Waste by Derek Sutherland

WASTE

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Window (2014)
cut-out pages on window, ink

Window (2014)
cut-out pages on window, ink
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Booth (2014)
Acoustic telephone hood, cut-out pages, Worry beads, ceramic, chain, cork,
handkerchief, hose pipe, number chip, plastic seahorse, paperclips, bulldog clips

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Crates (2014)
storage crates, cable ties, chain
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Table Legs (2014)
broken trestle table legs, chain, cable ties

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Table Legs (2014)
broken trestle table legs, chain, cable ties

Mask (2014), glazed ceramic, gaffer tape
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Consultation Room (2014)
Desk lamp, plastic storage boxes,
water, glazed ceramic litter
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A Disaffection (2014)
Glazed ceramic, metal pipe, shammy, Crates

A Disaffection (2014)
Glazed ceramic, metal pipe, shammy, Crates
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Upturned desk (2014)
wood, wire, paint
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Upturned desk (2014)
wood, wire, paint

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Upturned desk (2014), wood, wire, paint
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Bad Reception (2013)
Wood, Glazed ceramic, beads, chain,
fabric, photocopies

Section, Detail (2012)
Glazed Ceramic
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Never been in a Riot, (2012)
Installation View
Various media
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Container (2012)
Perspex box, Foam, hose pipe

Never Been in a riot (2010)
partially melted plastic wheelie bins,
scrollers, rocks, smoke pellets
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Car Friendly Town (2011)
Car seat, mobile phone showing film,
fixings, sheeting

School (2012)
Found Image
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Waste
Derek Sutherland

