We have been
W A R N E D
I was going to put the above link onto face book / but the link to this web log is directed onto Face Book and Twitter - all connected and inter-related.
Networking working to create a net.
As we all proliferate our lives, feeling, actions, responses, business, orgasm, troubles, delights, perception, joys, inter-actions through virile media junction boxes - cris-crossing the globe
The political and social warnings are going out!
Will we listen or just continue pumping vast amounts of disconnected / thinking / believing / they're related and relating to you / to something of the bigger collective.
We're heading towards some fucked up brutal Dystopia /
or maybe we are in it / as I mentally roam to peoples minds
attempting to connect - linking up through the invisibility of this global web.
" We're All Connected!"
They Screamed in Unison!
From their screens that blink at mesmeric speed.
We're all busy connecting with dis-connectivity.
In actuality the feeling of isolation is deafening as we all seem to be arriving into a location of happy clapping in front of for ever increasingly widening screens.
Down load another happy clappy App.
Do you think Google, Face Book and Twitter and all the other geek, cyber-tech entrepreneurs that are riffling up massive profits will start acting like clean living psychotic bullies.
Holy Shit / I'm actually doing it.
No Shit Sherlock.
and is this all some quasi distraction?
So what of life @ art.
Well it's still slightly chilly.
There's a mass of moments scattered throughout /
Painting and objects, half in and half out of construction /
@ times like some freaky Frankenstein vault / of half made systems.
This is the kind of object that gets 'constructed' in art.
It's all remains when it comes down to it.
The remains of the action of squeezing paint out of a tube, the remains of actions with wet fluid, remains of drying, remains of thought, remains of breath, remains of memory, remains . . .
This image is the remains of a magpie. Months of rotting to reveal the delicacy of a calcium structure.
Pinned to a circular board that has been stamped with the impression of a crucifix / Amen.
In detail the beauty of this decay attracts us / or should I say / ME /
Life stripped of its flesh revealing the barest essence of existence, suspended in its simplest form.
R E MA I N S
I had a jolt of realisation whist talking to a friend recently.
My health is in perpetual question / It's a curious place to be /
It's an invisibility of ill health that has caught me out.
Having a history of trauma / falling 60ft down a cliff face leaves it's marks /
ill health is a pattern of recuperation I relate to.
Having got away with it once - I know I am 'guilty' of a sense of immortality - it's enabled me to push everything to the edge - and often beyond it. It is a sense of the beauty of 'rock & roll', perpetual youth, perpetual living, perpetual life, perpetual investigation . . . . right to the line and the line keeps moving, forever forward, into a distance where no one knows the location of destination, where future lies..
"I'll always get away with it"
But the invisibility of erosion is distressing.
"How far can you go?"
And where have you been prior to arriving?
It's not a bad ethos to live by / freeing oneself of the shackles of institutional systems. Stepping beyond the limitations that are seemingly set out within the frame of society, in order to sustain / maintain / order and I really can't stop asking - Who's order?
It ain't fucking mine?
I'm leaning against a bar, a beer waiting to be sank and I'm talking to a friend and we're discussing the 'ill health' and she asks what I want to do with the possible 20 years of life I have left.
It maybe 10 years, or 5 or a month or a week or a day or an hour.
Any given time frame is now known / I play with time.
Life @ art . . . a building in Manchester full of remains of life and art, life and living, memories, pasts, mine and others, collected, contained and simultaneously scattered within the frame of walls and a roof.
I'm in the process of inviting people into art to begin a process of exposing the remains.
Utilising the r e m a i n s.
Is it a natural part of the process of 'aging'?
Is it a natural moment of progression?
Will it enable for a shift in the praxis?
What will arrive from the process of other people under going a process of enquiry will be the fabrication of other 'remains'.
Theirs not mine.
Text, video, photography . . .
Curious . . .
as it should be @ art.