Alexandra Park is a visualized space, both open and closed, created and stumbled upon. Vibrations, when left alone, sometimes deflect off walls, and sometimes dissipate in the wind; Quavering into un-expected tensions. A concealed instinct provoked to be un-covered, either boiling over, or imploding. The excursive reflex in solitude, an honest, firm release, a slow-seeping pressure torn into segmented voices. Passive elation. Un-groomed and un-adorned save for the semblance of textures plucked from air. Pruned, then inserted into an un-specified vessel. An Oration of these impulses. Compressed intention, searing and solidified, otherwise raked back into ether, or left to saturate. Fighting all impulse to expand, hot and cold currents scrape against each other, and resolve in the breath’s distress. Ripped document. Wind Decision and the contraction of it’s opposite. The tongues astuteness sabotaged by fingered back-fires. Nerves catching the light, but never distracted. Minuscule discoveries left exactly as found: Always skirting silence. Controlled awareness of the overgrown. Breath as thought, rinsed. Acute. Conversations in solitude. Sometimes we hear, sometimes we’re shown, sometimes we wander alone…But never truly alone, Brodie West’s solitary saxscapes are constantly conversing with reflections just out of ear-shot.
text by Randall Gagne /Man Made Hill, Toronto 2016