She loved the arts. Abstract arts. Pollock, -Jack the dipper Not so much Andy Warhol I believe it was her theory that, why reciprocate the ordinary or gloss over the bold. A subtraction in the art of the justification that there was no finesse in over thinking the everyday because anyone could do it. A can of soup, a Brillo box, a gun, status. pretty sure that was point that Andy was making in all of his reproductions from his ‘factory’. He had an assistant as if to make an exclamation point, and the sheer nature of the process. Everyday objects. anything could be. Clever fellow. eh. why not. Will be, could be. Was.
The freedom in paint she loved. in all movement, music, nature, speech, just like love. except art like animals you never had to justify, like breathing. Guilty of another breath.
Brett Whiteley Vincent Van Gogh, I think there was something in cutting off your ear? The resolution and reflection of the sadness in his paintings. That one person could only draw you out and into the sadness in the same viewing in a true still life from sunflowers. There was something more in that you know. Banksy reflected on the sunflowers, I like to sea-saw on both.
Perhaps her energies radiated between them both like the strings from Dexter’s blood patterns. Genius people, Gaudi, Poe, like mini mayhem entrapped in canvas or enriched in texts. Sometimes her artworks were like.. drawings but viewing them from the plains of a workbench: an entangled architectural structure, entropy, enthralling leads, an ECG or a heart attack waiting in the wings to happen. Because she would lay down her heart into whatever she was doing.. the lady from nowhere, was always an engineer to a peaceful civil war of a mass internal conflict externally displayed an amass of wax and acrylic.- something entrenched and something smooth and subtle for her emotions to writhe in agony and eventuate and settle and fuse to canvas or board. stagnant with colour to get colour bombed another time.
How fragile we are, over worked paper, between the few good moments.
that all these people who created such beautiful things were now so despondent How sometimes this missing file can flip a switch, from red to black. – incandescent to extinguished. An understanding influence so strong that they ended their own lives. Their last work of art. sometimes it was on a canvas or simply layed out in a note.
Perhaps I need you. ugh.
She said she thought that most geniuses were conflicted and dejected. I said I thought everyone was like the man in the moon and nothing like the sunrise. That even the Moon smiles like a Cheshire cat. He disappears, is separated, perhaps filled with remorse and regret, maybe that’s why he lassos the tides.