Five short blasts on a whistle is the maritime signal indicating that a vessel does not understand another’s intention and fears possible collision. It is also the name of this meditative installation cum performance created by Australian artists Madeleine Flynn and Tim Humphrey.
It boards the audience on to boats, takes us out to sea and allows us to look back at the land while listening to the voices of local people whose lives are intimately connected with the water. Alas, its intentions are not always clear.
It’s not entirely the fault of the artists. This piece, as part of the Brighton festival, was due to take place in Shoreham, a Victorian fishing port from which fishermen still sail, and was created for that location. But logistical difficulties meant a last minute switch to the sanitised soullessness of Brighton marina. The result is an oddity, like watching a film with the wrong soundtrack. Or like one of those art-school projects when the students take you on a tour of the local vicinity but everything they tell you refers to some faraway city. In this instance we stare back at the shoreline of Brighton while the audio tells us about the muddy beauties of the River Adur in Shoreham.
There are, however, plenty of pleasures. Who wouldn’t enjoy a 50-minute boat trip at dusk as the sky flushes pink, the moon appears like a beaten silver disc, and you survey the Brighton shoreline and its landmarks from an entirely different perspective? The city rises from the haze so mysteriously that you could almost believe it was a mirage. It’s good, too, to feel the power of the unpredictable sea. It’s certainly the first time I’ve been to a performance where sick bags are on offer.
It’s all perfectly pleasant, a nice experience. But there are only a couple of occasions when it feels greater than the sum of its parts. As we glide back into harbour, a lone trombonist plays while standing on a concrete seawall. With the lightest of touches the audio makes us think of those past and present who brave the sea in dangerous, leaky vessels – unlike us, whose brief sea voyage has come wrapped in cosy blankets and delivered with tea and homemade biscuits.
It is a reminder that site specific really does have to mean just that or it feels fake. Local stories that might have universal resonance when heard in the right visual context fail to land when delivered randomly, whether they are snippets about killing a mackerel or the fact that there are as many words for mud as the Inuit have for snow. Sadly, the intention of this piece has been badly muddied.
• At the Brighton festival until 28 May. Box office: 01273 709709.
