The experiences we render into story are integral parts of who we become. Yet some stories remembered are more significant than others. These stories are often comprised of “vital memories” (Brown and Leavy) that recall a moment of drama or trauma in a life. Vital stories are not always coherent, or consistent. We may tell them slightly differently, only recall fragments, or embellish. Although we may share them with others, we may also repress or forget details over time.

47 Storeys is one such vital story. In 1996 Paul Litherland went to a bar at the top of a very tall building, drank a beer, waited until the other patrons and staff left, then parachuted into the night-time sky, landing safely on the street to the astonishment of two late-night revelers. Three months after the jump, afraid of forgetting significant details, Paul commemorated his adventure to video. 20 years later Paul revisits the event with Monique Moumblow. They re-edit the original 43 minutes tape down to 11 minutes. Paul then attempts to re-enact his original mediated performance. On one screen we see Paul who sits, listens to himself through headphones, and speaks over his original narrative. On a second screen Paul attempts to duplicate his original performance word-for-word and gesture-by-gesture. On the third screen is the edited original. These three different renditions of the tale, from 3 different moments in time, are almost the same, but they never perfectly align. No matter how much we practice, the story is never exactly as it was.

47 Storeys is a brilliant and slightly comedic rendition of the “performative act of memory -making” (Kuhn). Narrating the past re-activates and catapults memories into the present, often with the help of souvenirs such as the video-tape and parachute equipment that Paul still keeps in his care. Paul’s fumbling narrative recollections lay bare this performative process of memory-making as past and present collide in a single temporal moment superbly visualized in this 3 channel video.

In the re-telling of this vital story grey-haired, bespectacled Paul moves in imperfect harmony with his former self. This temporal collision invites reflection upon both memory re-enactments, story-telling and the vagaries of ageing: “the permanently fluctuating relationships between younger and older selves” (Segal). We see, hear and feel these fluctuations, experiencing a vertigo of narrative mediation: Paul’s post-hoc memory is rendered into story and captured on video tape, which is then digitally remastered in the present for the future. It is the absence of documentation of the original event –no pictures, photos or go-pro video– that makes the re-telling of the story so necessary and so compelling. Thankfully, Paul lived to tell the tale, again and again.

Monique Moumblow is a video artist and a fan of spectacular storeys.

Paul Litherland is a gentleman adventurer, a closet scuba diver in a room full of wingsuiters.

Author: Kim Sawchuk (professor et director of Ageing-Communication-Technologies, Université Concordia)

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“Gravité brings together photographs and videos by Rachel Echenberg and Paul Litherland. Astonishing, puzzling, secretive – what do these works signify? What narratives propel these enigmatic images? Both artists immerse themselves in compelling situations, positioning their bodies as barometers of the spirit and of the mind. Each of their invented actions demands a response. Inner and outer self engage in a fascinating interchange; gravity meets resistance. The title of this exhibition has a double meaning that applies equally to these works. While gravity exerts itself, pulling us towards the earth, the term also alludes to the tone of thoughtfulness that pervades these works. Combining serious play and humourous invention these images propose a deeper significance that arouses imaginative speculation.” – Lorraine Simms, Curator

A soundtrack of rock-and-roll drumbeats and synthesized noises parallels the fliers’ aimless trajectories; the drums launch forth on promising starts, but falter and peter out.

Vertigo and peril are never far off. Given the large monitors mounted on the ceiling above, the sense of restrained peril invades even the installation materials themselves. The wind tunnel propelling the fliers cannot be seen, but a temporary suspension from gravity is being tested, both by the flyers and the monitors themselves. The universal order represented in the Sistine Chapel is here inverted: no divine covenant, just a careen through the clouds—provisional, precarious, unmoored.

text: Edwin Janzen

The video was a “what-if” experiment. There were no expectations, the artist just wanted to see what would happen when combining two sports that are associated with danger, high-potential for injury and a good dose of machismo. It turned out that the extreme elements were not cumulative, but rather put together they became almost ridiculous. The free-fall fight is more funny than exciting, deflating and playing with stereotypes and expectations.

Yet at the same time, as with the masters of slapstick, the humor masks the skills needed to make it work and the real dangers of the performance. The two skydivers are very experienced, and the truth is that they only have so much time before they have to abandon the fight and open their parachutes.

Film shot in 2004 and distributed on the internet, but does not come into the context of art until 2009 when it was curated into the exhibition Fall-Out. 

“The images, looped, run by in slow motion creating, paradoxically, a suitable mood for the contemplation of a body falling at a speed of almost 200 km/h. On his face, assailed by the wind, a crowd of emotions rushes by, uncontrolled and lacking meaning. Shaped by irregular blasts of air, the mouth and supple flesh of the cheeks lightly softened by age, lose their consistency. All of this happens without the artist’s gaze once leaving the camera’s lens. There is no point in struggling before the clear inevitability of the condition that weighs us down. In representing himself in a position he cannot completely control—speech being impractical and gesture greatly reduced—even as he deliberately puts aside any search for “Beauty”, Litherland offers, of himself, an image turning round self-mockery.”
(Nathalie de Blois)