

Next is a giant skull made from vaguely reptilian chunks of rock. It’s mounted on a giant hinge, and I can imagine it swivelling suddenly downwards to devour an unsuspecting viewer.

On the opposite side of the room from it, a human skull sags against a wall, a fossil from some long-forgotten epoch. Its electric orange teeth are etched with that mantra so favoured by retail merchants: ‘Best ever’. A miniature, comic partridge pecks the remaining flesh from the skull's head, maybe mocking the modern shopper's endless search for a perfect product. The triviality of that lifestyle pales against this vivid stew of death, rebirth and mutation.

Nearby, a candelabra swims towards the ceiling like an inverted squid, its tentacle-like holders sprouting white, dripping candles. A pregnant tripod spider looms behind it, watching everyone and everything with heartless eye-lenses.

Aside from the skulls, the only human forms in here are the imploring hands that reach towards you from a giant wooden wheel, begging to be freed from the spokes they're impaled upon. Flesh accessorizes the machine in this world, not the other way around. It's panacea for anyone who feels tired of the babbling, overheated mass of humanity; an unsettling but welcome reversal of fortunes.

As I leave the first room, I turn and take another look around it. The people behind me are reacting pretty much the same way I did to its dark atmosphere; they hesitate in the entrance before moving cautiously inside. They almost tiptoe past the sculptures like they’re afraid of stirring the suspended apocalypse into life. Then I pass through the door. Overhead is yet another skull, this one framed with a mane of rusted chains. It glowers a warning of worse things to come, but the perception of menace proves to be just that.

The next room is a whiter, brighter, more civilized space, making me feel like I’ve jumped forward several millennia. The pieces here are mounted on podiums like trophies; relics salvaged from the Iron age next door. Hybrids still abound but they're smaller and more refined, downsized by evolution into more intricate, human-like life forms.

To me the mark of a real artist is the ability to breathe life into inanimate objects and even in this sterile place everything still seems alive. There’s a cyborg head made of blue glass - is it a cast of a living woman or an imaginary one? Either way, her keen serenity is palpable. In a high corner, a vulture perches next to the featureless and cowering figure of a caged man. On a podium, a rat pokes its head and paws out at you, steel face filled with uncanny brilliance. By the entrance, a mannequin with horns swishes its ornate metal tail.

The centrepiece in this room is an upright plane wing painted with a sensual, reclining nude in a gas mask. It’s one of a series of similar paintings done on military wing panels - the only works depicting humans as they naturally appear. The materials and imagery used in these hint at the cause of our species' disappearance from both this landscape and the first. The most poignant one depicts a head-scarfed woman, screaming up at what appears to be The Final Bomb as it whizzes downwards from a clear blue sky.

But taken as a whole, the message of the works in both rooms still seems hopeful: even as life exterminates itself, it defies death by taking on new and unprecedented forms.

****

When I speak to Joe Rush, the founder of Mutoid Waste Company, he confirms my feeling that this exhibition is telling some sort of story. Having worked as a set designer, it's only natural for him to stage his works like props from a movie set, turning spectators into participants as he does. The sheer scope of the pieces is intended to thrust us physically into another reality. Their immediacy makes it impossible not to change - or be changed by - its content.

That explains some of the more casual, playful works which dot the exhibition like clever afterthoughts. My personal favourite of these is a square of penciled ‘blah-blah-blah’s’ sandwiched between some well-executed prints in the first floor gallery. Underneath the square, a mobile phone charger is plugged into a wall socket. The other end of it is stuck rather pointedly into the phrase “Shut the fuck up!” It’s more like elaborate graffiti than art, but it works.

I ask Joe what Mutoid Waste Company does with its larger sculptures. Part of me knows what the answer must be but I still do a double take when he tells me the answer: what they can’t sell they scrap. Most artists I know would be heartbroken to lose something they’d spent so much time and effort on, but MWC seem to relish the challenge of melting down and starting over again. I can sort of sympathize with that, and not just on a personal level. Joe explains that destroying a piece starting over again gives them a chance to rearrange it, add something new to it or take something away; to “mutate”. That constant change where Mutate Britain's sense of energy movement comes from. Kind of like the Tube, it's constantly undergoing improvements. But unlike the Tube, every new piece unveiled is literally the best one ever. Maybe I misunderstood the meaning of that orange skull, after all…

I’m starting to see that Mutoid Waste Company is a philosophy as well as a collective. As the exhibition wears on, the people and pieces involved in it will continue evolving. Viewers will morph into artists and artworks will morph into materials, and then back into artworks again. Just as in the real world, nothing in Mutate Britain stays the same for very long. That's what makes it so relevant, and that's also why you'll want to keep coming back, just like I did.

