
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Shooting Candles Of The Night

'The repose of sleep refreshes only the body. It rarely sets the soul at rest. The repose of the night does not belong to us. It is not the possession of our being. Sleep opens within us an inn for phantoms. In the morning we must sweep out the shadows.'
Monday, June 25, 2007
Pantomimes Of Sin And Sorrow

'I didn’t want a completely passive viewer. Art means too much to me. To be able to articulate something visually is really an important thing. I wanted to make work where the viewer wouldn’t walk away; he would either giggle nervously, get pulled into history, into fiction, into something totally demeaning and possibly very beautiful. I wanted to create something that looks like you. It looks like a cartoon character, it’s a shadow, it’s a piece of paper, but it’s out of scale. It refers to your shadow, to some extent to purity, to the mirror.'
Sunday, June 24, 2007
My Green Heaven
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Porcelain Pompadours
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
The Artificial Moon
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
The Garden Of Shadows
Monday, June 18, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
The Hunter Has Two Faces
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Summoning The Softeness Of Stone
Monday, June 11, 2007
A Trio With Brio
Sunday, June 10, 2007
They Thrive By Night
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Call Me Damien

'Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. Methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air.'
Friday, June 08, 2007
The Philosopher of Fightin', Fuckin' 'n' Fartin'
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Möbius Strips Of Dreams And Desires
'Absurdity is what I like most in life, and there's humour in struggling and ignorance. If you saw a man repeatedly running into a wall until he was a bloody pulp, after a while it would make you laugh because it becomes absurd. But I don't just find humour in unhappiness - I find it extremely heroic the way people forge on despite the despair they often feel. Like the character in Eraserhead - he's totally confused, yet he struggles to figure things out and do what's best. Isn't that fantastic?'
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Dittomania

'Since the early 1980s, Sherrie Levine has made a career out of re-using - or appropriating - famous works of art, often by making new versions of them and placing them in different contexts. Throughout her career, Levine has created art based on works by prominent male artists from the early 20th century in order to underscore the relative absence of women in the art world at that time. Her sources have included Walker Evans' photographs and Constantin Brancusi's sculptures. Levine's piece, entitled Fountain (after Marcel Duchamp: A. P.), is inspired by Marcel Duchamp's Fountain (1917).
When Levine's Fountain is compared with Duchamp's sculpture, it is apparent that it is not an exact copy. Most notably, Duchamp's piece was an actual urinal, turned upside-down and unaltered except for his signature. He believed he could transform such mass-produced, everyday objects into artworks merely by proclaiming them so, and called them "readymades." In contrast, Levine's sculpture is a contemporary urinal cast in the sculptor's traditional precious metal, bronze. Polished to a brilliant shine, this piece is no longer a common, store-bought item; it has been transformed by the artist into a unique object.'
'I try to make art which celebrates doubt and uncertainty. Which provokes answers but doesn't give them. Which withholds absolute meaning by incorporating parasite meanings. Which suspends meaning while perpetually dispatching you toward interpretation, urging you beyond dogmatism, beyond doctrine, beyond ideology, beyond authority.'

Ming-Zhu has tagged me with a so-called Thinking Blogger Award, "in most part for the wonderful, bold career/life choices he's been engaging with recently". This is flattering, not least because not everyone has deemed to call my recent career/life choices wonderful or bold. As for the Award itself, here's the lowdown:
The origin of this award is The Thinking Blog.
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think,
2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme,
3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (you have a choice of a silver version or a gold one).
I would in turn award (read: tag) Austin's Disposable Words, for the remarkable photographs; Edward's Wino sapien, for its flights into the olfactory; Ed's Tomato, for being the nexus between mainstream food writing and amateur food blogging; Sarah's Prima la musica, poi le parole, for its passion; and Voltaire's Monkey, for its pseudonymed blogger and his Benjamin-esque approach to our cultural history.
Meanwhile, Ming is taking a break from blogging, with good reason. Ming's not only one of my favourite bloggers, but one of my favourite people, too, and my thoughts are with her.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Monday, June 04, 2007
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Saturday, June 02, 2007
If You Haven't Failed, You're Not Trying Hard Enough
Friday, June 01, 2007
The Argument For Artifice
Thursday, May 31, 2007
One Man's Delinquent Is Another Man's Deity

'[At his trial in 1943] Genet faced life imprisonment as punishment for his recidivism, but Jean Cocteau, who had discovered Genet and arranged to publish his first novel, Our Lady of the Flowers, submitted a statement read in court: 'He is Rimbaud, one cannot condemn Rimbaud.' He suggested that the judge might go down in history as a philistine if he made the wrong decision. Not for a moment did Cocteau argue that Genet was innocent, simply that he was a genius. His testimony got Genet off scot-free.'
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Leprosy Of The Soul

'Let us frankly admit it - for us, the landscape is a stranger and one is frightfully alone among the trees that bloom and the brooks that flow past us. Being alone with a dead person, one feels far and away not so abandoned as being alone with trees. For as mysterious as death may seem, even more mysterious is a life that is not our life, that does not participate in our life and, without giving any notice to us, celebrates its own festivities, which we observe with a certain embarrassment, like guests who have arrived by accident and speak another language.'







































