Dan: I’m older, and I’m much less friendly to fuckin’ change. Al Swearengen: Change ain’t lookin’ for friends. Change calls the tune we dance to. —Deadwood The efficacy of life is held within the grip of memory. Without memory we and indeed everyone we know or have known do not exist. We spend our lives
Originally posted on anartism:
“It is on this bleak scene that a phenomenon has appeared: the American existentialist—the hipster, the man who knows that if our collective condition is to live with instant death by atomic war, relatively quick death by the State as l’univers concentrationnaire, or with a slow death by conformity with every…
The Art of Oblivion “… just as early industrial capitalism moved the focus of existence from being to having, post-industrial culture has moved that focus from having to appearing.” ― Guy Debord, The Society of the Spectacle Art has always lived at the edge between structure and entropy, whether metaphysically, psychologically, metaphorically, symbolically or directly.
Tim’s Vermeer: A Review “The task is to restore confidence between the refined and intensified forms of experience that are works of art and the everyday events, doings, and sufferings that are universally recognized to constitute experience.” —John Dewey (1) When I was an undergraduate student in painting we took many cross disciplinary classes, design
Finding Vivian Maier: Gently Resisting Immortality “Photography was a license to go wherever I wanted and to do what I wanted to do.” —Diane Arbus [spoiler alert - this essay reveals details of the film Finding Vivian Maier] The instant a photograph is made it defies time/space. The linearity of being alive is gone
Musings on the state of beauty and the sublime. “Beauty is your sure bet that desire, unmolested, is going to make you feel around. The Sublime is your failure to feel anything around the beautiful, knowing well it’s there.” —Faheem Haider “Reports that say there’s — that something hasn’t happened are always interesting to me, because
The moon and the stars out of order As the tide tends to ebb and sway The sun in my soul’s sinking lower While the hope in my hands turns to clay I don’t ask that my feet fall on clover I don’t roam at opportunity’s door Why don’t you ask my advice, take it