12/16/14
I'm working on a new piece. This new artwork will actually have a sound component to it. The noise it makes, will give the piece more strength. Most of its power however, will come from its visual "quietness". I will be able to create this paradox because of what i've learned over the past 11 months.
Before i began this project, i steadfastly made every one of my pieces soundless. But sound isn't inherently "bad", it isn't "good" either. It's what makes the noise, that should be held up for scrutiny.
I don't feel much like writing anymore, but ideas for new artworks are multiplying in my head exponentially. My brain feels like one of those expanding Jiffy Pop popcorn things. I want to make things that are bigger than just words...
One month to go, and i realize that so many of our words are just wasted energy. The spoken ones, and often the written ones, as well.
I will be quiet for the rest of my life, even though i may need to make noise now and then.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Monday, December 1, 2014
continuing silence
12/1/14
I haven't felt the urge to write in a while. Silence has become such a way of life for me over the past 10+ months, that nothing i experience or feel as a direct result of my living and observing it, seems unusual or worthy of documentation anymore.
We human beings devote most of our attention to that which is new and different. It doesn't matter if it is wonderful or horrific, as long as it's novel. Often, when we get used to something, it loses its hold over us.
When i am working on a new artwork, i thrive and face every challenge it presents with a fearless drive that i lack in my approach to all other aspects of my life. But when the artwork is completed, i want nothing more to do with it, i want it out of my sight. My mind becomes fixed on making something else, something different, something better.
In everything but the pursuit of Art, i am extremely methodical and almost pathologically adverse to change. Because this year of silence started as art and changed into day to day life, i have become ambivalent about it. A part of me is done with it and ready to move on, while the majority of my being dreads shattering the quiet and wants to stay enveloped in it indefinitely.
I haven't felt the urge to write in a while. Silence has become such a way of life for me over the past 10+ months, that nothing i experience or feel as a direct result of my living and observing it, seems unusual or worthy of documentation anymore.
We human beings devote most of our attention to that which is new and different. It doesn't matter if it is wonderful or horrific, as long as it's novel. Often, when we get used to something, it loses its hold over us.
When i am working on a new artwork, i thrive and face every challenge it presents with a fearless drive that i lack in my approach to all other aspects of my life. But when the artwork is completed, i want nothing more to do with it, i want it out of my sight. My mind becomes fixed on making something else, something different, something better.
In everything but the pursuit of Art, i am extremely methodical and almost pathologically adverse to change. Because this year of silence started as art and changed into day to day life, i have become ambivalent about it. A part of me is done with it and ready to move on, while the majority of my being dreads shattering the quiet and wants to stay enveloped in it indefinitely.
Monday, November 17, 2014
continuing silence
11/17/14
While heat is a noisy clamor, there is quiet in the cold. Snow muffles sound, as frost grabs at exhalations of conversation. Crickets cease and windows are closed. Tightly wrapped against the cold, people go to great lengths in order not to feel it.
While heat is a noisy clamor, there is quiet in the cold. Snow muffles sound, as frost grabs at exhalations of conversation. Crickets cease and windows are closed. Tightly wrapped against the cold, people go to great lengths in order not to feel it.
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
continuing silence
11/12/14
"...we had to get him debarked, now he screams."
I thought she was kidding. She wasn't.
I have been silent for 10 months. I have not had any urge to speak, until now. I want to scream.
"...we had to get him debarked, now he screams."
I thought she was kidding. She wasn't.
I have been silent for 10 months. I have not had any urge to speak, until now. I want to scream.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
continuing silence
11/5/14
Halloween is long past, but zombies still walk the streets. They don't look to the right or left, up or down, but stare blankly ahead. They talk loudly to someone that no one else can see.
I have had the zombies almost bump into me on more than one occasion. They walk in front of cars, bicycles, and once i observed two of them nearly collide into each other.
The zombie population is growing. There is no pause in the constant conversation.
