The being of art
In becoming an artist I have had to loose every sense of order. Although the process took a quarter of a century it was most successful. What remained was a chaos that I fondly saw as animate and seminal.
When does such a thing first start to occur? I must say that I remember doing it all my life. It was the most natural impulse, to fellowship the essential and rid of the non-essential. To me chaos was the essential. By the time I discovered art I was vicious and cold-blooded but somehow this chaos also allowed me to be fanciful and sentimental as well.
I see a place that is a living being. Its chaos is the same as a living entity. The delight is that it is silent apart from its ins and outs and workings. See how lighted is the darkness see how obscure is the light. It's almost as if the whole thing was an intimate internal organ, the workings of which serve every purpose.
This shadowy journey through my own fibres for I can't see that the journey is anywhere else albeit am I just making believe, pretending? But this is unlike me one day the imaginary the next day the solid but the shadows get in the way so nothing but am indistinct picture is created HOWEVER you're to BLAME. You can't see it clearly. There's nothing wrong with the picture. There are other ways of experiencing anyway.
The hyper-erotic demons one with a voluptuous woman's body, the other a male is erect and being groped by her. Drops of semen flow to the ground. Impossible heads gleam at each other with dissonate, intense eyes, focus horns and fangs protrude. It's quite impossible to tell who is getting the better of whom. Large clawed feet dance on a wobbly ballroom floor although quite close and ringed with decorous babies or foetus. Everything is muscle, tissue, sinew, sex organs. Nothing is quiet, unmoving. Because of the distortion it's an exercise in debauchery. Die hatha sabba man in erecto misanthrope in an occult scream! The chant goes on forever see the small movement of the genitalia on such a grotesque basis. See how it's amplified into a thunderous crescendo. Every sound is here: from the railway train to the raindrop, from the siren to the bird's song, from the impasse to the achievement.
The lazy green drives through the acrid black force on wheels of yellow fire see the things there are to see my unconscious is like a sliver of razor like a small brittle piece of moon humming with bone. The tumour from the brain, the thought from the moment fire into flesh, flesh into mummification, mummification into rupture, rupture into brain fluid, brain fluid into machine, machine which drives you on wheels of sinew slowly and inevitably towards the chasm which consumes everything. All this from a little sliver of moon. Such profundity!
It makes my face lop-sided as thou I a man idiot or know too much about psychopathological things. Do you see how in this vision everything is misfit. The wheels steer the car. The axle is the radio aerial. The body melts like an ice cream in the sun. The exhaust goes up a passenger's arse no wonder it's heading towards the brink. With a technology like this we will create a world that truly is life-like.
Copyrighted, Anthony Mannix, January 2010.
