Sometimes we just stumble across it, art and colour and form. I spotted this in February walking through Central Park to the Guggenheim. It was the middle of winter and freezing cold but this guy was making huge bubbles, handmade rainbows, just casting them off into the park, each one different from the others, while nearby a saxophone player was adding a soundtrack. Art in the park, the spatial and temporal dimensions of human interference in the complex ecosystem of New York. I wonder what the black squirrels made of it all? I guess we could take a walk on the wild side - just for the hell of it. Herbie Flowers plays two bass parts on this, one part slides up, the other slides down in unison - he lives round the corner from me, which is just a coincidence:
Tuesday, 29 October 2013
Sunday, 27 October 2013
Icarus having a perfect day - I am glad I spent it with you
Playing guitar in the garden in middle age is a substitute for a dream of playing guitar in Central Park, NY. If I am honest this is something I love and dream about and cherish, singing in the garden with good friends around. But today Lou Reid died and he wrote and sang the best 'sitting in the garden, having a day song' - but oh, such an oh... such a long sad oh... 'you made me forget myself, I thought I was someone else, someone good...'
Sunday, 20 October 2013
Icarus wondering # 4
This is my desk at home and where I am sitting now, working (although I am taking time for tea and to write this). Mostly because I have been wondering what it would be like to have a 'national wondering day' - the future idea of nostalgia that allows us to ask, 'I wonder if...' And then if we were only allowed to wonder one thing what would it be? Goodness, so many things, and how could you set up a hierarchy, a preference of one over the others - surely it would be like trying to capture sand in your hand. Most of it would slip away, back onto the beach. Such a task but I wonder... and collecting is like that too, what to keep, what to let go... I have been given a collection of poetry called, Australian Love Poems - 2013 and its such a varied and vibrant collection I would have to hesitate to recommend one, and then choosing what to read (and read again) is another dilemma. I am beset by such dilemma today (is it dilemma or dilemmas? dilemma I think, although the pluralising 's' has fallen into common usage...) see my dilemma, I can't even make up my own mind. But I am taken by this first line from Theodore Ell's poem, Alone - 'How small a word it takes to fill a whole night.' But I was just wondering quietly - 'don't you know, talking 'bout a revolution sounds like a whisper...'
Thursday, 17 October 2013
Icarus wondering # 3
Pictured in a Jeff Koons, as I am here, I have been thinking about extended reality. Wondering about the man who lives in there and over there and in this colour (and who would wear those old baggy shorts). I have also been thinking about 'balance' and how often imagination is the thing that lets balance get out of kilter. We all need balance, of judgement, finance, good will, happiness, sadness otherwise we slip into the instability of excess or lack (is lack the antithesis, want, need, perhaps). But as every trapeze artist knows, a balancing act is a difficult thing to pull off. Adam Phillips has written that, 'Excessive behaviour is not so much something we grow out of as something we grow into.' Interesting thought, the older we get the more liable we are to over-indulge - perhaps because as adults we impose our own restrictions, whereas children have their's policed by us adults (who really know no better). But of course, what being out of balance really means is we can sit back and take a look at ourselves to say, I can be better, more than this, I can be more than I am being now by demanding less, taking less, giving less, only occasionally giving into the roller-coastering of great glee or melancholy, re-asserting the balance in my life. Freud implies in the Project that we can satisfy each other but not save each other and he might as well be saying, satisfaction, cumulatively experienced - or even satisfaction risked - can make helplessness a strength. Without it there is no frustration and no possibility of the experience of satisfaction. There is not one without the other. But talking thus, in abstract, is a kind of helplessness too - wonder if Freud ever had the ignominy of having to use a food bank? In the UK in 2013 - this is such a disgrace:
Thursday, 10 October 2013
Icarus or Angel # 1
Icarus or Angel or just a strange cloud formation over Florida. Maybe just time to post a little Neruda,'The Sea'
One single being, but there's no blood.
One single caress, death or rose.
The sea comes and reunites our lives
and attacks and divides and sings alone
in night and day and man and creature.
The essence: fire and cold: movement.
Martin Simpson wrote 'She Slips Away' about the passing of his mother, I find it uplifting ...
One single being, but there's no blood.
One single caress, death or rose.
The sea comes and reunites our lives
and attacks and divides and sings alone
in night and day and man and creature.
The essence: fire and cold: movement.
Martin Simpson wrote 'She Slips Away' about the passing of his mother, I find it uplifting ...
Icarus wondering # 2
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Cloud busting |
Last night I was talking about Immanuel Kant and his Theory of Aesthetic Taste, the relation between aesthetic and moral experience and the idea that the 'beautiful' is a symbol of the morally good. We call beautiful objects of nature or art by names 'which seem to be based on moral judgement. We call buildings or trees majestic... even colours are called innocent, modest, tender, because they arouse sensations which contain something analogous to the consciousness of a state of mind caused by moral judgement.' The harmony between the free imagination and the order-imposing understanding corresponds to the conformity of the free will to its own legislation. According to Kant, then, pleasure is beautiful, displeasure ugly and therein lies the hierarchy of aesthetic judgement unless we rescue it through language - and of course, art. Which begs the question, is a Jackson Pollock painting beautiful art when viewed next to a Rothko (say)? Another question for another day, as this day is just beginning and there is tea to be drunk. The tea drinking thinkers can switch off while listening to the 'ugly' Barber's Adagio for Strings, I even love the ambient sound of the audience anticipating this - think with all the senses, you know it makes sense:
Thursday, 3 October 2013
Icarus wondering # 1
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Head in the clouds |
Half thinking, half writing, half dreaming, can there be three halves at the same time? The haves and have nots, half laughing at half jokes about haves and half knots that tie us up in tangles. I am sitting here with my head in the clouds, wondering... wandering... wordplaying and not saying but playing with words and meaning... I was only two years old when Sylvia Plath wrote the 'Soliloquay of the Solipsist',
I?
I walk alone;
The Midnight street
Spins itself under my feet;
When my eyes shut
These dreaming houses all snuff out;
through a whim of mine
Over gables the moon's celestial onion
Hangs high...
Scotland's theme for National Poetry day is 'Water' and today I listened to this - Rivers Run:
I?
I walk alone;
The Midnight street
Spins itself under my feet;
When my eyes shut
These dreaming houses all snuff out;
through a whim of mine
Over gables the moon's celestial onion
Hangs high...
Scotland's theme for National Poetry day is 'Water' and today I listened to this - Rivers Run:
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