Thursday, October 20, 2005
The tulip chair. It is a chair wearing the mask of the tulip. When it goes into a bank to rob it, the teller will tell the police later "It was a tulip, but it didn't look right. I don't know. Maybe it had a wig on."
Posted by zeitguy at 8:44 PM
If I could twin myself, and rotate through another dimension in which orange becomes grey and up becomes down, this would be my self portrait.
Posted by zeitguy at 8:40 PM
Flame clouds and ash clouds paint in different styles, as the geometry of the road engineer scuttles underneath.
Posted by zeitguy at 8:36 PM
The crane takes flight on Sara's breath. She is drawn into a reverie of a lotus, a hyacynth, and blood by the thousand hours of a woman's silken pain. This kimono represents the end of the world, not to the woman who got married in it, but to the world it represents.
Posted by zeitguy at 8:34 PM
Nature is invisible to nature. In the countryside, our longing is the foreground object. We long for something big enough to hide in, without disappearing forever. We long for the silence in which we can finally hear the complete sound of our own name. Your spirit rushes toward these hills, like a child. You cannot call it back, without betraying the silence that brought you here. It is a love of lost things, your lost name, a silence which yields nothing until death.
Posted by zeitguy at 8:31 PM
Posted by zeitguy at 8:27 PM
In the country, nature is invisible, and our longings are the foreground object. In this picture, we long for the love of the sturdy people who kept this granary full. We long to love the boundary between lawn and flower bed, as keenly as the line between action and death. The peacefulness of the whole scene draws us in, and crushes us.
Posted by zeitguy at 8:20 PM
Nature in the city. It is either noise or spectacle...except when it is the memory of a garden foreclosed.
Sam wears the bridge. It is the steel argument of his crises, which span a river. The bridge is no metaphor or symbol here. It is a halo with rivets and eroded piers.
Posted by zeitguy at 8:10 PM
Sara can be comfortable within the display of incomplete signs. Her smile erases the blank sign, and writes a moment on the incessant similarity. I follow the pointers, and am home.
Posted by zeitguy at 8:05 PM
I have come to arrest myself. My crime is malfeasance of time. I have not respected its boundaries, its policy or laws. I will go peacefully.
Posted by zeitguy at 8:03 PM
Posted by zeitguy at 8:01 PM
Posted by zeitguy at 8:00 PM
Father and son. What is flattened and filled with darkness yet coexists. The shadow cannot express the object's intent, but the shadow of intent can destroy the object.
Posted by zeitguy at 7:57 PM
The hydrant waited years for a fire that never came. It was a soldier first, then a sentinal, then a symbol for all the good intentions of men which fit on grids. Finally it was a bubble -gum-colored lingam far from home.
Posted by zeitguy at 7:55 PM
In the city, the individual works harder to be seen. But when it is seen, it is seen as a spectacle, not as nature. We seek our nature, but are captivated by our spectacle.
Posted by zeitguy at 7:51 PM
Posted by zeitguy at 7:48 PM
Sara tried to see the world through rose colored glasses, but they were all being washed after a big party at the hotel the night before. We settled for the blue.
Posted by zeitguy at 7:46 PM