The intermezzo

by chriseddy
click on image to enlarge

neoteXT 17

Between Black and White and Colour

He looked at me like I was a TV not working
Stuck on one channel
Mine
The look on his face said "I don't have the remote/st."
I kept on talking in the hopes that
He would tune in
Find my wave lengths
But his eyes still reflected static
His hands like a 1950's antennae
Twitching on the roofs tops of turquoise bungalows
In the hopes of getting a better picture
A better picture like the ones on the first colour TVs after being suckled on B&W
Those almost real tones
If he could remember it is like that
It is always like that
So that is what I tell him
"It's like TV, you know, from black and white to colour."
"TV sucks" he says
"That’s part of it" I say
Our words crossing vectors of meaning
He can see my horizontal and vertical hold now
See on his buttons with the labels
Unfortunately I can't stop from rolling horizontally
Flipping vertically shifting diagonally
Wanting to see his picture
With network difficulties
Snow, Lines, static sounds
I give him static
To see his movement
His eyes glaze over he starts to ramble off topic
Drunk not caring if I am the I that is there
Only then I could hear his tune separate
From the hissing
See the picture arise out of the swarm of dots
But he was not a broken TV
With substitute parts and coat hanger reception
Crossed wires and uninterrupted wavelengths
His Vertical hold gone his eyes flickering
His mouth still transmitting waves
As his horizontal hold went
His head began falling toward the wooden table
Becoming wooden TV cabinet
Slumping body
Unplugged
And tomorrow I will again
Broadcast unbroken frequencies
Some even containing an evening in memories
In new arrangements, bisecting, traversing
Avoiding horizontal planes and vertical holds
It is hard to tell them it is not like TV
Fixed lines and dots and cycles
It is some where between black and white
And colour.


more......

Trillium War Machine

Trillium warrior

This rhizomatic Trillium Grandiflorum roamed free in abundance throughout the forests of Ontario. Bringing to the spring forest floor a beauty to match that of the autumn canopy. Then in 1937 it was annexed by the state and given the structure of Ontario's provincial flower. Which resulted in it being raped and pillaged by the citizens of the land and the city. In retaliation the white trillium which lives and multiplies underground withdrew from view. And refused to bloom for seven years commencing on it being so violently ripped from it roots. The state in an effort to save the nomadic flowers and roots started a campaign to warn people about picking them. This has evolved into a myth in Ontario society that it is in fact illegal to pick them. Today the trillium blooms profusely once again in the few remaining forests. Perhaps they should go one further and free this woodland wanderer from its state duty as the three petals painted on anything relating to the Ontario government. Then future generations can greet the Trillium anew. Freed from the head cluttering structure imprinted on the blossom. Free to greet the trillium and be becomings trillium(s) . To be so close and not hear its messages of being one and all, alone and a pack, in the middle and everywhere, is sad.

NeOtExt 16

An Orbital

On the bricks,
A painted yellow star peeling,
Inside a man and guitar playing,
Outside the weather is freezing.
Past the musical constellation,
The people are walking,
Heads in the wind,
Searching the leeward doors.
The music bouncing off,
Their contracted pores,
To cold to toss coins.
Still the star keeps on playing,
To the wind that is blowing,
The notes pass the bodies,
Escape out into space.
This alone seems to please him,
Freed from rhythms measure,
Knowing that harmonies roam,
And for his nomadic pleasure,
Sitting on the sidewalk,
Alone.

MORE.......

Lesser New York

I have linked this article because it points to curatorial problems further afield than New York.

village voice > art > Lesser New York by Jerry Saltz

Picasso found

Guernica by Picasso found in a gargabe can in Hamilton, On. Can.

Picasso, Walks and Synchronicity.

