Tag Archives: writing

Retreat

Presenting below – some blog-cuttings by SARSPARlllA – a blogger who ‘approaches Borges’ as one of his followers has noted.

Brilliant, thoughtful writing from someone who looks like the contemporary James Cook.  And the entire world seen in fractals – incomprehensible, awe-inspiring, hurtful… A place to run away from – or rather, like in a vertigo trap – to escape to by retreating from…

You go to that house and work it like a Chinese gymnast: wear  something tight, force a smile, and lie about your age

Woken by five phone calls a night. Panicked, jealous.
The heat so enervating, my toes burned.
‘What do you think of Belen?’ Unable to lie.’It makes my heart hurt.’
Prehistoric turtles with diamond heads. With leaf heads, floating. Ayahuasca. A capuchin tied by the penis.
The attention Is gets, and that I’ve grown too old for; and the pleasant feeling of not resenting it.
The tiny frogs in the rain outside a sushi restaurant.
Slipping through black silt faeces in the floating village,dry season on the orillas of the Itayo river.
Everyone looks like Josue – delicate noses – when the Iquito tribe were wide-nosed.
Wanting desperately to do something to help lift them out of this poverty.
Well, we've done it again. We still haven't finished the story. How  extremely careless of us. But I promise you on my honor the truth will  be out next time. I've excused the actors until we return when they will  present the final act of our play. Unfortunately, since you are all  accessories after the fact, I cannot permit you to leave the room.

It’s beginning to hurt him more than it’s hurting me.

Partly, that’s because raw terror is making me block all thoughts of future, or of change, out. (it’s a coping mechanism, leave me be).

Partly it’s because running away is always the easier role than being run from.

I can’t help him much with that. He’s the one who made me choose. I could have managed half my life not choosing.


Few words on communication and loneliness…(Whilt 15)

Don’t know why, yet I don’t feel like writing. Don’t feel like using words at all… Words are unnecessary stains on silence…That’s S. Beckett’s…

Out of sentiment probably, I’ve watched once again ‘Lost in Translation” by S. Coppola. An intelligent effort portraying deep loneliness among crowds and despite ‘having a relationship’. All because the most important gets ‘lost in translation’ – lost because of words which are not to be spoken out loud; lost because of time, space, fate. Found only in order to be ‘failed’ at the start… And all those witty understatements, subtle clues and games… Intense emotional bound ‘doomed’ to be lost in all that unexplainably, undeservedly cruel ‘logic’ of life… This movie makes me think more about my work in terms of the difficult art of using ‘low-key’ yet eloquently ‘charged’ messages…

And I’ve seen an interview with Noam Chomsky, the great old man, one of the greatest intellectuals alive  – he sounded so humbly ordinary that it touched the uncanny quality. He talked with tender care and respect as if the words, the language were special beings that he gave life to and took all the responsibility for it…Communication – it takes profound intelligence, good will and struck of luck to happen, to exist on its own and to develop inwardly loosing all the casual simplifications and gaining the meant depth… Do we think enough about the way we communicate (if at all)? The quality, quantity, sense, purpose?…

And the last random thought – fancy words used by some of the more initiated members of the Art World, critics and thinkers-on- art – they’ve been annoying me for years – now I’m becoming a sort of a collector of those – I actually keep a rapidly growing list of expressions, which affect me in a strange way – they just strike a certain string, resonating with elegance, creativity and literary potential. Here are some of them:

nascent (adj.) –‘being born’, just coming to an existence, yet – with a potential

redundant (adj.) – superfluous, unnecessary

portent (n.) – omen, auspice, prediction; with weight/future significance

subversion (n.) – undermining the power of authority, sabotage

resolution (n.) – determination, perseverance, dedication, bravery, purposefulness

intricate (adj.) – complex, baroque, confusing

It’s interesting how one expression can be enriched and illuminated by few others which are meant merely to ‘define’ it. It’s great to sense that interweaving of meanings and an economy of some of the words as they seem to contain the entire concepts in them… Fascinating… I feel a bit more like writing just now…

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Review of the week… (1)

What kind of work will be bought in 2018 ?
Happy Christmas, dear Art Club Members and Art Club Caucasus Readers ! I wish you some nice days with your family and friends, enjoy your time, relax from the “quite difficult” but still very good 2008.
Here is a question to you to think about, if you are in the mood for that:
What kind of art will be bought in 10 years from now ? Will it still be paintings, prints and drawings, or something else ?
Will it be digital media, video ? Will it be just an USB Stick with a work ?

Think, that the future collectors generation now growing up, look often to painting as some kitschy old fashioned thing, almost ridiculous and stoffy.

Will there be huge flat screens in houses, (on the places where now the huge paintings are), where are our works digitally displayed ?


