Here come these optics, I can easily see the function of the hardware. Imagine inspecting the total surface of an orange with a flashlight, and how the arms and hands would work for that. I pinky swear myself to move the work forward and not get lost in the prettiness I am about to witness, my left arm returned to me.
It’s time to investigate housings for the light emitters, to discuss the object-ness of the glass objects, and whether I will toink them with my silver hammer or let them stay in their bougie bodies – where hollowness counts for something and what does a flat plane do to the flow of the photons, I bet it’s a cooler. Or maybe it’s a color separator. ‘don’t you want to find out anymore,’ Pan lows from behind the new closet, ‘afraid to see it again?’ I wonder what he’s got back there to make himself out of. Almost never to be without one, Pan fashions a fine pointy prick today from a rogue shadow that he coaxed out of nowhere, the only shadow in the scene. ‘baby, sing with me somehow,’ he warbles, flashing in the lightning like a drawing of this part of the story.
Also and simultaneously I am shown the shape of the baffles I am to fabricate for these optic experiments. From across my mind Malevich says, with a quick upward motion of his jaw, and one leering eye, ‘c’mon,’ давай посмотрим ‘let’s see.’ He has been waiting all this time for today’s work, with the LEDs and what its light shows through optics. How the er egg-disk, the Pringle shape the photons take, becomes, at some iterations, through a curved glass lens, a square. Plus he can’t keep his hands off the black foil. He is cutting and taping geometric, multi-component light baffles. They make fish eyes like a paper towel and a drain. I am even made to think in my poor Russian, and he reminds me of long-forgotten words.
I decide what I really need is a spring drive to scare myself in proximity, the windows down, with my jeans and boots and no phone, just to tempt fate. I decide that’s just what I need, and start to think of how I will get into the best ride for the ride. I’m going to do it the right way, too, with paper maps and cold orange drinks in glass bottles.
sketching with photons: studio optic 403
Let’s look at why reading ‘works’ – because multiple Universes can be conveyed in a drop or two of ink. I think of the library of the world, connected through the minds of its readers and writers, a system (naturally we’ll be curious to investigate what kind of system but that’s optical work) that works on account of access and the ability to deposit one’s own information in it as well, somewhere, which is fast becoming everywhere because of the internet. But the library of the world does not consist of written words, it is a library of thought that touches down into writing, like the running feet of a shore bird.
This is my reading cocktail. Newton, Buckminster Fuller, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It always has to be three sizes vaster than I already am. It’s like, you want the gig, and I’m like, have you seen these boots?