Not posting as much as I would have hoped; in my defence, I have been making art all the time. Today was the first nice sunny day in quite a few days. It has been raining a lot with abnormally warm temperatures, I think that the colder areas of the planet are the ones whose climate is being affected noticeably first (or it could be El Nino).
I don’t have much to say today, or rather writing is less fluid than normal. There are days where all words seem foreign to experience; perhaps this is why making art is so important to me. Every edit I make to an image, every noise I make with my sound work, every line of code seems to relate what I am sensing all the more effectively than words ever could. I quote Burroughs all the time: Language is Virus, words are most often symptoms rather than insight. This may be why I distrust narrative and gravitate towards authors who toy with language/words and time.
The premise for the work I am doing here is that Time is a material, it is something to be moulded, manufactured, repurposed and, like any material, it resists our bests attempts, it slips out of ones grasp only to pop up where least expected. Time and silence are siblings truly loving each other but always fighting.
And always, a story untold, a feeling unexplored until the next time the imagination takes over.