Carrier

I have nothing but my memory to remind me, and those few words of yours laid neatly on the wall. What chances then for your survival, among a world of artistic competition. Would one photograph be a catastrophic difference, or is it the fear that this picture too would be overlooked. Jesûs Mari Lazkano how do I see beneath your surface, how do I get under your superficial skin? I do see the point; or rather I don't see the one point, I see many points to view, but somehow too big a thing to grasp. For certain without your explanation I would not see the layered depths that you speak of so neatly; so how do I regain you, when I have nothing, nothing but my memory to remind me.

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Obscura

It is a fair measure of my dimness that I failed to see, or comprehend, or realize the nature or intent of the conspiracy. That by disallowing the use of camera or video or other photographic recording tool, the use of paper and pencil was thus restored.

Sketchpads and notebooks

Memos on the cafeteria serviette

Words being brought back to life

Thoughts spoken out loud

Just so they would

In time be remembered.

The darkness then is light

To each effect a cause

The point and shoot is replaced

Not instinctively

But to think

And then to write or draw

To think, then to write or draw

To each effect a cause

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Needs must

Are we born with obsession?

The compulsion to draw or paint

Linked together, or stood alone

To write, or speak, or think

Numbed into submission

Held aloft, or hung out to dry

Challenged to compromise

Made to dangle, or sink

Are we kept

You and I

By everyone

Just beyond the brink

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Observation

The glass topped case carries your trophies, neatly lays out the scrap books of your creation, your ideas, your thoughts, your particular points of view. The small paintings are a progression, a set or a sequence, a displayed cohesion of your deliberation stew

Moving up in scale, a purposeful minor deception, the painting with a title set surely to deliberately mislead. We move to the centrepiece, flanked to the left, by a two storey floor to ceiling photograph, a street scene with a bridge of archways and automobiles, to give simultaneous various vanishing points to view.

Your middle, between the beginning and end, the focus of your story; is it truth in conception? Is it curved or does it bend. The name that you give it reminds me more of destination, but in a sense it is simply a most magnificent view.

Act three introduces no new characters, yet moves at a pace forced by you onto the viewer. Here are video and cinematic presentations, of past and present confrontations, of your past and future distillations. With all of this we are entertained in the moment. With all of this our observations in luxury are immersed. With all of this we are so easily washed over. With all of this we are caught; though without a take away clue.

Without a take away clue to hold on to, with all of this we shall dispense. Without a clue to hold on to our memories shall dispense.

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Density and Surety

Folds of cloth

Drapes of heavier felt

Droop

Listless with envy

A light shines

On feigned recuperation

Confidence, arrogance

Bold with every movement

The glazier's day

Hoodwinked

It is over in a brushstroke

Streets before automobiles

Carriages that outlast the conversation

Windows, for pouring excrement

Onto streets full of urchins

Bars of prostitutes and vagrants

Men lost, carried off to war

Folds of cloth

A collar with a trim of velvet

Snoop

The well dressed sentry

Darkness

It is the charge to enter

Reigned down enumeration

For overstated gestures

Financial delectations

Smugly consumed

Are over with a brushstroke

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