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A Rock and a Hard Place
A Rock and a Hard Place
by Alistair Maxwell
Gavin Glover is a virtuoso in what he calls “Nasty Puppetry”. This is, to put a vague definition on it, the “wrong side of the tracks” of puppet theatre. On one side there is the noble War Horse or the charming Sooty and Sweep. On Glover’s side of the tracks, are the surreal puppets, the mad puppets, anything with a pinch of Python or bit of Beckett. His latest work was a cabinet of curios placed in a window at Fruitmarket Gallery for all to see. A morbid, mechanised still-life titled: A Rock and a Hard Place.
The piece was originally created by Glover for Puppet Animation Scotland’s Restless Worlds installation in 2020 but has been brought back for anyone lucky enough to have passed along Market Street this Manipulate Festival. Taking it’s starting point at the peak of 14th century science, Glover explores an imaginary world where everything predicted back then was completely right.
The piece is a small cabinet made of dioramas, split into four sections. Earth, Sea, Sky and Mind. Each with its own surreal or madcap logic. The moon is where birds migrate to. The flat earth rotates at the mercy of the wind is of course blown by four debatably benevolent gods through little plastic straws. As for the sea… well “here be monsters” would be apt. The Mind is although not the nastiest, certainly the darkest. A sad puppet sits with bandages over his eyes and crocodile clips taking readings from his brain. It might be an imagined world, but the scientific progress relies on grim experiments everywhere.
Each section of each piece is full of wonderfully crafted details and scary little stories. Eagle-eyed viewers would have found two full page reports about a captured sea monster printed on a newspapers. Although it’s highly likely they might have been distracted by the impressively flashy diorama of the devil chilling in his office in Hell. Which of course is situated under the earth as any 14th century scientist worth their salt would have confirmed.
Anyone choosing to linger and read more about the piece would have been rewarded by a QR code that summons a spooky poem by John Kielty to accompany and narrate the piece but listening to it in its entirety on a busy thoroughfare is quite challenging. For street theatre it’s about as intimate as can be. The accompanying plaque warns that “there is a space for a maximum of two people” on the busy street. Yet there is so much detail that is impossible to appreciate the piece with a passing glance. Instead it begs to be poured over, viewed again, reinterpreted, much like any scientist would hoping to unravel the mysteries of the universe, 14th century or otherwise.
