Wednesday, July 1, 2009

I understand

I compiled this writing from your writings in response to found papers and objects... Well Done!

I UNDERSTAND...

I understand why Durant Dort Carriage Co. made a No. 53 Blue Ribbon Buggy.

... the importance of perspective and foreshortening--when it comes down to illustration--so that images look "realistic" to the human eye.

I understand that this is an elderly man with bifocals on, sitting on a chair.

... how the thousands of large and miniscule bones that make up our spinal cord and ribcage protect our most valuable organs.

I understand cardboard scraps. It's awesome: you can draw on cardboard, burn it, make stuff with it. It's awesome. Homeless people can make homes out of a few of these pieces. It is such a sturdy material.

I understand why artists are poor.

I understand that if I receive a suspicious package, I shouldn't open it.

I understand that this is a diagram on how to visualize a picture plane.

I understand how to use sandpaper. It is rough and harsh and it can create a smooth surface.

Bomb Threats, a guide for people to follow when they hear a threat

I understand writing backwards, sporadic spasms of dislexia.

I do understand the mind.

The spoon got stuck on the bowl because the acrylic is dried.

... the composition of the portrait, because it is a common composition for a portrait.

... swimming--the breathing; stroke and calm of the water.

These are templates for engraving.

Alphabets--writing systems found in the past--can also be used to communicate.

... what I believe is the purpose of the perforation on the napkin.

... that painting an "un-gesso-ed" canvas cloth can be fun.

... falling down from a higher level to make you realize your status as a human being.





Dada writing

When I was a little deformed Jelly,

Mr. Khatami got the rock and scholar.

Future flow - Boom, boom, boom

20,000 people dead has not shown.

Signs of being has not shown.

Cul-de-sac and it gets deeper.

Unanswered question,

When I was a little girl.

20,000 people dead has not shown.

Signs of being has not shown.

Something different,

Better if you don't talk about it.

Gotta chance of that kind of compromise.

Boom, boom, pow

20,000 people dead has not shown.

Signs of being has not shown.

1980s, I was a little deformed girl.

Postrevolutionary battles

Love you - he cannot show.

Followed you Professor Cole

20,000 people dead has not shown

Signs of being has not shown

Boom, boom, If I lost you

-Now-


Richard Kent

First 10 Things

Today I woke up on the wrong side of the bed in what felt like a creepy kind of dream state. When I shifted the curtains and squinted at the daylight, I cursed the world realizing it was time to get up. The previous night's overdose of cold medicines had given me a ferocious headache and left my mind locked into its foggy prison.  I rolled over to my nightstand and reached for the wadded up tissue in hopes the release would allow air through my left nostril once more. I pulled myself up and fumbled for the aspirin, which I choked down with the last stale drops from an old water bottle. I dragged my feet into the shower, but after deciding the process entailed an unmanageable amount of effort, I hopped out without ever turning the water on. I made it from the freezing torture chamber and went to the mirror. I gagged as I brushed my teeth and then pulled on the nearest jeans and sweatshirt. I returned to my still snoring boyfriend to shoe him out the door, but not before he insisted on inhaling his morning medicine. I finally gathered my things, left my mind inside the Nyquil bottle, and out the door I went. Poor me.

The Red Bellies are Afraid

The Red Bellies, Red Bellies, what is a Red Belly? Whatever it is, it can't be good. Not by the context. Whatever it is, it is afraid.

I am afraid.
I am afraid.
Afraid of life's never ending challenges.
Life's forever playing game... afraid.
Playing off our fears.Fear.
Life without fear...
...isn't life though...
...is it?

What would there be to live for in a life without fear because
fear is a challenge...
it is the game's opponent we strive to beat.

Fear.
I am afraid but it is fun to be afraid sometimes,
isn't it?
Fear.
Fear.
of heights.
of roller coasters.
of spiders.
of public speaking.
of water.

Life is to be feared but lived. I am to be afraid and live.

The mind is always...
always...
always...
always
challenged to overcome fears. To live through them.
To defeat them. What if someone enjoys fear? Enjoys being afraid? Are they really afraid then?
or just having fun?

THe ReDbeLLY

The redbelly's mind is plagued with crimson as he must exist in a world where the color red represents the bleeding of life and the evil that exists. Whether it's red skies or fountains flowing in a plague, he is plagued with crimson. Can it be a misnomer where the color red has a much deeper, philosophical connotation as opposed to an aged perception? The redbelly must face himself in the mirror and realize that he must face discrimination, acting as an agent of adversity and all that is unusual. He could be perceived as brilliant art as the realm of the arts welcomes the unusual and transforms it into the extraordinary for all to appreciate, not judge. The gaze would not be something to mock or make fun of, but instead it would highlight the greatness that lies within. The redbelly's mind has been corrupted by the malice of others yet forgiveness has not been rooted out eternally as he realized people do hate what they do not understand. Upon understanding this icon, this entity, people will finally realize that true greatness exists in the crimson mass that is the redbelly.

Dada Lyric

When you were driving by honking, supporting
That was an interesting time in history
That beat that blocked out the chanting
You can get like that
A rueful patriarch follows you around
You criticize him
Roll the time Mohammad
It is amazing what new creation can come out of this
We are a downpour of maledictions
Out in support

A Man on the Sidewalk

The sandwich-board man stands in front of the store, sweating bullets in his stiff cardboard uniform. It hangs on his neck, dragging his posture down to a lazy height. He holds a tray of tiny square sandwiches, toothpicks sticking out from each one. Samples, I believe, is what they are.

Pedestrians walk by, some ignoring the sulky face of the sandwich-board man, while others run to him grabbing as many samples as they can hold in their eager fingers.

The sandwich-board man stands still, unable to concentrate on anyone, or anything. His mind is out of this world and he speaks in a monotone voice: "Eat me. Eat me."

Little kids giggle as they stuff the sandwich squares into their small mouths.

The sandwich-board man stares into space, his eyes speaking for his wondering thoughts. He fixes his sandwich-board--man, that thing sure looks heavy. He looks at his sandwich-shaped watch wondering when he'll get a break.

A break from this job; a break in life, he wonders.

The sandwich-board man, oh he has dreams alright. Under that heavy sandwich-shaped cardboard, he knows where he should be; where he wants to be.

-Melanie