Part 1
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
Perspiration ran along a line on the MPs brow and dripped onto
a ring binder on his desk. He looked up and listened to Maria his
personal secretary on the telephone.
“No Money has been paid, he hasn’t ordered any goods... the invoices
cannot exist...”
He opened the binder to check again, the sweat droplet ran onto his
desk.
Replacing the phone in its cradle Maria said, “they seem to have
specific information about claims that we’ve made.” Regular leaks
were appearing in the press about false accounting, a small ripple of
public outrage stirred. The Office started receiving personal enquiries
from journalists about expenses claims, about his relationship with
Maria.
He Daydreamed about the New Babylon, a utopia fantasy from
Architectural theory; something he had been reading since his
election in the New Town; a place where the bourgeois shackles
of work, family life and civic responsibility would be discarded.
The post-revolutionary individual would wander from one leisure
environment to another in search of new sensations. A vast network
of enormous multi-level interior space propagates to eventually
cover the town. Social life becomes architectural play; architecture
becomes a flicking display of interacting desires. Citizens beholden
to no one, would sleep eat, recreate, and procreate where and when
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they wanted, the environment was built to allow this.
Maria was clutching a small advert “Can I order three thousand
flyers?”
“Hello, Yes can you give me some more information to start off with
what size would you want? When do you need them?”
“Well, how much will I get for say £5,000?”
Down the line mumbles, punches numbers on calculator with pen
“Could you be more specific? Like what colour, size, design...I need a
bit more to go on”
Her Tone changes, patience strained “I can be specific, Ok I have
£5,000 and I need printing of some sort done in the next...eighteen
months...now what I’m asking is... if we can guarantee you that
order, as a guarantee to us could you make out a receipt for £5,000.
In advance.”
“...Well, that is certainly not our usual practice, certainly
complications, may arise” “Sir let me clear this up...You are talking to
Maria, the personal secretary to MP JD, there is an election scheduled
to happen this May, I can guarantee we will need flyers and posters
and pamphlets printed on a large scale in excess of £5,000 you
can count on it. I can just as easy take this to another printer, if you
feel the order is too insignificant...”
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A murky night falls over the town, at the centre the Arcade, a vast
white complex. Now being cleaned meticulously by remote controlled
machines that move in straight lines buffering and polishing.
Small pockets of shrubs and bushes are some of the only safe
places for youth to congregate in the town centre, if they desire to go
unseen by cameras.
Amongst the bushes in small traffic island some noises were heard
above the constant throb of traffic the boys had to shout
“What day are the bins collected? Right the best day is after
Wednesday, there isn’t too much rubbish, well collect as many as we
can take one or two each and take them down to the trees at the
cycle path, it’ll be quite there...bring a lighter”
The Next Night
We need a bit of crap in the bottom to get the flame on, just light it
up, like this – shit, it’s no workin’ fan the lid
Ah this ones good, (opening lid, then shuddering back) loads of
paper-set them up too (pointing) and close the lids, this shit will burn
and melt like fuck, let’s go up here and watch this shit burn. Wait
right if you stay close, when it’s caught light good,” they edge closer,
smoke piles out, “you starting to catch a whiff of them fumes, they
space you out, watch you don’t fall in”...squabbling, giggles
The Collapsing form of the bins, formed organic sculptures, the solid
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plastic began to soften its hard to tell whether the distortion is an
illusion or a hallucination.
The Post-revolutionary Individual would wander from one leisure
environment to another...
The New Babylon envisages a society of total automation in which
the need to work is replaced with a nomadic life of creative play
The MPs Surgery was located in a small shop front in the centre
of town, a so-called New Town, which had experienced an
unprecedented amount of growth in business no money had been
invested in the cultural.
The long term Inhabitants of the town had witnessed a small
shopping precinct adapted and expanded, architecture had morphed
to envelope them, extensions were tacked on regularly and sections
knocked in and re-built, it was as though the Arcade was consuming
architecture.
Local News reports: some residents have found their wheelie
bins burnt to the ground, in the apparent attempt by thugs to
inhale the chemicals given off by the burning plastic. Neighbours
in the surrounding areas have found puddles of melted plastic on
pavements.
Police issued a statement warning “setting wheelie bins on fire and
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sniffing the fumes is the new ‘drug of choice’ for youth, We will catch
you, we will prosecute you, watch out, furthermore you are putting
your own life at risk, I urge you to stop right now”
“Young people trying to get a buzz or a fix – but they must realise
there are a number of carcinogenic substances which can have
deadly affects.”
Most bins are made from high density polyethylene, which releases
potentially deadly fumes when burned. Inhaling the fumes starves
the brain of oxygen.
The local Council are looking at ways to secure or lock up bins to
prevent theft.
Back at the MPs surgery before opening
“I don’t understand it we need those ’07 – ’08 invoices, we must find a
way of maximising the total to balance out our incomings”
“Well. Are you asking me to ‘forge’ receipts? Because you have been
good to me over the years, but I don’t think I can do that.”
“Shush I can’t believe your saying this. You know the situation the
books must balance, we must obtain written receipts, cast your mind
back, there may actually be receipts we did not ask for at the time
legitimate ones.
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“There isn’t and even so it would take too long, the Crown
Prosecution has issued a warrant for this paperwork by the end of
the week, even now there is a chance that we are under surveillance,
the press on your back, we cannot afford to get deeper into this
mess. “
“Maria Shush” standing over her desk pleading
“Listen I am sorry I can’t do this anymore, you need to get someone
else, I have been to the Dr he has signed me off for one Month
initially. “
MP hands over eyes.
Part 2
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It was dark; he misread his own hand drawn map and took a wrong
turning. He had intercepted a call on the police radio and jotted down
the location quickly – a phone call from a dog walker. It was still early
Morning mist hung to the thick wild grass as the sun threatened to
come up, in frustration he cut off the track, which was carpeted with
pine needles. Exhausted dragging the bin behind him it bashed and
rattled around. In all the panic and sweat a tiny voice in his head said
‘it’s nice to be out here for a jaunt in the countryside’ but he new
this was desperate. The bottoms of his trouser legs were wet and
his socks around the ankle, closing his eyes and thrusting his arms
forward he ploughed through dense waves of branches. Planted
in rows, factory farmed, machine planted. He doubled back to the
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eservoir, early morning sunlight reflecting of the dirty water. He
took the other path, which was narrower, what he was looking for
wouldn’t be on the path. His Hush Puppies now ruined. At his feet he
noticed lines in the mud wheels tracks, fresh footprints he followed
them off the track and deeper into the wood. He followed them into
a clearing as he drew the branches aside out of breath he quickly
survey the scene ... debris scattered and trod into the mud, scorched
earth burns remains. Newspaper and magazine pages blown around
by the breeze, cigarette packets, some of the low branches around
were scorched by fire, melted and caked earth, puddles of dried
plastic and sections of plastic which hadn’t fully burned, the forms
like stalagmites surprisingly organic.
He dragged his bin further to the middle stump, threw it down happy
to get rid of this burden finally, quickly he set to work bunched up
some paper and set about lighting it, it took a while to catch before
the thick black smoke billowed.
He would claim Maria had knowingly thrown out ring binders
containing invoices and receipts, which had subsequently been
stolen and inhaled.

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This catalogue accompanies:
Waste, an exhibition by Derek Sutherland
5 - 22 February 2014, Interviewroom11, Edinburgh
http://www.dereksutherland.co.uk/
© the artists 2015, all the rights reserved
Texts © Derek Sutherland
First published by IR11 publications, 2015
Photo credits: Mirja Koponen, Derek Sutherland
Design by Alessandro Di Massimo
Cover by Alessandro Di Massimo
Typeset in Titillium, designed by Campivisivi, Urbino (IT)
SIL Open Font License, Version 1.1

Interview Room11 is an artist run gallery and project space located in the centre
of Edinburgh. We are part of ForestCentre+, an arts complex including artist
studios and resource space situated in Argyle House, an old 1960s brutalist office
block, currently being rehabilitated for creative industry and technology uses.
Gallery Committee & Co-Directors:
Mirja Koponen
Scott McCracken
Ana González Chouciño
Ellyce Moselle
The exhibition “Waste” was coordinated by Scott McCracken
Thanks to all the volunteers who helped us to make this exhibition possible.

Derek Sutherland
WASTE
IR11 publications, 2015