There are interesting things that happen on aimless ambles. And our eyes and minds search out what we know out of all the unfamiliar. As you scan the immediate universe on a walk looking for meaning one can come to see and understand the world in a whole new way.
You are constantly bombarded with new situations. You run across things that relate to your own life. Things that place you and your consciousness on the bigger map of the territory you live in. And place the bigger map on your interior territory.
I always seem to find objects on these walks for some reason. And these objects relate mostly to my art making process. I have been doing this for a long time as you can see in my blog entry A REFLECTION. Synchronicity plays the part where my randomness meets my discoveries. There have been amazing coincidences a long my pedestrian journeys. One St. Patrick day I was on a walk in a neighborhood that was once very Irish around one hundred years ago. I happened to look down in the mud at the edge of a church lawn and saw a bit of white pottery. I picked it out of the mud and found it was an Irish clay pipe of the type you see associated with Leprechaun images. I had found a relic appropriate to the day.
The picture above, Guernica by Picasso came to me on one of my wanderings. I was strolling in the Portuguese neighborhood when I saw Guernica jutting out of a garbage can. I was affected by it immediately. This heroic masterpiece by Picasso that is not only massive in significance but also in size made this little dog eared copy seem even more relevant. And that it was soiled and from a home also added to its signification. Since that day about six years ago it has occupied a space on the wall above my oven.
The book in the picture below about Picasso's Guernica was found about a month later at an old book section in a local thrift store. A book not only found in Hamilton but with a forward from a local University. It seems that this arresting creation of Picasso's has now become an event webbing around the globe and into the very fabric of everyday life. A painting that has a life of its own.

To see some of my found object art link to Canadian Porcelain Company or Owen Sound.

Picasso's Guernica

CHRISEDDY'S HAMILTON
click on image to enlarge, enlarges twice

neOteXt 14 & 15

Look up it

There are no meanings of words
In the dictionary
No fixed designations
For Aardvark or jelly
Sorry, if you’re close
You are probably wrong
Because text in not
Found in etymologicals but in song

The meanings are wind,
And skin and across.
Sky and eye,
Together tumble toss.
The mouth and the water,
Bend down to the lake.
The body and the gravity,
Now text for situations sake.




Microdissidence

Only a certain part of me
At certain times
Will I let from the cage
That I built
To keep me safe
From the me
That I am
And to protect
Those that see
My multiplicity as one
Creating
My
Cage, my safe, the structure
So inside safe
My nomad can wander.

more......

Nomadic Easter Thoughts

The problem with every revolution
is that its success marks its own end.
As the revolution succeeds it dies and
is resurrected as the newest state structure.

"This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine."
Anonymous Negro spiritual.

Enlightenment means as much to carry the light as it does to generate and maintain the light. The becoming enlightened person acts as a relay beacon. Similar to the beacons in Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, that sent a signal from from rocky crag to mountain peek and beyond relaying the "message". But this time the message is vast and ever changing with infinite speed through out history/memory. A landscape populated by people not in a line but in a great web, geographically and time wise. Sending and receiving each light in ever shifting ebbs of understandings. This rhizome like picture of human history's part in its own enlightenment illustrates the miracle that all knowledge truly is. It is not the library structure, or book structure, or even sentence structure that has kept enlightenment alive and burning. It has been the active hearts and heads of people keeping the fires alive for future generations. As it has been kept through out time, added to and taken away from. Like the running torch lighter at the Olympic games only this time everyone is a beautiful kouros speeding in space and time, all lighting the way for each other with signification. Knowledge seems to exist as much between us as with in us. The more a person scans the horizon and perceives the torches, the signals built by others, the broader the territory of our combined knowledge becomes.
Chriseddy


There is no communication with only one.

One becomes two as soon as you leave a mark.

Nomadic Art

Attention Artists
If you are intellectually driven. And interested in an exploration of nomadic art then please come and join us at Nomadic_Art. A site for artists to theorize, share, and enlighten each other in our singular quests into the creative process. What does all this mean? That's what we are working on and need your help.

Rock, Paper, Scissors

Paper covers rock
chriseddy

Rock
Nomadic cultures all required weaving as a basic technology for living long before architecture’s textual permanence. Weaving cultures are lost to today’s scientists, archeologists, and anthropologists. Like its procreators weaving is nomadic and non-fixed; decaying back into the organic dance that it was borrowed from. Weaving presents the mind with structural organizations and possibilities. Could the scratches in stone, the petroglyphs be born out of these lines? The lines that taught us to map the stars and the deserts. And the lines and folds that may have taught us the necessary structures for spoken language. Showing us the way to understand the lines and folds needed to develop architecture in stone.

Paper
The interlocking fibers of paper act like rhizomes. Each fiber being the center of their own intertwining. Until all the fibers become one great tapestry of chaos with each being a centre of locking. The result of this being the ordered plane of a piece of paper.

Scissors
Folding and cutting paper mirrors or inverts the nomadic activity of weaving. They both are technologies that set out a predetermined structure for the building of a more complex language. In the case of weaving it is the strings of lines (warp) that creates the basis of forming the pattern or language. And with the paper we see it is the folds that function as the structure. The cuts being the human interventions that unfold into a new language.

