Imagine…A thousand white paper windmills placed in the grass of the
quadrangle, their movement mingling memorial and frivolity. Sudden
gusts of sound open every window in the quad, and out fly paper aeroplanes.
University lecturers perform choreographed papers, whilst a gaggle
of old men march into the quadrangle pushing buggies…Images appear
on the entire North face of the quadrangle. Ogham script finds its way
into choreography of the contemporary. Listen. It rains, and so the audience
pulls blankets over their knees, sips tea from flasks under umbrellas.