Those, and I count myself among them, who find ordinary moments in a day oddly redeeming, would probably scorn at the constant need for an event to be LIVE. LIVE must be dramatic, LIVE must be loud. Oh the self-importance of it. Now, it is of note, and unfathomable to the many who shrug at the same thing as I; that in 1930, the British Broadcasting Company began their daily report with: ‘Today, there is no news’. All day, all evening and even the day prior; among the day’s raising, raiding, uprising, quelling; these minds that devoted themselves to the documentary of such events had with baffling neglect, pronounced April 18th as a day that we could forget. Instead, the fifteen-minute broadcast was substituted by a piano rendition of Richard Wagner’s composition, Parsifal. Oh, for that piece to come again. Faced with monotony like this, would it be fair to recognise LIVE as an exact opposite to the moments we once could be encouraged to forget. Because now, there is very little we can afford to forget without proper documentation. LIVE is here, and needs unwavering dedication, an eye roams and what was LIVE is now past; there is no LIVE immemorial but a now, only now. At the centre of LIVE there is always a chance that some mistake could spoil the event. Yes, that’s a reason to watch as how comical would that be? I was there – I could say: I saw it LIVE! This is what LIVE really means, that you were present. As one might already be aware, there aren’t many borders anymore; at least not a broadcast, not unless its radio – and it rarely is – I can hardly recall the last time it was radio. You see if something is LIVE, there is very good chance that it is also original, and oh! What that means to us nowadays. You can’t doctor LIVE – not really. LIVE is honest. It is an opposite to all the paragons they sell us. Just hope the presenter will trip, or the roof will collapse, and a Bronco escapes. That way I can say I was there, I saw it myself – saw it LIVE. Just let the fiction take control and then what, sat here, where might I go? Oh, so exciting. There is such a catharsis to LIVE. Here I am, being led me towards my very own what if: Oh what if OJ had really escaped. Look how lousy we are now, with no say in the happenings of LIVE broadcast. Unless it is an election, we are merely bystander to the outcome, planted in waiting of a thrilling disaster. At one time, an individual en plein air meant an engagement with a now chief principle of representation – that to engage with whats happening, one must without question be present at the event he intends to depict. This way, they would sit and look, in a way becoming part of the event. There would be no separation but a complete immersion into subjecthood. So, as was bound to happen, if Constable had painted by LIVE recording, then in its fractious relay of scene to eye, an unnerving suspicion of the painter as a witness to the event would quickly form. How can we be sure he was ever there? And the argument turns to medium; of the means by which the painting was completed. This in mind, LIVE is its own medium.