It may not be flawless, and yet it is still perfect.
Monday 19 September 2016
Wednesday 14 September 2016
Vapours
On forgiveness:
(Excerpt from an article by Tim Adams for theguardian.com)
The first piece of art that Karen Green made after her husband, David Foster Wallace, took his own life on 12 September 2008, was a forgiveness machine. She is standing in the neat, white studio at her house at Petaluma, north of San Francisco, explaining to me how the machine worked and how it didn't.
"Before David died," she says, "I had been working on some machines, with a five-year old – the son of a friend who had a gallery down the road from mine." There had been a recreating-a-pig-from-bacon machine, and a prototype for a machine that cleverly pitted dates. The day that her husband hanged himself she had been working on a political machine that involved a bright-coloured circus tent, elephants and donkeys. For a long while after that, she says, she couldn't make any art at all, wondered if she ever would again, but eventually, tentatively, she developed the idea for her conciliatory Heath-Robinson. "The forgiveness machine was seven-feet long," she says, "with lots of weird plastic bits and pieces. Heavy as hell." The idea was that you wrote down the thing that you wanted to forgive, or to be forgiven for, and a vacuum sucked your piece of paper in one end. At the other it was shredded, and hey presto.
Green put the machine on display at a gallery in Pasadena near the Los Angeles suburb, Claremont, where she and Wallace had lived in the four years they had been married. She was fascinated by the effect that it had on people who used it. "It was strange," she suggests, "it all looked like fun, but then when the moment came for people to put their message actually in it, they became anxious. It was like: what if it works and I really have to forgive my terrible parent or whoever."
(Excerpt from an article by Tim Adams for theguardian.com)
The first piece of art that Karen Green made after her husband, David Foster Wallace, took his own life on 12 September 2008, was a forgiveness machine. She is standing in the neat, white studio at her house at Petaluma, north of San Francisco, explaining to me how the machine worked and how it didn't.
"Before David died," she says, "I had been working on some machines, with a five-year old – the son of a friend who had a gallery down the road from mine." There had been a recreating-a-pig-from-bacon machine, and a prototype for a machine that cleverly pitted dates. The day that her husband hanged himself she had been working on a political machine that involved a bright-coloured circus tent, elephants and donkeys. For a long while after that, she says, she couldn't make any art at all, wondered if she ever would again, but eventually, tentatively, she developed the idea for her conciliatory Heath-Robinson. "The forgiveness machine was seven-feet long," she says, "with lots of weird plastic bits and pieces. Heavy as hell." The idea was that you wrote down the thing that you wanted to forgive, or to be forgiven for, and a vacuum sucked your piece of paper in one end. At the other it was shredded, and hey presto.
Green put the machine on display at a gallery in Pasadena near the Los Angeles suburb, Claremont, where she and Wallace had lived in the four years they had been married. She was fascinated by the effect that it had on people who used it. "It was strange," she suggests, "it all looked like fun, but then when the moment came for people to put their message actually in it, they became anxious. It was like: what if it works and I really have to forgive my terrible parent or whoever."
Tuesday 13 September 2016
The visions I endure, are simply entertainment
Apocalyptic nightmares have me killing fathers in my sleep as I gouge rivulets across my palms. Did the fog of the dream chase the memory away, or were we ever unsure of exactly what we were running from? Vivid however, is the strength I found in separation as I led a brutal coup that bought a few more precious seconds of safety. Only to snap my eyes open and clean the flesh from under my fingernails.
Title lyrics taken from Tesseract - Dystopia
Title lyrics taken from Tesseract - Dystopia
Eschaton
On occasion she is reminded that she ought not to play with the big kids for she does not have a poker face to wear. And so decides anyway that she prefers herself hotheaded to calculating.
Saturday 3 September 2016
Thursday 1 September 2016
Foldaway
What other items can you dismantle for storage? Surely not just furniture and knick-knacks and other objects of similarly cold inconvenience. How about people, thoughts, and feelings? Ideas? Can we not also tuck them away for a season or two?
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