there is no i in art - only love and death Jun 16, 2013
by Nikolai Lesnikov
if u place everything u c outside of yourself (in order to evaluate/normatize it perhaps) there will be nothing left inside to hold you together. senses, means, and ends. something important could happen between us if we can release the binds of convention and allow each other to stand in unabashed truth. a social compact for the arts?
harp song for a radical. an earnest attempt at a call to free thinking runs amok between the lines of engagement. the straw man suffers through every rearrangement of the straw inside. wrangled by the dinosaur of establishment (whose lyrical order cascades in wonder ever-more), a young man wades amidst anger using words as makeshift flotation devices. sometimes, the beast of burden is the most living and loving of creatures. yokes. shackles. wires binding us in freedom of expression. the song was/is real, somehow.
omega is less than one.
to build a bench is a public service.
in a contest between poetry vs. formula, formula 1, poetry 0.241.
either/or - a significant problem addressed reasonably can only permit its own recurrence.
let's crunch the numbers of a thinning universe.
despair vs. joy = unsustanable?
and how many near-death experiences does a human need to realize it's all good?
ash casually for a light of reason.
duels: orange. figurative shit is always impressive. a triangle of sensuality with carrots, bunnies, coyotes, perros, and guns that emit smoke. it feels appropriate to question the role of a seducing carrot producer lady claiming to be worthy of being gunned down by her derivatives-peddling-ex-husband to maintain in force the sensual machismo of the tender-hearted gardener who spoke so sweetly of feeling dirty. men will be bathrooms (sexual constructs). el teatro de la patriarchia.
beware the illusion of perfection. this piece may take you wherever you may want to go for as long as you truly let go of the idea it continues to warn you about. the first thing you see is a pile of earth - a presence not to be overlooked. there are living bodies standing in the background - they are just there, just like everybody else. the foreground is a triple gender force. mercedes is the wild one. hanna is being in the world with courage and wearing pants. unspeakable beauty. ilvs' monologues alternate between poignant self-critique (transposed in your own mind) and visceral overpowering empathy. ilvs' movement is of another world and beckons along with its gently torn pathways. however, mimi centers off center - an offer of silence. tempting.
nevertheless... clear blue skies. paul kills you many times over and then you are grateful. the undeniable truth of a fundamental injustice hearkens back through millenia - tragic mistakes of destiny - the essence of the purifying role of drama in human existence.
tre (where were you). new animal eyes with female arrows of perfection thrown in for good measure. cups stand, don't lie. biggie lies in peace. too much violence in hip hop? sometimes i feel like an ignorant child a long way from the sanctuary of truth.
this is how we disappear. bubbevy presents the quiet stillness of a lake at night, but the trees are brown video-game trees gliding out and about, somehow lifeless in the delusion of replica. then, when pretty swarms of digital specks fly about a flat surface, one has to wonder where captivating stops and trapping begins. to be trapped in beautiful movement offers a curious challenge of release back into stillness.
finally, the satori group goes deep and dark in barbarous escapism back to all-knowing land and its emanations of cruelty past. a rich tapestry of raw human potential unfolds as an alternative myth space featuring some artistic licentiousness for what appear to be all the right reasons (i.e. our unconditional belief in ghosts may make us vulnerable to certain predatory tendencies and that's fucked up). the death aspect of the goddess is supreme in its call for renewal.
break my heart and hope to cross over. new works: new gratitude.