last week i thought it was the Russians. i blamed their aching orchestrations, familiar and distant. Tchaikovsky, Stravinsky, Rachmaninoff. finally, the broadcasts finished. this week i blame Marguerite Duras. how can one read a novel titled The Malady of Death and not fall through the cracks, fall to a high and lonely place? the stillness.… Continue reading excuses
please summon all cells to the important task of healing.flow with the blood,bring fresh air to the empty places, starved for breath. burn a little. let the wounds receive a new layer of skin,revive, feel what it is like to live again. the pressure can sublimate — pass from a solid painto an evaporated nothing.
all this time denouncing the screen: i’m sick of the screen, tied to the screen. this is the right idea for interactive projects in general, but maybe not so for text and the written word. what’s wrong with a surface, after all? a video projection extends the page, is as limiting as the page, but… Continue reading [ ]