Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality. It speaks of what seems fantastic and unreal to those who have lost the simple intuitions which are the test of reality; and, as it is often found at war with its age, so it makes no account of history, which is fabled by the daughters of memory.
raising the banal to heroic is not the the point. artists are stumbling over themselves to achieve it but it’s not the point. snot green is a colour. an important colour. but to give it meaning beyond green signifying snot is plain daft.
a ‘wild man’.
-The bard’s noserag. A new colour for our Irish poet: snotgreen. You can almost taste it, can’t you?
James Joyce. Ulysses.
been putting this together: http://benjaminvarney.wordpress.com/ more for work & stuff. less bollox. less quotes.
joyce’ & his attitude to heroics, his attitude to the banal. wriggled back into my brain just recently. rings a chord. in the face of this governments determined advances on iran.
there’s evidence that there’s been people in hitchin for 400’000 years. that is a long time to settle hitchin. the evidence is in the british museum; it’s an axe head. i suppose there’s been some changes. it weren’t always as it is now.
this isn’t from hitchin though, it’s persian and older than 400’000 years i think. earliest sculpture depicting physical loving so they say. i already posted another drawing i did of it. i like it.
Thus it is true both that the life of an author can teach us nothing and that—if we know how to interpret it—we
can find everything in it, since it opens onto his work. Just as we may observe the movements of an unknown animal
without understanding the law that inhabits and controls them, so Cezanne’s observers did not divine the transmutations he
imposed on events and experiences; they were blind to his significance, to that glow from out of nowhere which surrounded
him from time to time. But he himself was never at the center of himself: nine days out of ten all he saw around him was
the wretchedness of his empirical life and of his unsuccessful attempts, the debris of an unknown celebrations Yet it was in
the world that he had to realize his freedom, with colors upon a canvas. It was from the approval of others that he had to
await the proof of his worth. That is why he questioned the picture emerging beneath his hand, why he hung on the glances
other people directed toward his canvas. That is why he never finished working. We never get away from our life. We never
see ideas or freedom face to face.
Merleau-Ponty on Cezanne; ‘Cezannes Doubt’
a rationalist perspective on cezanne. full of veneration and some very acute critique.
but again the the painter as an observer – totally divorced from their environment.
the warping of sight by movement is not an illusion it is an aspect of how we understand the world, how we experience the world is how we experience the world. placing the human figure in landscape was his highest aspiration.
we never get away from our life.
Light like an egg.
Erik Satie. Directions for playing.
i love the perspective that these medieval artists use.
been listening to liszt. slightly insane, great use of silence.
Energy is the only life and is from the Body and Reason is the bound or outward circumference of Energy. Energy is Eternal Delight.
William Blake (1793), The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
the word energy has been used to very bland purpose in my experience ‘good energy’ to ‘bad energy’, ‘positive’ energy to ‘negative’ energy. descended from a new age thing i think. a way to avoid giving a voice to the reasons a person / object / place gives a sense of discomfort. [it’s been a few years since i’ve heard it mind.]
blake saw active energy and placid energy. no good no bad.
the chance is even… or thereabouts
Samuel Beckett. Waiting for Godot
painting / drawing is very destuctive. you take something and you break it down totally.
and then something else emerges.
An artist can be imitated; the critic is inimitable, and priceless. How could one imitate a critic? I ask myself this. Moreover, the interest would be thin, very thin. We have the original, he suffices for us. Whoever said that criticism was easy did not say something very remarkable. It is even shameful to have said this: one should pursue him for at least a kilometer or two.
Eric Satie, Vanity Fair, 1921. (full article). again (used before but i can’t resist it).
returning to the richter show at the tate: it has only one complete series, the Baader-Meinhof series, and the room they hang in is the only room which is impressive. does him justice.
the rest do not work well together – i cannot imagine they were meant to be seen together, they become reliant on the typically inane contextualising by the tate, and the paint loses physical presence, the audience is given too much distance. the gallery is too sterile, too dull, and over lit. it becomes an illustrated history lesson.
his painting of his photo of his beautiful naked (then) wife becomes a bullet point in an ‘image building seminar’
the richter show made a big impact on me – i may criticise – but it’s because he deserves the attention. and the tate deserves… criticism. at best (though this wasn’t as bad as the pigs ear they made of the brancusi exhibition they had a few years back – that was bloody awful, he would have been spinning in his grave). this site was not intended to be a place for criticism but because i have taken to using it as a place to make notes for myself or explore ideas. criticism may happen. i’ll keep it minimal.