Ritual, in the form of death walks among us and it greets us with full eyes that are framed with time and many things to do.
fig.278.90) There's no such thing as an endless bird, Brancusi wasn't right at all. Painting isn't about objects at all it's about definition. It's about slowing down because it's all about the fantasy of stopping this moment. It's the place where the amorphous pleasures of Dionysus and the Apollonian structures of control will meet behind a bush. It's as if a pair of Fridays were to become enmeshed during the ritual balling up of a paper calendar by thee prophet, the prophet of Carthage before leaving their office once more. It's the interlocution of something that's been made up from the bits that couldn't get away. It's that which is thrust upon us when we first try. If you say knock knock to someone, than maybe they'll make a painting for you too. There are eye's of profound dirt and I think that they can see all of the black that is there inside of us, all of it at once. This is the sort of development that hasn't