Shamrock

I bought this shamrock three years ago on
St. Patricks Day. It has grown very large and
has been blooming continuously since I
brought it home. It has survived being knocked
to the floor by Bill the cat and being frozen almost
to death when I left the window open one winter.
Truly an Irish botanical.

Happy St. Patricks Day
March 17, 2005

On St. Patrick's Day I like to celebrate by
re-reading passages from "Finnigan's Wake"
by James Joyce.

neOTExt 12

A Daze

Turning changing direction
Lost on a pivot
Becoming a new view
Pottery in motion
Infinite forms on a brink
Lip in slip

Formed changes the direction
Shooting outward
Projecting journeying
Speeding the line
Avoiding the stop

And every stop
A spin
Memory lost
New
Formations
Before
Becoming
A
Line
Speeding
Infinite
Safe from chaos
Iffor
Only a moment
In
Flow.

more......

Monsieur Fu

Monsieur Fu learn's jump
click image to enlarge

NeOTexT 11

Beyond Known

Words best left unspoken
Spells woven
Uncertainty blanket
Wrapped in invisibility

The Gardner’s spade
Deep cuts
In the couch grass
Outlets cut off

Eyes and ears in a hand crafted basket
Fingers locked in a dance with the piano lid
Flow ceases and life becomes finite
Counting the nouns kept in a glass jar

Flight taken different directions
A worm cut in half
Love of the car for the gas pump
The gas pump is the tanker becoming
Equilibristic reterritorializations


The fish and chips were wrapped in a newspaper
The end
The fish and the chips and the wrapped
And the newspaper and the aroma
A beginning
Liberated by “AND” freed from the old briars
Of subject, object, or context.

More.........

Photography Gallery

J W Bush Gallery
Now boasts a NEW BLOGSITE for your pleasure
Click on this link to see more of this
exciting photo gallery, the artworks,
and information on up and coming exhibits

Woven Architecture

Woven Architecture___________chriseddy

An Ancient weaving
Caught a pattern
In their head
Everything since
Has had to be said.

NeOteXt 10

Weaving Thought

Cutting paper
A soothing effect
Snip snip
A loom of folds
Instead of the warp, paper
Re-placing weft woof, cuts
Structure lying
Over fold
Revealing
A
Woven
Snowflake
Thought creating pattern creating thought

more.........

Nomad
chriseddy

Nomad Museums

Nomads, Gods, and Life’s Instructions

The ancient Greek myths tell us that if you get a sign from the gods you have to act on it even if you don’t like it. So with this in mind I must move on. I have just been given one of those signs. The kind no one likes. The kind that railroads your plans. The kind that helps you see that ego can only get in the way.
This morning while checking my blog hits I found one from a Nomadic Museum search. Curious since I have been working with this idea for some time now I searched it. I have been researching my nomadic heritage, the philosophy on nomadic thought, nomads, and working on nomadic museums. Concepts both possible and less possible to see realized. So I was wondering what else might be out there?
No, I could not believe it, there it was, a nomadic museum. It was vastly different visually from my art works of one. But close enough conceptually that the world would now have a good idea of containers as nomadic temporary structures for the exhibiting of art. It is big and it is famous.
The nomadic museum by Shigeru Ban is located on Pier 54 in New York City. It will rest there for the next three months. The Venice biennale being its last home. One of the weightiest show cases in the world for contemporary art. And I am not surprised. The work of this brilliant architect trails behind him like a path of stars.
But the signs seem to be there when you need them. At this point in my work I have been waffling with the physical structure of my nomadic traveling art. My work on nomadic museums was leading me back to earlier ideas about sculpture. And as I was designing the container museum I was having underlying ideas about cutting into it, transforming it.
I had been working for some time on cutting into steel objects, tanks, drums, bins, etc. I would change these objects into sculptures and still maintain the language of their original identity. And these feelings were surfacing again in my work with nomadic museums. I was having doubts about the nomadic museum as a structure housing art. And I was becoming more excited about making the nomadic museum into art.
This morning the gods have shown me that the nomadic museum is done. My work here is finished. But they have also gifted me with a beacon lighting another path. My nomadic path is just beginning. Shigeru Ban, master architect has freed the museum allowed it to travel and be independent in ways a museum can’t. And I am now free as an artist to work toward sculpture that can roam the world. The monumental liberated from land ownership and museum designations.

monumental sculpture