Will it even be so, that collectors buy a whole blog like this, lets say for 250.000 USD ? But who should get the money then ? We share it proportional to the amounts of posts each of us did ;-))

But how to buy a blog ??

It’s very easy, 1st we take the money, 2nd with 2 clicks we make the buyer the Admin of this blog 😉
Will it be, that collectors rent artists for a certain contract/project ?

Will big media companies like Google pay groups of artists, just to play around and develop new visual concepts ?

We must invent the future by thinking it. We must prepare to the changing world around us and influence the changes itself.

Best regards, Hans
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Today’s post by Hans Heiner has been re-printed from The Art Club Caucasus (you can find the original here) as it launches my new series – Review of the week.
I think that we – private online ‘publishers’ should support each other by links, comments and lending a bit of our own space to promote work by other bloggers and artists. Quite often one can find excellent, inspirational articles on the web, much better than those in the ‘proper’ papers – which are read by a handful of friends and accidental visitors only. Let our thoughts and works circulate in the web-space, let them be seen and appreciated as they deserve to be.
My reviews will display the original texts/images, with the appropriate links and credits given to the  authors.
Though the posts are meant to publicize the quality material and to serve the writers/authors, they can be removed at any time, if the original publishers wish it.
Katarzyna Skonieczna

Baudelaire’s lesson of French… (Whilt 7)

L’Homme et la mer08

Homme libre, toujours tu chériras la mer!
La mer est ton miroir; tu contemples ton âme
Dans le déroulement infini de sa lame,
Et ton esprit n’est pas un gouffre moins amer.

Tu te plais à plonger au sein de ton image;
Tu l’embrasses des yeux et des bras, et ton coeur
Se distrait quelquefois de sa propre rumeur
Au bruit de cette plainte indomptable et sauvage.

Vous êtes tous les deux ténébreux et discrets:
Homme, nul n’a sondé le fond de tes abîmes;
Ô mer, nul ne connaît tes richesses intimes,
Tant vous êtes jaloux de garder vos secrets!

Et cependant voilà des siècles innombrables
Que vous vous combattez sans pitié ni remords,
Tellement vous aimez le carnage et la mort,
Ô lutteurs éternels, ô frères implacables!

Charles Baudelaire

Forever love the ocean, free man!
For in its eternal unrolling of the power
You can contemplate your soul as if in a mirror;
Neither less bitter is the abyss of your spirit.

You would plunge into your image emerging there,
Ready to dive your eyes, arms and heart into it
And if something makes you to forget that vanity of yours,
It can be only that wild, untameable lament of waves.

You both tend to be dark and mysterious:
Man, no one has ever searched through your gulf;
Ocean, no one knows your hidden riches,
So jealous you are of your secret depths!

And yet, for countless ages, remorselessly and
Without a pity, you have fought each other,
For so strong is your fascination with carnage and death,
Twin wrestlers, for ever in a struggle!
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Interesting, how we tend to translate the same poem differently in different decades/generations zooming in on, digging into varying tones and shades of meaning…  There is something really truthful in what Matisse said that: Each age brings its own light, its particular feeling for space… – it brings also its very own understanding of what has been written/said decades or hundreds years ago.

I’ve bumped into Baudelaire’s “Flowers of Evil” 1857 (so gorgeous this title is!) on this well-edited site, yet the four various translations provided there had annoyed me so much – I just had to try my own ‘voice’. Interestingly again, I’ve found the oldest version from 1931  the most appealing, maybe due its naturally (time-wise) closer sense/feeling for the author’s intentions. Maybe… My attempt (can be read as a joke, I wouldn’t mind) is meant to care much less for the literal deciphering word after word, yet – it aims at capturing the sense of freedom, the dark power and the combat spirit of the both – ‘free man’ and the ocean. This is my light, my feeling of space as I marvel over this 19th c. French poem in this first decade of 21st c. – seen through the English-shaded glasses put on my Eastern-European eyes…

Any comments?… You are all pretty silent out there. Sometimes I feel like writing for myself and my Muse (if she is available) only…



Studying Art – Diary (12)

There is never enough of them – do you know this feeling? Books. Books. Books. You would spent your life in the libraries and your savings on purchasing yet another title with a delight, that an art collector enriches his ‘stable’ with yet another beautiful, desirable piece of an artwork. It usually starts very early in a childhood – once being firmly and passionately ‘hooked’, one can sense it over time, that there is hardly any w07ay/chance of escaping (and rarely one is attempting it either) from this quite unique, vast world of words, stories, concepts, titles, authors.

