MELVILLE MITCHELL

Melville Mitchell's performance is deliberately loaded with cliché. I can hear them singing 'Bread of Heaven' from the other end of the building; they start to shout it louder and louder and as I enter the space they are in each other's faces: aggressive, adrenalin-fuelled hooligans.

The room they occupy is full of sporting memorabilia, detritus and apperatus: trophies, lockers, a table football and medicine ball. They sit. Behind their heads is a school blackboard that they use to chalk up their scores. It reads: Melville five, Mitchell six. They are resting but it's clear that this interval is another act of stamina as they compete to see who can drink the sidra (a super strong local cider) most quickly. When I arrive they are on bottle number three; when I leave they are on bottle number six. Melville has nudged ahead.

Over the course of two hours they compete in various ways for superiority. It's difficult to watch. The main action takes place around the table football that they each charge, with their shoulders, to shunt the other to the corner of the room, and the medicine ball that they pass back and forth with increasing aggression, pushing and pushing themselves to the edge of physical endurance.

But the overriding feeling, watching their performance unfold, is not the painful detail, but the sense of how Melville Mitchell require another kind of strength that comes from their unspoken but palpable trust in, and dependence on, each other. It's employed here through various tactics that include drinking together, playing together, watching and reading the signals together.

Mitchell breaks off a bit of his Mars Bar and silently passes it to Melville and they sit, drink and catch their breath before they start all over again.

La Laboral was an entirely male establishment, at its inception; boys were trained into trades. 1000 plus boys, in close proximity, around the age of puberty, creates a particular dynamic that, once imprinted, can never be completely washed out. This fact was not lost on artists Melville Mitchell, who collected the testosterone dripping from the tiles and distilled it into a single intoxicating work. Bound tightly in gymnast's bandages, pouring sweat and spitting, they strove against each other in ritualised combat and pointless feats of competitive strength. Ruthless in their respect for the 'game', and always keeping careful score on the blackboard, they played for two hours, with brief interludes for the bandaging of wounds and the drinking of local cider. What unfolded in front of me was the most eloquent essay on masculinity I have ever witnessed. There was, however, something missing. Before I could rationalise this thought, and take hold of it consciously , I involuntarily found myself cheering them on, 'Go on ... Push!' I shouted. There was an interesting few moments that followed, as the highly inappropriate nature of my interjection bedded into my horrified mind, and also nestled into the consciousnesses of the serious looking women dressed in black to my left and right. I busied myself feverishly with the controls on the back of my camera.

Speaking with Melville Mitchell in the corner of a smoke-filled East End boozer, it's immediately apparent that this stalwart duo have had a hard days graft. For the last week the pair have been demolishing the interior of a house together, and judging by the scraps of muddy cardboard covered in notes, and the state of their dirtied faces they've certainly been busy. The two confirm that the house has been a means of paid work, but more importantly has given them time to confer and contemplate different ideas and projects, and reflect on their collaborative process the best way they know how - working together.

The two reflect on their first collaboration for 'Cardiff-Projects', as the catalyst for their work now. 'Cardiff-Projects', a psycho-geography mission set up by artist and researcher Tim Long, saw them pairing up for a number of different walks. This process of walking has continued to be the starting point for each project as: '[The work] manifests itself through meandering and traversing each other's home cities, thinking, discussing and observing. With a solid understanding of one another and each others practice, ideas roll over and are broken down, replaced, elaborated and stripped bare through each derive.'

Their humour and thick as thieves attitude, makes it difficult for my prying eye to decipher the notes in front of them, but when prompted on talking about the process of working together, both dive into a discussion of friendship, support, solidarity, dependence, and art-making. It's obvious that this is continually talked over, evaluated, contemplated and tuned, and sits at the epicentre of their work, and maybe also their friendship. They are engaged with the idea of a working unit, working in tandem, with a strength and dependence on one another as the main formula behind their making. By using different tactics - walking together, working together, drinking together, the two have formed a contemplative and productive arena, that allows a flow of talk, discussion and thought on an utterly equal level. It's easy to see this in motion as the two rebound conversation and a dual deliberation pattern unravels. Laughing with seriousness, and having a serious laugh, ideas are scribbled down, but most are formulated in the air in front of them, and transferred into performative actions, tasks, problems, or simply tucked away for later.

tactileBOSCH studios, Cardiff, saw the two dicing with death standing on a 3m high tower of ice, only large enough for them both to stand on if they held onto each other. From the tower they served thirsty viewers with large doses of vodka or whisky. The drinkers were told to serve themselves ice with a saw and pick from the very thing that supported them both. Throughout the performance both had to help each other stay on the ice while serving drinks to the outstretched hands below, and it was of course these hands that saw the downfall of their entertainment. Another project has seen them constructing a huge seesaw within a gallery space, both working together to cut and fit timber appropriately. By the end of the opening the two played on this gigantic construction, hitting their heads on the ceiling of the gallery.

I'm still trying to get an eye in on the notes, I'm here to write about their approaching project at The Nehru Centre Gallery, but the plans are under wraps. Apparently at risk of being stopped due to the buildings listed interiors, the two plan to go ahead anyway, and the cultural arm of The Indian Embassy should brace itself for a firm handshake.