Taj Mahal, Agra
Fields and Children, village in Bharatpur
Yellow, Nimaj Bagh
They paint their elephants. And cows. Please go here to see more photos.
Sometimes a few encounters, no matter how long or intensive, in the end form something like a ghostly constellation that owes its linguistic content, the valence of its anticipations, its mutually substituting intentions - in a word, the laws of its existence - not so much to chronologically distributed facts or neuroleptic recollections of certain attendant, contextual circumstances as to the logic of an unforeseeable ("future") exchange of that which can be rightfully called "generative possibilities": they open to the imagination - but not all to the permanence of memory - in forms that are ungraspable yet anticipate unimaginable perfection.Is it too much for me to hope that the confusing and absurd encounters I have had with one specific person in the past two weeks can come anywhere near this idea of an influential, generative, ghostly constellation of interactions?
In certain other regions of discourse, these possibilities are sometimes called "desire," which lends some vague value to the clarity of forestalling. The influence of such interactions is unpredictable. Sometimes such encounters happen in life.
It's all about fantasies and deadwood - chopping up useless thoughts...clearing room to dream.I know that I have been dreaming recently, I just cannot remember about what.
Light races, especially in a digital era of fiber optics. You race at the speed of light. Though it moves through time, we only know its absence/distance/deferral from its object, the source of light. Light is not pure object. It is mere representation. Not the thing itself. The virtual memory of the memory, as OS X operating system becomes OS 9's parasite. Light becomes God of mediation. Light moves, light presents as if. Not is. But, no. Light is (in the twenty-first century): Artificial projection.Lights behind the musicians, blue, red, white: light and magic. I sent this quote to E. yesterday because I couldn't think of anything else to email her. I also spent all of today sitting in front of a warm fire, tea in hand. I love the fire; I do not love this desire and ensuing confusion.
Objective painting is not good painting unless it is good in the abstract sense. A hill or a tree cannot make a good painting just because it is a hill or a tree. It is lines and colors put together so that they say something. For me that is the very basis of painting. The abstraction is the most definite form for the intangible thing in myself that I can only clarify in paint. -Georgia O'KeeffeI agree.
You were in my dream last night. I was looking at you from behind and you were bent over doing something so that I could see that you had a tattoo on your lower back...The tattoo on your lower back was quite large. It was a still life - of sorts - a pitcher, fruits, vegetables, a half-filled glass, among other consumables. It was, in short, the view into a refrigerator. You know when you're kind of hungry but not really and you feel you want something but you don't have anything specific in mind and you just go to the fridge by some unstoppable compulsion and you open it up and stand there gazing, half conscious, not really looking, just wanting but not exactly wanting anything you're seeing? Well, exactly that was what you had tattooed above your ass...she's a genius, I thought. Extraordinarily inspired, I realized the only way to overcome the embarrassment of my old tattoos was to go out right then and there and get a new one. Then I woke up."
"Although you are interested in the body, sensation, but you want to see how far sensation can be taken from the body itself -- the beloved, in these poems (unlike, say, your work last spring), more remote, the pain less acute, the separation more complete."
- Saskia Hamilton
Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah I think that I might break
I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe
Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
I am small
Warm me up
And breathe me