yesterday there was a bird circling in the Seeing space
I close my eyes, breathing instead of typing, across notknowing into the small now, where the work is just about to present itself. the only course is to meditate, get quieter.
it has to call, it has to move, and have color… there comes an imbalance of too many tools and not enough implementation.
i dream empty horizons of time to turn the unpack reorg into an entire Studio Remodel. But I have an hour and five minutes.
I begin by unpacking the jumbled boxes from the incoming deinstallation. I dust off, fix up, and re-stack for the new installation, which starts from the beginning. That it takes a long time doesn’t matter. otherwise it wouldn’t be at all.
spools of the wrong gauge wire to be returned; unchosen optics in smudged, runner-up condition. My studio under siege by boxes from the dead (Dick tries to spook me, I mean to type,) dreaded Amazon, from dog food club, and Office Supplies that Come Out of the Tip of Your Finger. dot com.
The work makes itself known to me as I pass my floor piece, and think of dismantling it. i see its delectable heart, giantized, and ticking in 3 windows or more, ticking all the way down the hall, jonah jonah. they swing, they move in air flow, and how is the window treated to maximize this effect?
just the windows, what is the way they move? I refuse to be confined anymore to the circle,
Voila like winning at gambling, I get a kind of made up luck, stories re-imagined as movement, tension, process, curiosity, i knock myself out with shadow in order to best the makermind. and listen to the work with only the paper cone. light.
Why listen when the task is to See, i ask it, as if I could know. icaro icaro
is there, is there, a material gossamer, malleable, and quick? i implore, because I’m weaving every installation in place, knot by not. makermind has to get some sleep.
it answers me just as I’m drifting off, shadows. shadows are the effortlessly giant materials you seek. the nothing that is always in front of you, featuring little-regarded, ever-present aspects, and how sight belies and betrays space, lenses and how they make a picture of their own abilities first, and less about the reflected object. lenses are about lenses first. i understand light as the essential content of matter. i understand inquiry as a confiner and a refiner, i’m interested in aspects and information that remain unexplored for having been disregarded in the initial inquiry. i think we understand the world in small parts, from traces of events.
when the unrelenting blank page brass ring brass ring, offer not available in all locations where I made nice with The Art, all running to and fro at once, being more selves in one day than ever before. this is the “many hats” suggestion.
finished the work early because it has been professionally distilled toward its most basic material expression. everything is always right in front of you, nothing needs to be added it says to me, as I command S myself into the next appointment of the day.
later, so much later i didn’t even photograph the installation tonight. I’ll see it tomorrow, all jammed with people. it will look best when the music is thumping, tipsy belltower, as seen only from below. ding ding
maybe i would find, machine, one of your keys lame, one mark you simply cannot make.
the sound of machines doing man’s bidding festers outside my city studio night window. the same amount of uninhabited land would never suggest the countless tens of hundreds of thousands of motors, spinning whirring buzzing a never ending sigh immediately above the rock and water surface of our inhabited planet.
i am half-ready