Picture Window- Introspective Dialogue On Collage Art…’01
A look in someone’s eye
A throat brutally gouged, voice silenced
A mother praying on top of a hot-dog
A dead child with a lollipop in hand
Candle lit underneath palm, flesh ready to burn
The vision, the cut, the freedom inside pain, the flame
Life and death. Being human.
Everything sandwiched in between
No strength…yet, an overpowering will to survive
All things perfect and larger than life
Shit never looking so good as when wrapped in mink
Collector of rot and filth laced thick, crust sweet. ETC.
—–oo000OOOO000oo——
To capture time is desire.
My emotions and the need to express them unstoppable.
Deliberated chaos in order to symbolically tell a story.
Continuous dissection…
Collage art is a perfect way to express this ‘other reality’ for me;
Everything has potential to become metaphor for something else.
Nothing is important without its diametric counterpart.
What is enough? When is too far? Where am I going? Does it matter?
Heavy loads, disappointments and personal failures lay scattered behind me.
Though it isn’t enjoyable to revive old war wounds…
I want to continue moving and telling my story.
I don’t know why.
Journeys never possess a solid structure to allow for anything other-
than creativity to relay it’s worth. Selective perception.
The “how will I tell this story” is something altogether different.
In creativity there is more freedom to go balls out insane with-
frustrations of being alive.
Visually admitting I am an asshole creep with murder occasionally
tearing through my heart, is not always easy to do. But I do it anyway and with ALL due respect to the original artists and models. Those who own the intellectual property I am incorporating, borrowing and stealing from- In order that I may reveal this ’socially unacceptable’ fact about how I am feeling.
It needs to come out…
—–oo000OOOO000oo——
Recalling past times when I was unwilling to see myself as part of the equation.
All these moments where I am, according to questionable standard, not at my best…and for whatever that is worth. Being completely honest about moving onward through the lesson is more difficult than I could have initially imagined.
My instinctive tendencies are to lie about what is important to me for purely cosmetic purposes.
My reasons being that we as a world prefer being lied to…
And “That’s entertainment, folks!” *does backflip…lands on all fours*
I am looking for my description of the word: Truth
I lose myself in what ‘okay’ means. Regardless of depth or lack thereof, I battle the idea that this word even exists in the ‘other reality’….the place, I prefer. Everything is in question to be used. Wretchedly Beautiful. Irresistibly Grotesque. Lustfully Decaying. Humorously Sobbing. Kindly Raging.
Self examination, resistance towards growth, visually tearing the fuck out of everything around me.
Screaming, crying and eventual surrender to the envoy within.
Metaphorically walking, naked and alone. Being both mad creator and logical specimen.
Figuring out what the hell is going on. Making my choice: Yes or No.
Always keeping in mind: Wrong doesn’t exist but for intent.
Every memory held together with stitches and tape.
Rebuilding myself through the shapes and colors of our world.
Placing myself back into society despite remaining so far beyond the temporary shelter of a glass ceiling.
This is a small part of the reason why…
Jez 5.20.01
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