THEARTISTANDHISTIME

THE ARTIST AND HIS TIME

Feb 16
nock-nock-nock:

William Kentridge   - Refusal of Time -

nock-nock-nock:

William Kentridge   - Refusal of Time -


Dec 3

Do you ever find yourself waking up
in another country on some other bed
that I am not a part of and wonder
which of my blue shirts I will wear today

Or what the Sunday girls think about
in the months of Hong Kong?
Oaxaca felt like a daydream when
I still remembered them but who

Would have thought I would find Anne
Frank there, crying in the valleys. Is it 
awful if I am addicted to the sky and find 
portraits of your neck in every solitary cloud?

Why am I to blame if I do not prefer the 
Pacific over wars unless I am a bike ride 
away from your bedroom door? I do not 
care where you hide the clocks but if you 

Ever put sugar in your coffee in the 
mornings, I hope that I am the first to know. 


Aug 7
"Good morning, look at the valedictorianScared of the future while I hop in the DeloreanScared to face the world, complacent career studentSome people graduate, but we still stupid
They tell you read this, eat this, don’t look aroundJust peep this, preach us, teach us, JesusOkay, look up now, they done stole your streetnessAfter all of that, you receive this”West.


"Good morning, look at the valedictorian
Scared of the future while I hop in the Delorean
Scared to face the world, complacent career student
Some people graduate, but we still stupid

They tell you read this, eat this, don’t look around
Just peep this, preach us, teach us, Jesus
Okay, look up now, they done stole your streetness
After all of that, you receive this”
West.


Aug 3
"They begin again. The man doesn’t die, nor does he go mad. He suffers. They continue. "Marker. RIP


"They begin again. The man doesn’t die, nor does he go mad. He suffers. They continue. "
Marker. RIP


Jul 10


"Art is a deception that creates real emotions — a lie that creates a truth. And when you give yourself over to that deception, it becomes magic."
Tempest.


Jul 3
“By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death and let it go which way it will he that dies this year is quit for the next.”Shakespeare.


“By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death and let it go which way it will he that dies this year is quit for the next.”
Shakespeare.



"Huddled within one of the most influential theories of human desire and the destiny of democracy is an image of history and its future. This image is of a horizon…When humankind finally reaches the horizon it has been producing through the battle for recognition, the thing that emerges is not the same thing that had created it. What had distinguished humans from nonhuman animals changes. The thing that inhabits the surround is not an animal. But it is also not human. The Last Man is the end of Man."
Povinelli.
After the Last Man: Images and Ethics of Becoming Otherwise


May 31
“For what it’s worth -it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it -I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of -If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”Button. 


“For what it’s worth -it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it -I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of -If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”
Button. 


May 25
“We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts not breaths; in feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart throbs. He most lives who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.”Aristotle.


“We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts not breaths; in feelings, not in figures on a dial. We should count time by heart throbs. He most lives who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.”
Aristotle.


May 17

Sonnet XLII

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply;
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands a lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet know its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone;
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.

St. Vincent.


Mar 29
MorningI’ve got to tell youhow I love you alwaysI think of it on greymornings with deathin my mouth the teais never hot enoughthen and the cigarettedry the maroon robechills me I need youand look out the windowat the noiseless snowAt night on the dockthe buses glow likeclouds and I am lonelythinking of flutesI miss you alwayswhen I go to the beachthe sand is wet withtears that seem minealthough I never weepand hold you in myheart with a very realhumor you’d be proud ofthe parking lot iscrowded and I standrattling my keys the caris empty as a bicyclewhat are you doing nowwhere did you eat yourlunch and were therelots of anchovies itis difficult to thinkof you without me inthe sentence you depressme when you are aloneLast night the starswere numerous and todaysnow is their callingcard I’ll not be cordialthere is nothing thatdistracts me music isonly a crossword puzzledo you know how it iswhen you are the onlypassenger if there is aplace further from meI beg you do not goO’Hara.

Morning

I’ve got to tell you
how I love you always
I think of it on grey
mornings with death

in my mouth the tea
is never hot enough
then and the cigarette
dry the maroon robe

chills me I need you
and look out the window
at the noiseless snow

At night on the dock
the buses glow like
clouds and I am lonely
thinking of flutes

I miss you always
when I go to the beach
the sand is wet with
tears that seem mine

although I never weep
and hold you in my
heart with a very real
humor you’d be proud of

the parking lot is
crowded and I stand
rattling my keys the car
is empty as a bicycle

what are you doing now
where did you eat your
lunch and were there
lots of anchovies it

is difficult to think
of you without me in
the sentence you depress
me when you are alone

Last night the stars
were numerous and today
snow is their calling
card I’ll not be cordial

there is nothing that
distracts me music is
only a crossword puzzle
do you know how it is

when you are the only
passenger if there is a
place further from me
I beg you do not go

O’Hara.


Mar 16
"Then at one point I did not need to translate the notes; they went directly to my hands."Woodman.


"Then at one point I did not need to translate the notes; they went directly to my hands."
Woodman.


Mar 13


On death, faith.
Lacan.


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