Do a stream of trying out explanation on my practice. The sculptural and textural, the experience of small experiences, small phenomena, testing, trying trying, DO>LEARN>REPEAT>, an intimacy with the physical; and it is about time, the expansion of time, focus/attention, intense experience of the physical now, this is not what is delivered, or at least not always, but it is the source of the motivating joy. It comes from the natural, the naturalist, Naturalist intelligence of Multiple intelligence fame. Then there’s the other part, the existential questions, not the joy of the moment, the way out why, the wide sky, infinity, endlessnessness, the page of the imagination; zooms like google maps. The neverending of narrative, matheme and mytheme, the ever-widening continent of implicated forms from two axioms, 1 and +, 0 and 1, what do you get when you cross a donkey with a rattle snake? a fucking plethora of malformed oddities with a jazz soundtrack.

textual and textural; the texture of the text, it’s minutiae, nuance, grain, the feather fluff of lichen in good good air. It’s airs and likenesses. So fractal and self-reflexive that it’s a smaller it, up it’s own ass. A tight tautology; a rattle snake eating it’s own vibrating tail.

blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
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“...So fractal and self-reflexive that it’s
a smaller it, up it’s own ass.” blah bla
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ah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.

Kosuth said to keep it a tautology, like maths, but only in so far as math can romp around in the world too, so do what you want to do. It’s not about aesthetics, which makes it about the aesthetics, I-found-this-in-a-skip become trendy...only one it-doesn’t-even-exist piece per artist per year. A giant cot of not-participatory art; only have your cake, well I can imagine I might feel like a giant baby being fed TV news, but I feel like I’m not allowed on the bouncey castle.

Back (on) track, what’s a better word than phenomena...a trick, a thing-do, get back before the mirror stage, I want to live in my fractured hands. The joy of playing to handle, get your hands to handle with more depth and dexterity, like a masseur, a juggler, a princess with a pea. I mean I say visceral when I’m trying to get at it, and it is like poking through and probing the viscera of a not-dead thing, and feeling the elation in your gut. Double visceral. It’s revisceral and irreversible.