get out of my dreams, get onto my beltloop

Shae Myles - 1st September 2022

What do you do with an hour-long lunch break? Honestly, I need ideas. Because after a mere week of my new job, (and since I’m part time, a week is … three days) I had done everything I could think of to make the most of this hour of unpaid luxury. One thing on my list had been to run down to the Keiller Centre in the middle of Dundee, and visit a gallery there. My phone told me it would take me a good fifteen mins, hence the *run* down in the sun a few Wednesdays ago. I hesitated at the entrance to the KC, and realised I was waiting for an automatic door to open and welcome me in. Nope. I was politely reminded that not everything is automated and that I needed to push my way into the centre like the Olden Days. 

I roughly knew what I was in for, as one of my favourite pastimes is to read Google ahead of going somewhere. People are so fucking moany. This lil shopping centre opened in the 70s, and I’ll assume it hasn’t had much attention since then. The top keywords that Google has deemed most-often-mentioned in their reviews are: small, sad, units and shame. I think that speaks for itself.

Stepping inside, I was instantly reminded of the Aberdeen Market. Or rather, what I knew of the Aberdeen Market. (I literally lived on Market Street for two years and didn’t set foot in the market at all before it got demolished - still can’t believe that happened.) Anyway. The Keiller Centre. Home to a few little independent shops, but I reckon there’s more empty units than there are occupied ones. Despite this, it’s charming. I find these kinds of liminal spaces weirdly comforting. I slowly wandered in and spotted exactly what I was looking for - Volk Gallery. The gallery takes the form of a repurposed nappy vending machine. Yep, you really did read that right. It’s lovely. Like, truly lovely. I walked up to it smiling. Smiling! In public! By myself! I really was happy.

Volk Gallery was founded by Luke C. Greer and Elizabeth Ann Day, both artists based in Dundee. Inspired by a similar concept that they stumbled upon in Vienna at the very beginning of lockdown, Greer and Day found the ‘Mikromuseen: Kunst im öffentlichen Raum’ project to be their only way to access art while galleries were closed. They wanted to bring this concept back with them, in order to nurture the vibrant culture of emerging artists in the city, and provide opportunities to underrepresented artists. So, Volk Gallery was born, and I’m so glad that it was. The gallery works on a quick rotation; every month, a new artist is commissioned to create a show that consists of 50 original works. These are available to buy for the price stipulated on the front of the vending machine, £3. 

So I stood there, just trying to figure out what to do with this gorgeous little gallery in the form of a metal box mounted to a wall. Reading the instructions, it told me “3 X £1” might do the trick. I fished out three pound coins (which, so bizarre?? I never ever carry change with me but had acquired a little bit of pocket money from my bf just days beforehand) and slotted them into the machine one by one. I then carried out the next instruction, which was: “PULL TO VEND.” I pulled the lever towards me and held it there, then reached my hand towards the bottom of the gallery, which was a very small slot, as long as the gallery but only as wide as my hand, give or take. Feeling around, my heart sank. I thought “omg I’ve done it wrong!” Had I done it wrong??? Letting go of the lever, I realised the answer was no. A small thud softly echoed around the interior of the gallery and I reached my hand inside once again to pull out my prize. 

I’ve been following C(U)SP on Instagram since they started out in August 2020. A project that is the combined effort of Gray’s alum Jess Wilson-Leigh and Phoebe Banks, C(U)SP is a Collection of Unfinished Shared Projects. They are the creators of said prize; a travel tattie masher. The masher comes wrapped in plastic, and secured to a backing card using zip ties, reminiscent of how manufacturers might secure an action figure or Barbie doll to their box. The backing card that the masher is fixed to tells me that: “This mashing machine also comes with a bread knife implement for all your carbohydrate based needs,” and that the purpose of the utensil is to allow me to “take [my] passion for mashing on the go!” After viewing C(U)SP’s instagram again upon writing this, I’m glad I didn’t get too ahead of myself and tear open the plastic to inspect it like a child. They advise that the owners keep it in its packaging in order to ensure its resale value increases. “Smart.” I thought.

