As an artist embroiled in endless and messy pursuits, I ride the waves of society’s fickle demands. Dad was an upright guy, a veteran with a penchant for a wrinkle-free existence, but that was only on the surface. Shadowed by his giant teddy-bear demeanor, he never saw much reason for small talk outside of a polite exchange, unless it involved religious studies or politics. Dad and I talked mainly about sports, and aside from a few heartfelt atta-boys after winning a little league game, a local art contest, or a full-ride scholarship to a NYC graduate art school, we only shared extreme emotions on very few other occasions. Externally, from an occasional good (deserved) belt whipping, three times we cried together (not including the internal rivers after many a failed UNI playoff game). As adults, during group therapy while I was in treatment for substance abuse, we had to sit across from each other and make goddamn eye-contact while talking about expectations and guilt; then three years later we shared tears at my younger sister’s funeral as I attempted to latch on to his giant quivering frame; and then again when he was drunk at my older sister’s wedding a year after that. It was a rough year. There were tears, though, during a fourth time, a few decades later as he was boarding the ship. I started bawling and was angrily questioning him why he had to go. He was taking his last breaths but relayed to me a good-bye and whispered that “it’ll be okay.”
Information = water
Speaking metaphorically, information providing institutions (IPIs) have become all-you-can-drink water stops.
Whether it is packaged in a plastic bottle, mass-fed through a public aqueduct, or ingested intravenously through an IV, it is all there regardless if you are just thirsty or being forced to drink an assignment.
And you don’t even have to be there to drink it: you just need access to the proper pipeline.
You can, however, step outside of the institution and visit a river or sea, but you will get sick if you drink the water.
Or purchase from a store, but the frappachino-flavored water will leave you wanting for more.
But even the IPI doesn’t come cheap. The plastic bottle vendors, aqueduct managers, IV administrators, pipeline providers, rain catchers and distillers all need to be paid.
The rain catchers and distillers can be outsourced, but that still comes with a cost not to mention loss of control of local resources.
Come to think of it, there really isn’t a need for the IPI at all, but then we would all perish due to contamination.
Rocks wander too far away from each other and will eventually turn into flowers.
The radius and the cube
The joker and the thief of “virtual” 2-d screen society, the radius and the cube, have set the bar for what is expected on our immediate display devices.
We can obviously go outside this realm to see the crystallographic dander of triangulated nature, but the current aesthetic of the day is an irresistible icing that compliments a contrived cake batter.
And these 2 elements will forever be bastardized by unnecessary upgrades and redesigns, but we are forever stuck with these 2, in whatever shape or form they may be imitating.
The beauty of this is its ability to continually conquer the challenge the limitation of symmetry.
The sadness is that it will never be art.
Thoughts from visiting a beautiful island/country – an amalgamation of 3 general views:
1-ancient, traditional, spiritual patterns
2-ribbed sheet metal and bamboo facades disguising valuable property
and the glue that binds:
3-inner vortexed fast forward retro fashion