international arrival (wastrel and the sand)

it apostrophy is...

Statement of Intent: I'm tired of working for my gravy. I'm going to do another thing. I'm going to stop keeping notes and pictures. I'm going to open up my room instead. I'm going to hide my bed in the corner. I'm going to harness this big big power of my look. I'll be evident, I'll be the sad misanthrope last seen standing on the dusty floor below the music. The lights will be grim. They will be cold and unflinching lights, blinking at me like a gut knife in the panic.

This is not a chemistry that will be measured for accuracy. Alternately the beach, it's also a service to the function of memory's use of the plastic arts that are stored within. Experimentation and reaction can be engaged with clear eyes to boot but it's important to respect the enormity of our experience. It's only ever sometimes seen with both of these eyes through polished lens or frail mirror. It can only ever be translated very poorly by me. It can only ever be misconstrued or ignored using these rules one time because it can never be faithfully executed using the tools that are before us today.
Optical acuity is a spectacular obstacle to our overall awareness and to our healthfulness. It is not the rule, but it is the accumulation of a series of inextricable guidelines that cannot be bypassed, exchanged or altered. Representation and abstraction as form are confined by our perceptual limitations. This object is itself only a place holder. It is only ever in transition between action and inaction. As a result the following states can only ever be documented and then set aside.

These flowers will be seen.

These are those flowers.

Here are some flowers.

The flowers are naked.

Comments

The apologist and the appraiser have decided to stay put

dashed wet and grim Oh now, Reagan of steel glitter in pants with which to shake them on down. Oh now, I shit you not for these are the things. Yes in any order you should choose these are the things to please please me, Oh Yeah. - Unmarked letter signed, A to A They'll say to me that it's safe to say so much for ubiquity, for disenfranchisement, and the terrorism of privilege. They'll say to me, With all of the effects from these profoundly toxic effects, is the project of our shared humanity effectively being dismantled. Are these the idle thoughts and sad tidings of despots and the tyrant kings inside of their comfortable towers of raised muck. As I've said before, They're not so far gone as to be gone for the good of all. This is plain to be seen in a world of bent backs and gross hyperbole. I'll sit in any unused doorway. I'll be beside myself while every door is locked. I'll dream of the halls and listen as the curtains, the drinking, an...

Piles of leaves: Letters Campaign

Suddenly old but feeling perfect, my wet underwear is on the the floor. It's gathered round my ankle. Myko laughs, just as wet and full of piss as ever. The violence of our togethering already feels like more than something. I reach out, taking the back of her neck with my hand. She's stepping in as I lean over to write; Dear, Temperance, October, and Brine, You are more than a place to me. More than walls and simple chimes, but I'll write to you anyway. This you'll know as you read my words. From here beside the lark's buttered breast, from under the heavy lids and the bright side kettle where we'll hum. We'll hum together, Bunny. Dickens be damned, we're now brightly doomed. Soon enough we'll see, the forest within the trees. To you, Tigre PS. are more or only this bed, maybe the floor too. We spend the day in, ordering takeout and hiding under the sheets. I get up and pee while Katt is talking about Milton. Her mouth's open, it's as rou...

Not the Willem DeKooning Retrospective (Not Even Close)

Willem DeKooning, Excavation (1950) oil on canvas Yesterday at work I bumped into this piece by Donald Kuspit on DeKooning's retrospective over at Artnet . Then this morning I bumped into this one on L Magazine's site, by Paddy Johnson . I don't know that Paddy Johnson demystifies DeKooning as much as she takes issue with his pallet, declaring it repetitive and boorish en masse. By contrast, Donald Kuspit writes an article painting DeKooning as a sadistic brute inextricably tied to the modern tradition in general and Picasso specifically. Together they make for some interesting reading, particularly as Kuspit never addresses the show itself in favor of drawing his conclusions from individual works. While Johnson seems to wear the show like an imaginary wool shawl, noting it's uncomfortable, out of style, and the zipper is broken. But she doesn't seem to get to a place that addresses what was actually there either, only what she felt was missing or to her mind ...

stagnanTVowels

Search This Blog