I open my eyes into the work, into its definiteness, every wire is working. This mater<\/em>ial, the iron wire that enables, is as ephemeral as light, lens, and looker. \u00a0I wonder about tension and time, whether, in 50 years, even the well-preserved wire will still hold the same tension I cursive sculpt today.<\/p>\n Holding its bodiless arm out for me, Machine plays dance music so I can snap into my right mind in the studio room,\u00a0seeing the work fearlesser. \u00a0and for this, one must tumble lightly through the many possibilities, the remotest quietest fearlings, like insurance, and certainty.<\/p>\n What is the essential question of each light emitter? Are emitters discrete stations, or is the entire piece Illuminated? How much Self is contrived into the piece? what if it\u2019s none, is that achievable? \u00a0If each emitter is an individual question asker. \u00a0First question. You are here. the first question is a question of your presence of absence<\/a> and a mirror, you are here. hall of mirrors entry,<\/p>\n Wiring not writing<\/p>\n my part to make objects,<\/p>\n from notes on a worn, velvety, over-folded, 8 \u00bd x 11 purse paper, where the piece in progress, waiting for its body, drew itself, center of the paper folds coincided with the center fulcrum of the piece. its double independent tensions, it won\u2019t stop saying itself<\/a>,<\/p>\n Magic or made made or \u00a0MagicMade.<\/p>\n The past is away, especial<\/em>ly freakishly recently, human<\/em>ity went phphphwelp, from the Industrial Age to the Digital Age,\u00a0the people escorting Mind to Machine, rolling onto the internet, every aspect of life, wired, connected, reduced to image and writing, to ones and zeros, to sequences of ones and zeros, we live instaside the Digital,<\/p>\n becoming past, right before our unguessing eyes, like late model cars and the face of the self. \u00a0Handwriting. \u00a0Handwriting on paper. \u00a0The understanding of ourselves in time, informed by the evolution of photography, each former generation appearing to have less and less reality for any lens to detect, beginning with present photography,\u00a0al<\/em>ways seen as most realistic, outsparkling\u00a0the orangeish newly recent Polaroid past, to the black and white, to the crackling silver gelatin faces of almost nowhere, who before that were merely imaginary, painted, drawn, written and recited.<\/p>\n Also lost:<\/p>\n Being Lost. And Paper Maps. Gonditty gone gone are the days of the private moment alone, barreling down the desert highway, the only human for miles. I\u2019m glad I was there, one foot on either side of the Digital Transit, red flag day. \u00a0and the rest is a Reading.\u00a0No one is\u00a0less qualified than me to write about technology. \u00a0Hang on, Adobe wants to make changes and it needs my password, let me go help it.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" All I can do is silently with the screen who prods me about days that didn\u2019t happen in the writing world \u2018\u2019the unmanifested,\u201d lows Pan, from behind the big black circle of Mythologist on the outside\u00a0closet wall. \u00a0He has been hanging from his elbow prong inside for months, and I had begun to see him … Continue reading instaside<\/span> ![\"DanaMajor](\"http:\/\/godshampoo.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/03\/DanaMajor-CindyTrimphotographer.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a>balance test<\/p>\n<\/a>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n