Why poison the frame?There is no way to get away from it. Even if the art is surrounded by a moat of mud – the art is still the art.Though the heart is dressed in rags, it beats as well in a tuxedo. A foot trodding the path doesn’t spin the earth. But that’s another …
When I say I contain much, what am I?What is that container?That “I” is a membrane of thoughts around a lifetime of characters played carefully.A bubble of swirling soap around air.An infinite border to nothing. And what was contained in those electrons of air?Stories about the self.Separations crafted by an imagined overlord. Which brings us …
And the woman said, “I’m nothing. I’m nobody, and I don’t do nothing.” In a nonchalant Mancunian accent she actually said that,as if it weren’t a revelation of the age. And she couldn’t be more correct. “But silly,” said he. “You’re also the center of the of the fucking universe.”
If I own art, I don’t want to own cheap art.If I’m making art, I don’t want to create cheap art.If I’m painting a wall, I want expensive, lush color.If I’m telling myself stories, I want dazzling twists and turns. If I’m setting down beliefs, I want nothing – not even an infinite tube that …
The girls who live in fancy housessensed trouble when the bathroom towel rack pulled off of the wall.Drywall dust scattered across cheap tiles. Oh shit, this house is crumbling. Short screws never reaching wall studs.Thin paint covering what’s supposed to be another pile of dustin three thousand years. The shock of understanding – that towel …
