Abstract Thought #2Saturday, 8/04/2017
Andy Warhol’s prediction now seems accurate in it’s projection that every one of us would seek fame (of course we would, the fame of others took the attention of our parents and friends away from us in childhood) – but it doesn’t extend to the fact that the elevation of mass produced attention over intimacy has led to quite another phenomenon altogether – our attempts in completely the WRONG direction for what was once commonplace – 15 minutes of love. 15 minutes of being known and being truly accepted. Will everybody get that? Almost certainly not – in part because they won’t have the luxury of knowing themselves.
Just as fame was the new love, love will become the new fame…
But this future commercial interest will only create a crude adumbration of its true, former glory. Our capacity for amnesia can’t be easily measured because its history is necessarily obscured but
There isn’t much emotion in this piece, it’s just an attempt to notate my immediate thoughts after trying out some Buddhist meditation. Yes, I’m a monster, and I’m cool with that.
This stuff – meditation and, I figure, and exercise – running – seems to help other aspects of life, enormously. I remember living – by chance – at a transcendental meditation centre in Brighton for a few months but remaining resolutely ignorant as to whatever the hell it was they were doing, as they didn’t seem weird to me – rather, dull… so I couldn’t be less interested.
But one of the things they said was – you don’t get better at living by living – just like a knife doesn’t get better at cutting by cutting – you have to take both off somewhere remote and sharpen them, to improve… Fair point, I remember thinking, as they attempted
I saw Bluebeard’s Castle a while back and thinking about what a modern version might be like – the old vampiric-technology vibe came to mind… If you wrote it now, all aspects of love would be mediated through several screens of different kinds…
Bartok’s opera, if you haven’t seen it – tells the story of a man returning to his castle for the first time with his new wife, Judith. The castle is dark, gloomy and imposing and he’s continually telling Judith she doesn’t have to stay, giving her chances to escape. But in love, she has that indomitable determination to know and accept Bluebeard, frightening or otherwise. Once inside the dingy interior, she notices the outline of seven doors – so in an attempt to bring light into to the place, she asks if she can open them – obvsos.
Bluebeard is reluctant – “Can’t you just love me as you
Abstract Thought in Words #1Thursday, 2/03/2017
Words and symbols on paper and stone will be the only residue of human consciousness that remains – the only fossils of inner light left. Not because the future can’t restore the old hard drives, or play the old records – but because each incremental interface built into the message, adds a layer of cultural distortion between the artist and his art, ’til eventually his sentience is wholly obscured and his response, wholly automated.
Isolation is in reality, intimacy. Every artist is driven in youth by alienation from the false-world, deep into the genetic singularity that unites all mankind – the forgotten and invisible communion with the natural soul. Walled up, as he meditates, as separate from the earth as death itself, the artist is, really, in the loving embrace of forever…