The limited run of mashers has been made using various materials they had accumulated in their studio, but upon first glance, it looks pretty legit. Something you would want to pop on your belt loop and whip out when the time was just right. It’s only when you look a bit closer that you start to realise the handle could be made from soft clay, and the part that would have direct contact with your tatties as you prep a hearty plate of bangers and mash looks suspiciously like it wouldn’t do much mashing at all. The “bread knife implement” might be made from felt. But at least it has a fully functioning plastic carabiner clip. The subtle deceiving nature of this piece is confirmed by the small print located at the bottom of the backing that reads: “This tool is purely fantastical and therefore untested on real potatoes. Handle with love and care.” By pairing the familiar, convincing and expertly created packaging with this mishmash of materials, C(U)SP have created something so silly, so useless, but something I’ll treasure for ever. And I’m not even really sure why.

This solidifies my feelings about the masher. I love it. Reminiscent of the Readymades, this conceptual creation makes me so happy. C(U)SP combined their individual interests to create this vending machine art object. Jess has a keen interest in cooking and shared food practices, while Phoebe is drawn to tools, regardless of their functionality. This is a Useless Object. Unfit for purpose, completely dysfunctional but it provides a sense of playfulness, security and comfort. When I saw it on their Instagram a few weeks ago, I experienced a feeling that I’m no stranger to. FOMO. Immediate FOMO. I knew there would only be fifty ever made, and I couldn’t bare the thought of not being one of those fifty. I’m a sucker for the idea of a limited run - even if I know it’s a marketing ploy (which, obviously it’s not in this instance) I physically cannot shake the idea of “I’m literally going to regret not getting this for the rest of my life.” It’s a character flaw, I know. It’s also the reason I’m always broke and have fleeting moments of complete and utter obsession. But this truly was the best £3 I’ve ever spent.

Holding the travel masher in my hands made me think about one of the Barbies I had as a kid. A “Special Edition.” I used to hate those words, because to me, at six years old, that translated to “Hands Off. Not A Toy.” She was one of the only toys my mum insisted must stay in her original box. So she was placed on a high-up shelf in my wardrobe, only further fuelling my urge to open up the box and introduce her to the rest of my Barbies; as was her right. Obviously, I was too scared to actually follow through. She stayed in that box and I think she got donated to a charity shop eventually.

In my adulthood, I can look at the preservation of precious items differently, of course. Taking care of things you love often comes from a non-monetary desire to preserve. Think about collectors. People who have rooms full of carefully sealed items that remain in their original packaging. Do they intend to part with them, in exchange for a bit of cash? Probably not. They’ll most likely treasure them forever. That’s what I would like to think each recipient of the Travel Masher will do. Open a drawer and place it down without hurry, to ensure it doesn’t collect any dust. Poke a hole in the wall of their kitchen and hang it like a picture frame. Prop it up on their IKEA Kallax unit along with their books and vinyl and other things they want to show off in the hopes it might ignite a conversation. Anything that ensures this piece of art gets the love and care it deserves, and gently demands.

This project is exactly the kind of thing we mean when we talk about “making your own opportunities,” despite how yucky I find that phrase. If you want to show your work more regularly, it doesn’t have to be constrained to four white gallery walls. If you want to start curating shows, you don’t need to sit idly by and wait for a job to pop up. Luke and Elizabeth chatted to Creative Dundee recently, and talked about how Volk mainly operates as a “set it and forget it situation.” They do the BTS stuff like designing posters, liaising with artists, socials/website stuff, and curating the programme. The artist makes the work, and the exhibition launches. They then just have to check up on the gallery every so often. This is really interesting and inspiring stuff. I will be spending my pocket money on Volk artwork every month for the foreseeable.

Visiting Volk Gallery for the first time was such a treat, a thrill in fact. I felt like a kid again, using one of those gum-ball-like dispensaries filled with toys encased in round plastic shells that you can find at the end of the checkout in Tesco. Only what falls to the bottom of the machine is much more thoughtful and precious.

You can hear Phoebe and Jess discuss their initial ideas for the show on their insta - they have a few lovely videos there.

Make sure you do follow them on instagram, and check out Volk Gallery’s while you’re at it.

Read their interview with the lovely people at Creative Dundee here.