Mutate Britain is on every Friday, Saturday and Sunday until the 21st December at the Behind the Shutters Gallery, Cordy House, 87-95 Curtain Rd EC2. Anyone who’s anxious to rescue an original piece of Mutoid artwork from the scrap heap by purchasing it can contact the collective through their website: www.mutatebritain.co.uk

Thanks very much to Wreckage for the engaging and informative tour of the galleries… it was a party in itself!

We made our way around the stunning building, soaking up the luscious atmosphere, checking out the dramatic decor - classically sumptuous sexy darkness and heavy red velvet drapes, to finally settle down for a while in the amphitheatre. It was a generous seating for the less adventurous ones, to watch the visuals - monsters and naked ladies, silhouette striptease with ostrich feathers – astounding stimulating eye candy.

We couldn't chill out for long though, as “Can'tsitdownjumparoundandupsidedown” 50's rock & roll & swinging twist were pumped out into crowd. When the opening band, Last Man Standing in their pimply outfits came to the stage the enormous ballroom was already packed, and I was having visual overload spasms from looking around at the beautiful people in their attire: pearls, corsets, coquettish pin-up burlesque, silent movie gorgeousness, and sinister elegant flamboyance.
Pete Bennett exploded onto the stage with his new band, delivering a fire cracker bursting performance with shouty jumping-jack style contagious energy.

Upstairs there was the Casino Room, with blackjack and roulette tables, and the wildest looking variety of creatures, a beautiful blue Smurf girl, dandies, demons and blood thirsty vampires descended from the darkest corners out to play out unscripted horror show.
Back to the stage where Urban Voodoo Machine were amazing alongside Lady Ane Angel performing fire and the gong dance and two drummers showing off their skills in synchronized drumming.

A vicar rocking the giant bass was also present to add to the confusion and consequently at the end of their set the band was mostly writhing on the floor, musically convulsing.

No time to even make a rollie, time is priceless, besides something else is going on behind us, so we quickly made our way to the middle of the ballroom where the dazzling neo-burlesque artist Empress Stah was performing her twisted cabaret and internationally acclaimed chandelier sling routine and amazing aerial acrobatics - sensational sparkly erotic circus. The stripping act culminated with the removal of a strategically placed crystal necklace from her glittery lady garden so to speak.I stood so close underneath her that the body sequins she was adorn with were falling on my hair, like pixie dust.
And I was enchanted.

We had a snoop around the Changing Room, the lavishly decorated boudoir of Madame Mishka, where the stylists who had risen from the dead especially for this night, were on hand to provide the less extravagantly dressed with costumes, ball gowns, corsets, tuxedos, trilbies, top hats, exquisite masks, feathers and wholesome fanciness.

Deviant Aerial's rope performance was awe inspiring air acrobatics, mesmerizing the crane necked audience.

Then we feasted our eyes on more burlesque air shenanigans with a lady on a cute little pony hanging from the ceiling! Then there were also flapper style cabaret dancers, lip synching drag queens and vampire synchronized dancing.

Lost Vagueness pulled out all the stops and the 2200 capacity venue was comfortably packed, so you still had space to swing your scythe or pitchfork around. This was an extravaganza cabaret and burlesque orgy at its best and sleaziest. We were transported into another world full of beauty and glamour, with more than a lashing of twisted decadent horror. It was a visually explosive cocktail of surrealism & "freakiness", executed by scandalously seductive misfits mingling with grotesque zombies and ghouls.

I see you crying into your soup for having missed this wonderland night of debauchery, but all is not lost. Sell your soul {you won't be needing it when you're having this much fun} and get yourself a time machine to experience it for yourself or watch out for the next Lost Vagueness spectacular on NYE.
©Nunuki
photo gallery by Genie

The burlesque scene is rapidly gathering fans and Lost Vagueness are at the forefront of this opulent and often bizarre scene. Imagine the type of party of years gone by, perhaps somewhere your parents or even grandparents would have frequented, think of the famous music halls so traditional in pre war England, if you are old enough, think of the awful TV variety show “The Good Old Days”. Then take a large twist of modern times and a huge injection of English eccentricity and you may well hit on the idea of what Lost Vagueness is all about. But, just in case you can’t picture it, I will, of course, carry on.

So you have already gathered that this is not just another usual party night at the Coronet. Although the “second” room on the first floor did indeed have the usual dance orientated music, predominantly of the upbeat & funky Latino house variety, played out to a crowded room jam packed with dancers shaking their booty down. However, this was only a small part of the Lost Vagueness experience which prides itself on surprising the audience with acts of such amazement that one is left in awe and wonder.

