That which cannot be lost, only found.

In a world that is always increasingly consuming, desiring to consume and to fill some void it believe exists, the "need" has arisen for the immediacy of things.  The desire has become less of a desire and more of a convenience; complacency has replaced the stirring in man's heart, it seems.  Art is now a thing to be seen in mass collections, no longer solely an all-consuming entity--surroundings, experience, history.  Legends one has only envisioned in dreams become displays in accessible glass cases and enclosed spaces with walls and windows and doors.  The art of the pilgrimage is now competing with the possibility for immediacy--the short trip to a gallery or museum.  Great masterpieces are not merely tangible objects on which the eyes might feast.  The great masterpieces have a soul; they were brought into this world by some oncecreator and continue to exist, becoming that much more wholly mastered as more of mankind becomes affected upon finding it.  There is a mystery behind the centuries of paint, varnish, and that ultimate canvas at its back.  The greatness precedes the discovery and only grows as one journeys to make it.

Once found, there is a presence one can only feel in viewing the work as it was intended.  In this, one is "becoming more aware of how [they] see, not just what [they] see."  Art is a living, breathing thing but it itself cannot move, only being able to move the things around it.

and so it goes.........

Untitled.

There is a voyage ahead of us,
I can feel its promise with the intensity of all my love,
There is a wall, and beyond that wall
The world.
Oh, don't let them stop you or rip it from
Your hands. Bleed first and ignore the cost later.
I promise in the end your beauty will be unspeakable
Thank you for the faith and fire. My wreckage
Burns with the viciousness of all cowards
And black questions, with the stench of tomorrow
But still,

—Still!
I will lift myself from it and praise every person
Who dropped me for nothing and made my heart
Writhe on glass splinters. Oh, how I believe in happiness.
Goodness as a monument in the wilderness, a pouring of chromatic
Light. Everywhere, light.
An unstoppable painting of worship in my blood.

and so it goes.........

ROUSE

Horizontally wooden with great, flat spaces of white ascending upwards—this was a space, which became a gallery, which might always be a canvas of sorts. It has been interesting to see its growth and altogether surprising one has not yet seen the walls breathing. The space seems to assume the shape of its purpose and has the capacity to be a vessel of many vessels. As the group passed through the halls in clusters, one saw its current form—the temporary home for several stirring minds and makers. ROUSE. Still, the collection of people traveled without much sound.

I will speak now.

and so it goes.........

Weight and waiting.

and so it goes.........

One and Three Chairs

and so it goes.........

Lack.

Where are you now, he says.  I stand on top of myself, I hear
myself answer.  I stand on myself like a hilltop and my life
is spread before me.  Does it surprise you, he asks.  I explain
that in our youth and for a long time after our youth we cannot
see our lives.  Because we are inside of that.  Because we can
see no shape to it, since we have nothing to compare it to.
We have not seen it grow and change because we are too close.
We don’t know the names of things that would bind them to us,
so we cannot feed on them.  One near the middle asks why not.
Because we don’t have the knack for eating what we are living.
Why is that? she asks.  Because we are too much in a hurry.

How do I find myself in these long stretches of glorydays and the nondescript hours?  I find myself lacking motion.  This thing within me is not so at peace and stirs chemicals and thoughts seeking some unbalanced equilibrium.  I am pulled forward by memory and drive and the momentum of almostfullyliving and yet, in wanting everything at once.

Irony.  I do not move.

I do not travel.  The desire to move is that which binds me in the house of infinite wait, and the gravity of gravity enters my consciousness.  I am held still by some numbness I cannot name.  I blame the medicine.  Easy.  Why can I still not shake this nothing?

Ordinarily I move.  I feel.  Lately I have felt so nearly numb that I cannot honestly remember the last time I felt strongly about something.  Anything.  Right now I want to cry, I cannot.  Strike something, break something.  I cannot.  I want to be held.  I won't.

                         And yet
                                                               here I sit

                                       in my chair

                                                 in this place that smells of ghosts.

and so it goes.........

Square One

It was to go backward, "to recreate art, to start from square one,"...beginning literally with squares and cubes.

and so it goes.........