I remember time of a pure addiction when I had to have my room filled in tightly with the piles of books and I would never read one at the time, but four or five of different titles enjoying the interweaving of the themes, stories and styles the way the cocktails aficionado marvels at the minute transformations in taste/smell/colour of a drink once the one or another ingredient contributing takes over the rest. But there was also a rebellion time when all the questioning of the written word (or ‘word’ at all), its sense and purpose took place – I believed that one casual conversation is worth more than a dozen of invented stories. That was obviously a passion-boosting fight between two lovers and quite quickly I found myself simply unable to keep my hands of the printed pages and my mind of that very strong, existential need to devour their contents feverishly and with a wild enjoyment.

What is more important in terms of a self-discovery and my artistic research  is that I’m becoming increasingly aware of a strong link between my condition of being a still-born writer (or – never truly born yet, from different reasons) and my ambition of pursuing an artist’s path. It seems that I’m trying to approach and master that beloved universe of the human spirit – described, analyzed, transformed, invented anew and ‘written down’ in all the books I read (and tried to write in vain) from another – the visual aids-based angle. In this sense I share that struggle with many other artists/painters, who chose (or have been destined to) the liminal/boundary and cross-disciplinary spaces to function and work in, rather than to focus mainly/predominantly on the purely aesthetic, fine-art based exploration and display.

When I look at paints/art materials I see ideas to be embodied, when I listen to my work on its way of a development and a metamorphosis I sense its intense desire to become, to come to existence, to get the ‘face’ and a very distinctive, believable story – just the way, the would-be characters of my fiction have had… “Give birth to me”! “Help me to be!” – they would haunt me in a sweetly-sour manner, the same is true to my paintings now… the blessed curse, the cursed blessing of the life-giver, a creator – to be a midwife, a womb, a medium and to be entirely and for ever responsible for what has been helped to happen…

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Ble, ble, ble… (Whilt 5)

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Ble, ble, ble, what, ble, ble ble bleeeeee…

Bleeeee, are, blee, ble, ble, ble,ble, bleeeeeeeeeeeee…

Bllleeee. blllllleeeee, you, ble, ble. BLE.

Bllllllllllllllllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, bbbbbbble, staring,  bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbblllllllllleee: ble, ble, ble.

Blllle, ble, ble, ble, ble, ble, ble, ble, ble, ble, ble, ble, ble, ble, ble, ble, ble, at, ble, ble, ble, ble,bleble, ble, ble, ble, bleblebleblebleblebleblebleblebleble?

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Happy New Year everyone! Enjoy the new Time, live it as if it was the last one of your life…. After all, who can be sure it is not?… Ble…


Words, Words, Words… Whilt (4)

This chat would my favourite of all for a long time…

– What do you read my Lord? (Polonius)
– Words, Words, Words (Hamlet)
– But what is the matter? (Polonius)
– Between who? (Hamlet)

Being in my teens I would tease my partners in a conversation – ‘words, words, words’ – this is all, what we are saying, we are – in  a fact – making noise using them, they are meaningless… They would look at me like being slapped in the face – they were never ready to accept the provocation and to start to play – but who was to blame, after all? We were and we are being brought up taking the profound purposefulness and logicality of the language perfectly for granted, we talk to communicate – don’t we – why we would bother, otherwise?

But what the Prince it trying to express ? – why does he refuse to make a ‘proper’ dialogue and answer the question as he was expected to do? Most probably, for the same reason he says (after being named a ‘son’ by the murderer of his father): “A more than a kin, and less than kind” referring to Claudius, who – being a stepfather and an uncle is double-related to him, yet – not really his kin or ‘kind’ – words always denote common understanding – hearing ‘uncle’ we are programmed to think ‘kin’, ‘family’ – But, does our understanding of a term really goes with the actual meaning/sense of it that Hamlet could have had, after meeting his father’s ghost? Hamlet knows from his tragic experience, than ‘words’ are only ‘words’ – they are being used like a knife – in a double-sided way – to cut the bread and to kill; their power – both positive and negative – comes from their powerlessness, for their notorious and deep inadequacy to signify the true essence of things continuously agitates the human mind…

Yesterday I bought an ambitious Irish daily newspaper, I tried to find an article, a story, anything worth my time and money – I searched in vain… Words, words, words – ladies and gentlemen… But it could have been worse – they could have  filled in the entire edition with images – equally pseudo-important… Thankfully, the image doesn’t bore, lie and/or deceive that easily, not yet…

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P.S.

To avoid any misunderstanding – I don’t regard bombarding cities in Gaza Strip as a story ‘not worthy’ my time (or money); but one cannot praise the news givers for ‘providing’ the news in themselves, for the human tragedies/attrocities as well as great events  just are and happen, regardless of our ability to grasp them and to convey in a meaningful way… But I do mind multiplying publicly expressesed ‘opinions’, ‘reviews’ etc. which add nothing to the phenomena in themselves, except maybe the authors names and the confusion of all that wishy-washy patronizing talk…


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