Halloween is long past, but zombies still walk the streets. They don't look to the right or left, up or down, but stare blankly ahead. They talk loudly to someone that no one else can see.
I have had the zombies almost bump into me on more than one occasion. They walk in front of cars, bicycles, and once i observed two of them nearly collide into each other.
The zombie population is growing. There is no pause in the constant conversation.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
continuing silence
11/1/14
It was a small park and Max, myself and the girl were the only ones in it. Max and i watched as she picked a flower and approached us. When she came close, she remarked on how beautiful Max was and asked if he was a Boxer. I let her know i don't speak but that i could hear her. The girl seemed very intrigued by this and began to ply me with questions...lots of questions.
She told me that she was looking for God in the city, and that something had told her to come to this little park. The girl then went to pet Max, but he backed away from her touch. She had an eager look in her eyes, and asked if she could take a picture of Max and me. I declined being photographed, but motioned that she could take Max's picture.
As she moved around, positioning herself to take an optimal photo, Max stiffened and growled. The girl mentioned that Max didn't seem to like her, so she decided to snap the photograph while standing at a safe distance. When she had gotten her picture, i smiled, waved goodbye, and Max and i went on our way.
Max is a good dog, i don't know why he didn't like the girl. As he and i continued our walk, i began to quietly laugh to myself, remembering an old cliche i heard someplace. "Dog spelled backwards is ...".
When people are looking for something, they will usually find it. Whether it's there, or not.
It was a small park and Max, myself and the girl were the only ones in it. Max and i watched as she picked a flower and approached us. When she came close, she remarked on how beautiful Max was and asked if he was a Boxer. I let her know i don't speak but that i could hear her. The girl seemed very intrigued by this and began to ply me with questions...lots of questions.
She told me that she was looking for God in the city, and that something had told her to come to this little park. The girl then went to pet Max, but he backed away from her touch. She had an eager look in her eyes, and asked if she could take a picture of Max and me. I declined being photographed, but motioned that she could take Max's picture.
As she moved around, positioning herself to take an optimal photo, Max stiffened and growled. The girl mentioned that Max didn't seem to like her, so she decided to snap the photograph while standing at a safe distance. When she had gotten her picture, i smiled, waved goodbye, and Max and i went on our way.
Max is a good dog, i don't know why he didn't like the girl. As he and i continued our walk, i began to quietly laugh to myself, remembering an old cliche i heard someplace. "Dog spelled backwards is ...".
When people are looking for something, they will usually find it. Whether it's there, or not.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
continuing silence
10/26/14
The sound of breaking glass gets people's attention quicker than just about any other noise.
The new artwork i'm making entails my breaking a lot of glass bottles into small pieces. I put the bottles in thick plastic bags and cover them with cloth, in an effort to prevent any noise or bits of glass from escaping. But they still make that distinctive shattering sound when i strike them. The noise is jagged, like the shards i'm creating.
Why is there a weird thrill in smashing glass? What is this odd delight in destroying the delicate? Maybe it is because there is a quiet tension inherent in the fragile and brittle that puts one on edge. Destroying the delicate therefore, results in some kind of savage release.
Carl Sagan once posed the question, "Why do we delight in destruction and yawn at creation?"
The sound of breaking glass gets people's attention quicker than just about any other noise.
The new artwork i'm making entails my breaking a lot of glass bottles into small pieces. I put the bottles in thick plastic bags and cover them with cloth, in an effort to prevent any noise or bits of glass from escaping. But they still make that distinctive shattering sound when i strike them. The noise is jagged, like the shards i'm creating.
Why is there a weird thrill in smashing glass? What is this odd delight in destroying the delicate? Maybe it is because there is a quiet tension inherent in the fragile and brittle that puts one on edge. Destroying the delicate therefore, results in some kind of savage release.
Carl Sagan once posed the question, "Why do we delight in destruction and yawn at creation?"
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