July 17, 2016 · FalseArt
“Notes to myself on beginning a painting” by Richard Diebenkorn 1. Attempt what is not certain. Certainty may or may not come later. It may then be a valuable delusion. 2. The pretty, initial position which falls short of completeness is not to be valued β except as a stimulus for further moves. 3. DO […]
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July 14, 2016 · Speculation
Backstage NausicaΓ€: in wildflowers for Sophocles tragedy at Pillar Point… Here, in the weeds behind the curtain, where ancient Greek tragedy meets California wildflowers. Judy moving through that grass like she’s already halfway to Phaeacia, This is what you never see: the in-between, the breath before the dive. The wildflowers don’t give a shit about […]
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July 9, 2016 · Speculation
This is the real secret of life — to be completely engaged with what you are doing in the here and now. And instead of calling it work, realize it is play. Alan Watts The stones are wet and the tide’s doing its thing through those organ pipes, some modernist’s fever dream of what happens […]
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July 5, 2016 · Speculation
Roble Gym Rehearsal, Stanford University with Judy Syrkin-Nikolau The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work. Γmile Zola
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July 4, 2016 · FalseArt
I’m going to tell you something that’s going to sound like complete bullshit coming from a guy who’s made real money with a camera: I fucking hate documentation. Here I am. Supposedly a photographer, though don’t call me that, seriously, someone who’s shot work for Guillermo Gomez-PeΓ±a, Ron Athey, Alonzo King. Someone who ground it […]
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June 21, 2016 · Collusion
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends. The lunatic, the lover and the poet Are of imagination all compact: One sees more devils than vast hell can hold, That is, the madman: the lover, all as frantic, Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of […]
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June 15, 2016 · Speculation
rehearsing Sophocles NausicΓ€a in Stanford TAPS Prosser Studio Poseidon god of the earthquake launched a colossal wave, terrible, murderous, arching over him, pounding down on him, hard as a windstorm blasting piles of dry parched chaff, scattering flying husks… The Odyssey, Robert Fagles trans.
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