The main room was certainly the auditorium on this occasion, reserved for live bands and performers, all brought together and compared, superbly badly, by two amigos with incredibly loud “bad taste” suits, afro wigs and unconvincing Spanish accents. Rather than merely a large dance area, the Lost team had transformed the Coronet into the sort of room you would have liked for your Wedding Reception, large round tables with ample seating so that it was possible to watch the acts on stage in comfort.
And what acts they were. We were wowed by Roxy Velvet and her amazing “birdcage” cabaret, imagine a lady, suited and booted, suspended high above us. Then suddenly she lost the mannish suit, revealing an outfit of feathers, twirling round and showing off like a bird of paradise, in a beautiful gilded cage. We were then dazzled by the amazing Empress Stah, and her sparkling rendition of such hits as “Simply the Best“ made all the more dazzling by the fact that she was covered head to toe in golden paint, cleverly removed at the end of her act, like a stripper with paint stripper!

Amazingly absurd performers and music acts abounded through the night. Later we were entertained by the Cuban Brothers, with their “naked breakbeat/Latin disco spectacular”. Well, they were exactly as billed. Tee hee hee. Need I say more?
DJ Shantel from Germany (awarded by the BBC for World Music 2006) played an astounding set, a mix of urban style sounds of breaks, drum & base, dub etc. This being later in the night, the crowds had cleared a little so finally there was room on the floor to dance. The table tops had previously provided a little dancing space for those daring enough to risk a little fall.

This party must have been a sell out as the Coronet was packed to the rafters. The Coronet, an ex-theatre and art-deco listed building, has been expensively and lovingly restored to its former glory and was certainly the right place for the Lost Ball, with its extensive balcony area providing seating right up to the “gods”. Great for just relaxing and watching the proceedings, either those around you, the performances on stage or the spectacular Lost imagines of Vagueness projected for our entertainment.

Realising that not everyone has access to a suitable dressing up box full, the LV team provides costume hire at very reasonable prices. After all, one really has to look ones best at this sort of “do”. Normal “civvies” just will not do! And this being a masked ball, there was a stall selling well priced masks, from the simple to the elaborate, doing a roaring trade catering for those revellers who wished to retain an element of anonymity, hadn’t planned a costume for the occasion or perhaps merely wished to look like a pheasant or even a peasant.

Bored with the usual party offerings, then why not try your luck at the Lost casino, two tables of gambling, cards or roulette, surely something to suit any seasoned gambler? Perhaps you would prefer to stand in the background, looking for the entire world like a gangster, smoking a large Cuban cigar, purchased from the beautiful cigarette girl at the cigar stand…..

All this and more is possible at Lost Vagueness. One final question, who are the performers and who are the guests? It seems to me that the borders are so completely blurred and that we are all part of the bizarre Lost Vagueness experience.

And all that is left now to do is to remind all you lovely people that the Lost Weekend takes place between 23 and 25 June at a very suitable site in Devon, complete with a castle, so I’m told. What better party and more surreal location could you possibly find to dress up in your chosen costume, from an era gone by, and play out your favourite fantasy. Why not be a can-can dancer, a showgirl or a saloon madam, or perhaps you are a fellow on his way to the opera, complete with cloak and cane. Lost Vagueness is THE place to go.

©Mistress Eli

www.lostweekend.org
www.lostvagueness.com

The site is situated in the region of Aragon in northern Spain between Zaragoza and Huesca.
The nearest airport is Zaragoza and Ryanair operate from there. Then its 1 hour drive to Tardienta, the nearest town to the site and from there its only half hour hike (read drive)to the site.
Roughly 3 to 4 hours from London, if you get there using plane, that is.
For other more nature friendly options, pls check going nowhere

Concept behind this enterprise is to create an event entirely from your participation. Injecting some directions and skipping discussion on what constitutes art organizers are laying down several ideas of what could be done with space and time at Nowhere:

Make use of the costume camp
Put on a performance
Cook for someone
Mix cocktails

Give a massage
Read a story
Create an art project
Write a postcard
Dance
DJ
Talk to someone you don’t know yet
Appreciate the view
Pretend to be interesting
Change the world in 3 days
...between many others...

There are several rules to the no rule theme of the events however and take them lightly at your own peril.

Event organisers expect that you:
Get yourself to and from the site
Bring in all your own food and water
Bring the materials you require for your project
Take out all your belongings and garbage - pack it in, pack it out
Let organisers know of any special requirements

And they will provide:
A suitable location
Opportunities to participate or volunteer
A communal centre camp, including shade structure and sound system
Toilet facilities

The extreme conditions and harsh beauty of the location (middle of the desert, remember!) provide a blank and fertile canvas for participants to make something out of nothing.

Sadly Spanish fire regulation prohibits them from burning art at the end of the event like they do at Burning Man.
In 2006 it will still have a frontier campout quality, and a close, communal pioneering spirit. As the event grows, this will fade. In five years it will be a different experience; bigger and easier with a greater variety of camps. But for now it buzzes with possibility.

They have Bubble Jam blessing (will probably end up there) so if you going to Spain this summer make sure you are going Nowhere.

Your effort and ingenuity can help it take form.

More info: going nowhere
For photos and further contacts with like minded people check euro burners